The installation, created in a park in northwestern France explores "time".  Two clocks, both of them broken, were placed in water near each other: one clock was placed under a tiny waterfall, the other was placed in a still puddle of water.  So although neither clock could measure the passage of time, watching the clock to the left, it was obvious that time was flowing, while nothing about the surroundings of the clock on the right indicated change.  Was the installation a good use of time?  I don't have time to think about that, I'm busy with . . .

The good and evil chair.

In this installation, I used fallen leaves to tell a story that I saw in the park.  Once upon a time, there was a tree stump, meloncholy because it's trunk and branches had been cut away.

But turning away, with your back to the stump, you could see a clearing, and as you walked towards it, you could suddenly see hundreds of baby trees!  For me, the installation represents my thinking and my heritage in forestry.  For three generations, my father's family has been in the lumber business.  Whereas the view I was often confronted with in the media and in school was "cutting down trees is bad," from my father I saw a balanced respect for the need for wood resources.  I see it as a story about hope.

To create this installation, I collected eggshells around the town of Pont-Aven, France for three weeks.  I then made various configurations with the shells and hung them all throughout a garden in the center of the town.  So for one day, it was a garden of flowers and eggshells.  The eggs simultaneously embodied life and fragility--two aspects of a beauty that is severe because it is fleeting.