Trees have become my way of expressing complex emotional states—grief, longing, loss, discontent, and the discomfort of being "planted" in an environment or circumstances beyond my control. They embody resilience and ingenuity, offering lessons in how we adapt and endure. Trees remind us of the knowledge we accumulate as we persist, moving forward day by day.
I am particularly drawn to London Plane trees, symbols of resilience in urban landscapes. Their ability to combat pollution is why we plant them in cities. Each year, they shed their bark, making space for a new season. During a period of dramatic change in my life, when my closest relationships were under scrutiny, I found myself walking beneath their bare branches in another snowless Brooklyn winter. I felt exposed and unsettled, much like the leafless trees themselves.
London Plane trees have a defensive growth pattern that allows them to survive disease. Their branches stretch out in wild, unpredictable directions, creating gestures that feel like nature's calligraphy—finding beauty in survival and making the best of difficult circumstances. These trees became a metaphor for my own experience, reminding me that resilience can be both a defense mechanism and an act of creation.