Two intertwined baskets of native and invasive plant material, maple base, wood, glass, stone, basket clams; twining, plaiting, random weave, knotless netting; approximately 7x16x9 in.

Materials gathered from Tinker Creek: *Virginia switchgrass, *rush, *pokeberry, *tree root, honeysuckle, lespedeza, unknown grass, glass, stone, basket clams. Other Materials used: *Maple block, *Western red cedar, *birch bark, raffia (dyed with pokeberry). (* native plant material)

This assemblage represents the conflicting views of plants and objects in our environment. The basket on the left is largely made of native materials, with lespedeza and honeysuckle infiltrating the basket. The basket on the right is largely honeysuckle, with native grasses and pokeweed-dyed raffia infiltrating it. The knotless netting seeks to contain found objects, while the honeysuckle wraps around everything, much like it does in nature. When does trash (broken bottle) become treasure (weathered glass)? When do we see a non-native plant as harmful (honeysuckle) or beautiful (Queen Anne’s Lace)? How do we – or should we – adapt to change?

I started this project by spending time on Tinker Creek, observing it both by day and overnight. Gathering whatever looked interesting was intended to guide my eventual creation. As a native plant gardener, I was horrified by the rampant growth of invasive plants; as a basketmaker, I gathered these same plants to consider using in my creation. I spent a fair amount of time contemplating this dissonance: the desire to destroy the invasive and the desire to create with it. Can a non-native/invasive plant become part of the local ecosystem, and if so, when? We love the flowering Queen Anne’s lace, a non-native plant from Europe. I thought about this also in human terms: when does a “foreigner” become an “American”? We fear those we don’t know, yet celebrate the many festivals of interesting cultures. I believe my work reflects this intertwined perspective.

My perception of what I was gathering during my visits changed over time, whether through learning more information or by contemplating the items itself. The lovely clams I collected turned out to be basket clams (Corbicula fluminea), an invasive species that should not be in the creek. As I gathered worn colored glass, I contemplated how a newly broken bottle would generate disgust, but lovely, softened glass is beautiful. The sweetly scented honeysuckle we imported eventually kills the tree it twines around. What does this duality in perception mean for how we view the human-impacted world?

“I am sitting under a sycamore by Tinker Creek. I am really here, alive on the intricate earth under trees.”

If I were to choose a word to represent Dillard’s work for me, it would be “perception.” She writes exquisitely about the act of perceiving closely, diligently, extensively. One’s initial perception of something (or someone) may be wrong; one may not understand something without actively examining it. We can glide through life with our assumptions; or we can take the time to challenge ourselves through active perception.

Should we be slower to judge what we are seeing? Should we fight to regain a less-impacted world, or learn to accept and adapt?

I learned that initial ideas are part of the process of creation; that what you discard is as important as what you retain.