The narratives within these paintings are intentionally unresolved. I think of them less as illustrations of myth and more as spaces where myth might emerge. The landscape becomes the carrier of the story. Through repetition, the marsh develops its own internal logic, accumulating memory, grief, transformation, and possibility.

A marsh never seems to hold a fixed form; twice a day, it swells up and drains away. At high tide, it resembles a lake you could swim through, and at low tide, an exposed mud flat impossibly filled with bugs, scattered with reeds, shells, and the remains of washed ashore creatures. Neither land nor water, marshlands are shaped by cycles of flooding, erosion, decay, and renewal. Along the New England coast, marshes hold histories of colonial arrival, displacement, labor, and environmental change. Yet they remain resistant to permanence. Their boundaries shift. Their surfaces sink and reform. They refuse stability.