As the late fall leaves hit the ground, I began gathering them up and stitching them back together into fleshy, dome-like forms with needle and thread. The forms were inspired by the many-breasted sculptural representations of Artemis, the Goddess of the wilderness, of fertility, and the protector of women and children. I raked a snaking path through the autumn woods, and "planted" the sewn leaf mounds along the path as a reminder of the breath of earth and bark, of the ongoing pulse beneath and around us, as promise of being witnessed and protected, and as promise of flourishing, of regeneration, of reemergence, and of return.

 

Much like being human, the process of gathering, sewing, and "planting" these leaves was one of racing against time, and racing against the natural process of decay and death, as the leaves have a point at which they become too brittle with which to work.

The emerging leaf mounds were placed along a path that snaked through the woods, leading to a large scale nest that rested beside the river. The nest was lined with moss and a bed of more sewn leaf mounds. They were left in place to return to the earth.