I’m a fan of winter. The cold stretches, the sudden warm-ups, the long grays. The slush and the ice. It’s taken decades to arrive here, but through the practice of observation rather than judgment (and sleeping on a frozen lake), I’ve found real joy in all of winter’s offerings. So you can imagine my delight when I had the chance to walk out onto frozen Lake Erie in frigid temperatures.
Winter in its extremes reveals so much. Cracks form with sharp pops that echo across long spans of ice. Transparent shells encase plants, preserving a fleeting moment in their life cycle. Snow records the movement of wind with quiet precision. Sunlight both melts and blinds against a white field.
I feel grateful to witness these shifts at a time when other fissures—cultural, social—can feel harder to hold. Nature allows us to observe without assigning blame. It simply changes. It cracks, melts, refreezes, and continues.
These winter walks stay with me in the studio. In works like Stacks, repetition builds slowly, element by element, much the way snow accumulates or ice forms in layers. Individual pieces amass into something larger, shaped as much by pressure and time as by intention. The surface records its own weather.
I hope you find ways to see beauty in both the apricity of a cold, sunlit day and the slow, dark melt of dirty snow.
