Driftless

Artist book, 12”x18”, plastic, thread, vegetal matter, cloth, wax, microbial sojourners

In the summer of 2025 three beings very precious to me were dying. Their decline was rapid and brutal to witness. All the vitality, enthusiasm, and zest for living slipped from them minute by minute. As a caregiver to two of these beings I was deeply enmeshed in their day to day struggles just to live. It was during this time I purchased a laminating machine and plastic sleeves. I began laminating the leaves of the plants in and outside my house. Ostensibly my motivations were to study these ephemeral vegetal constructions; only after the passing of my stepfather did I realize it was an attempt to stop time, to preserve life in all its intricacies. But life and death wait for no one, and have complex methods to thwart hubris. Though sealed hermetically in polypropylene the air, water, and carbon that made the leaves also contained the means of their own dissolution: mold, fungus, bacteria. These microorganisms set to break down organic matter immediately in a vacuum, and the leaves are changing still- rotting and molding in their sealed pouches. So the book becomes a meditation on life and death and desuetude, in addition to the historical reference to botanical literature and studies. To me it begs the question: are plants consciousness made manifest? Is each leaf a word? is each plant a poem? There is a lovely vexation built into the structure of the book: the matter of the book is held close but forever apart, always beyond intimate contact. The juxtaposition of leaf shapes and morphology possible with clear pages gives a gentle vertigo as the reader falls through the wild thicket of the text. The title refers to the driftless region of Wisconsin. This is my second botanical meditation on the region; the first is titled Driftless Botany, and it is in the rare books collection of the Milwaukee Public Library.

Covers sandblasted by M.Koppa