04/30/2026
My emotional connection to bayous is about as textured as the landscapes themselves. They are so different from the wooded hills I grew up surrounded by. That’s likely a large part of why I have always felt so gravitated to their haunting beauty. This distanced admiration changed into something deeper when I moved to the Gulf Coast a decade ago.
Nature, in the way I was so used to interacting with it, felt harder to access during this time of my life. To combat this feeling of disconnect, I found the pockets that made me feel the most when I was out in them. Bayous quickly became my largest obsession. I loved the way that thick mist would cling to the grooved cypress trees, the air so thick with humidity sometimes that walking felt more like wading. Sound traveled differently, getting caught in pockets tucked back around corners you couldn’t see. I loved the way that light dissipated through the swinging moss.
When my time in southeastern Texas came to an end, bayous sank into the recesses of my thoughts. I was back in the Appalachians and what could possibly compare to the beauty of these beautiful mountains I now call home once more? And then I resurrected this commission. I had started it in those darker years in the swamp, playing with colors and textures in a desperate attempt to capture the energy I felt along the southern bayous. It felt so hard to get right and I had complicated emotions all tangled up in the palette knife lines of the water that made it hard for me to feel like I had a confident direction for the piece.
In the cold light of a Blue Ridge winter and with the help of a Spotify playlist I had made all those moons ago in Texas, I think I finally found it. Sorry this piece took so long to finish, 🧡
