Chelsea Scudder

I tend to notice trees. Craggy branches, textured barks, and raised roots catch my eye, often stealing my attention away from the more typical, man-made landmarks of the cityscape. Whether walking in Boston or far into the woods somewhere, my gaze inevitably skews upward – not always to the benefit of my feet – as I take note of leaf patterns and twig intersections.

I believe this tree-focus largely stems from my parents. My father – PhD in plant ecology and Nature Walker Extraordinaire – brought my brother and I on countless wonder-filled hikes in the woods which were sure to result in wild garlic tastings, mushroom collecting, and encyclopedic answers to any botany-themed question we could cook up. My mother – wire-sculptor, gallery owner – brought her creativity and aesthetic gifts to her organic landscaping business in Oklahoma for 20 years. She transformed unremarkable lawns into wild, alive things that flowed and spilled, drawing the eye through layers of flowers, native grasses, and freshly mulched Japanese Maples. I was a full-on garden snob by age 14.

A consciousness of the green and growing thus took root in me from an early age and it's no surprise that trees inevitably find their way into my lines of sight and trains of thought. In them I see shifting layers of shape and color, intricate carvings, fleeting casts of shade, subtle movements.

Tagging along with my uncle Gerry on a prescribed burn at Indian Cave State Park in Nebraska last spring was an opportunity to see trees as I had not seen them before. Not only did the burn offer a unique look into one aspect of the intimate human relationship to land, but the trunks and branches that  lurked in white smoke and among orange flames made for a stunning, eerie beauty that was great fun to photograph.

 – Chelsea Steinauer-Scudder