Manifest Witness Show Thesis
August 25-September 8, 2026 Altamira Fine Art, Jackson Hole, Wyoming
Reception Friday August 28 5-7pm
The wild plants and wild places tell stories of the west. Blooming wildflowers, by their very existence, tell a tale; of struggle, endurance, survival, and victory.
Recently, my 92-year-old mother sent me a photograph of a little plant growing out of her second-story deck. The little seed had wandered from a previous year’s potted plant and nestled in a crack. It had survived being plucked and eaten by one of the many birds my mother feeds, and found enough nutrients, light, and moisture to will itself to grow. Then one morning she looked out her window, and her little plant had a tiny bloom.
That is why wild plants are so remarkable to me. They exist because they exist. They were not cultivated or fussed over; plots were not de-weeded or irrigated.
In places like Wyoming, long before easterners rolled in on wagons with big dreams, native peoples were harvesting and cultivating the plants they found beneficial. They discovered—by chance, perhaps—that certain crushed plant parts made their wounds feel better, or their stomachs feel better. Selections were made, water added, and cultivation began. But with or without a human’s help, the flowers bloom.
When early settlers arrived, half-starved from waning supplies, they dug up roots to eat. But they weren’t the first to do that.
Recently, I returned to a wilderness area where I know the Mariposa lilies grow. I found several and vowed to come back in a week when more were blooming. When I returned, something had systematically dug the flower bulbs up for lunch. All that remained were gently dug holes in the ancient soil. By all accounts, the diner was a black bear.
Throughout the West, the flowers keep telling their stories. Some years there are more blooms than others. Some years, Instagrammers flock to fields with their floppy hats and flowery dresses to be photographed in nature’s bounty.
Our hearts were crafted this way. We know intuitively that nature heals. Whether we crush it up and eat it, or gaze at it through a wine glass at sunset, we know in our hearts that nature is a manifest witness to something bigger than us.
I’ve painted extensively from the inspiration I find in Arizona, California, Hawaii, and other western states; but this collection of paintings was inspired by the bounty of Wyoming. I am fortunate to have spent some of my summer here for many years. I’m always anxious to see what new discoveries I will find, and what those discoveries will teach me about the natural world and about myself.
Wyoming encapsulates what I love about the west. Both rich with history and extravagant with its beauty, it feeds my soul. This collection was a long time coming, it feels good to get it out.
Come along with me on a Wyoming adventure, and let’s see what blooms here.
Dedicated to Jennifer Sands, who graciously lent me a beautiful corner of Wyoming to explore. She will be missed.
