Fossilize

The two dinosaurs used to stand opposite one another, as sentinels, welcoming visitors to Vernal. The very fact that one was feminine and one masculine made it easy for me to believe that they were the embodiment of my grandparents. Helen was Dinah, a pink apatosaurus and George was a T Rex, together they had come to symbolize Dinosaur Land. It was underneath the watchful eyes of these dinosaurs that I grew up. In my mind the dinosaurs were immortals, the icons of my religion. They seemed to age with a different clock, but still they weren’t free from time’s passing. Over the years T Rex had become a martyr, filled with arrows like St. Sebastian, while Dinah stood quietly, a witness against the executioners, from her post in front of her vacant motel. 


One year ago I traveled back to Vernal to document the changes that had transpired over the last 10 years. I had a hypothesis that Vernal’s recent economic boom, caused by increased oil production in and around the area, would be the proverbial straw set to break the camels back. I saw the recent development as a personal attack against my history, against my eden of sagebrush and sandstone. I was going to stop it, I was going to preserve my past. I struggled with how to do this, that is until I realized that Vernal, the city I was so protective of, had really only existed in my mind, the result of my fondness for the past. 


Through a series of simple projects I began to create a modest fossil record of my Vernal. In this record there are stories of my childhood, stories of Vernal’s rich folklore, and a visual glossary of Vernal as a place, person, and Idea. Upon completing one of the larger projects I realized I had subconsciously reunited the two dinosaurs. Their reunion comes in the form of two old photographs, from my mother’s photo album, placed together into a spread. Here, on the page of one of my projects Vernal exists again as it once did, a testament to the power of the communicative quality of images, of narrative.

Too much emphasis has been placed on finding meaning from the artefacts that artist and designers create. This over emphasis has placed one of life’s simple pleasures at risk of becoming extinct.

On the north facing wall of studio I have hung a small branch from a magnolia tree. It was something I found on one of my many morning walks. My reason for picking it up was simple, I liked it. I have been ask what it means, and I usually give no response, because it means nothing. It is simply a branch from a magnolia tree that I found in Hollywood Cemetery. Still, it reminds me. With its presence it brings countless associations and random memories together. Converting them into brief periods of nostalgic bliss. For example right now, it takes me to the moment when I first picked it up. After passing the branch I make the decision to turn around walk back and pick up the branch. At this same time a car with driver and a dachshund passed by. As we made eye contact via the rearview mirror I understood the non verbal question they were asking, what was I doing?

Truth is I am not actually from Vernal, and this year is a landmark year. As of January 1st I have now spent more years outside of Vernal than I have spent inside.

Sitting on the kitchen counter of my parents house there is an old ceramic turtle which also happens to be a bank. It is my father’s, a souvenir from his time in Oklahoma (I think). The tail of the turtle is chipped and one of the legs has been glued back on.


I believe there is something we can learn from turtles, maybe they have something to teach us.

Recorded in Vernal, Utah on July 17, 2008

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There is a cave outside of Vernal, that according to legend, has no end.”

On a recent trip home I came across my father’s down vest. As a youth I only wore his vintage clothes, wore them till they were threadbare. Finding this artefact, relatively well preserved, I believe, is a good omen.

I remember seeing meteorites falling to earth. I remember wishing on them. The skies of Vernal have been a haven for the stars. Since the invention of the light bulb man has tried to separate themselves from the natural light of celestial bodies, with some success. Which is why I’ve found a recent article about meteorites so puzzling.


It appears the US Congress has given NASA the task (ordered) to find and track every orbiting body of rock that has potential to crash into our planet. The article was recent but it gave a weird sense of déjà vu. Hollywood had been fascinated with idea in the late 90s—and who would not be.


Our lives are so painfully boring. each day just like the last, seasons come and seasons go. repetition rules our world. repetition by itself isn’t rhythm. When the repetition is disrupted, becomes unpredictable, our interest peaks. We wish on the falling stars.


Fear kept me inside today. Still, things are alright I have plenty of food and water, enough for a few weeks, and I’ll be eating well. I may run low on water, but I can always go to the river, I have a purifier. I have drawn the shutters and closed the blinds. The dead bolt is locked, and the latches are closed, the lights are off. My phone is on but has remained quiet. So now I sit in my bed and read, and read. In a while I’ll make breakfast, something nice. Maybe French toast with oranges or perhaps baked eggs—I have got the time.


They say the Chesapeake Bay was formed by a impact crater. It feels good to live on the edge of something so significant the planets history. I’d like to live near the impact crater that led to the extinction of the dinosaurs. It would feel good to sit and think of our own demise in a place like that.


It is eleven fifty-nine now and soon it will all be over, Black Friday that is. That ad-hoc holiday created by greed but somehow appropriately grimily named.

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bread from the richmond bread man dimensions 9cm x 9cm x 6cm

this artefact needs no explanation, as to why I found it interesting.

I have found plenty of fishing lures, but this one interested me because I found it miles from a river or lake, it was underneath an oak tree. So many questions need answered. However, I think what interested me most in this little artefact is the knowledge that I’ll never know where it came from. This lure represents mystery, and I like that.

More to come soon!

Among the nicknacks and mementos in my parents house there was one that particularly interested me as a child. In fact even now this object still captivates me. That object is silver spoon. This spoon doesn’t exist in a elaborate setting of heirloom dinnerware, no it is on its own. And the spoon was used, everyday my mother told me, by my great grandmother. There is evidence of this from the patina and tarnish that extends down the handle. Once there was intricate patterning in the handle now it is barely there. But most interesting, with regard to this spoon, is the asymmetry of the actual spoon part. Half of the spoon has been ground down to about a 35° angle. Again, my mother describes this happening as a result of my my great-grandmother using her spoon to stir the same pot of mush in the same way, day after day.