Russ Havard

I find myself drawn to desolate landscapes. While walking in a clear-cut area or parking lot at dusk, a kind of peace intertwined with melancholy exists.
Simultaneous feelings of damage and anxiety are accompanied by a beautiful melody; at times one component asserts itself more than another. The melody ultimately prevails, but not without the price of the Garden lost. The landscape left behind holds symbols of the experience. I recognize these symbols intuitively––the process that alters this outer landscape also changes the inner one.
An isolated tree spared from the storm of machines and elements, somehow flourishes. A guard lamp becomes the vertical axis, changing the skyline and replacing the sun as a primary reference point. A passage cut through the woods creates spaces where light has never shown before. The surrounding desolation becomes alive with new growth, from nature and human construction. Destruction cannot escape creation.
I do not sit in harsh judgment, nor do I revel in the aftermath. I notice, and construct something new. The delicate properties of watercolor, gouache, and paper compliment my feelings of wistfulness about nature. While the media and patterns make up the skin of my constructions, the shapes generate specific meaning and provide a formal platform, giving the images and symbols clarity, dimension and solidity. By making paintings and constructions, I take part in the restoration process in both a physical and spiritual sense.
It is an act of reclamation and pressing onward.