This series of 12x12 layered landscapes is constructed of acrylic gouache and pen on paper. In sifting through photos, mental snapshots and experiences on the South Dakota land, I began drawing a layered landscape framework. Adding layer upon layer of gouache and pen, complexity comes to the land. The land is filled by the tension I am curious about: truth about ourselves found in the landscape, that “spiritual geography” Kathleen Norris talks about, and the stories we’ve been handed down from our families about who we are.

Both ends of this tension are seen in the patterns of each landscape. The natural markings (tilled land, trees shedding leaves) and the patterns of a family story that has spent generations on the South Dakota land (hearts, dainty flowers, rainbows and crosses) saddle up next to one another. Birds in flight and long stretches of cloud suggest autumn: a season of change, a season of movement over South Dakota. In some of the landscape formations deconstructed phrases fill the space; these captured words all reflect a search to pin down identity. Their arrangement suggests their ideas are in movement too, as if they’re words being tossed by the wind.

As Spanish philosopher Jose Ortega y Gassett wrote, (and there are several translations, but this is by far my favorite) “Show me the landscape in which you live and I will tell you who you are.” In layering the South Dakota landscapes that I see and feel under my feet, I sense a foundation. There is a spiritual dimension to the land that speaks to the inner core of who we are. And that works sometimes in contention, sometimes in harmony with the values familial story tells us that we are. As the landscapes fill with patterns reflecting my own familial story, I can attempt to sort out what my own identity really is. Tolkien’s question haunts: “who are you, alone, yourself, and nameless?” Is it family story that informs who I am? And what happens to my own identity when a family’s actions do not match the generational familial story and values we claim? Does it matter? Is there a deeper root of identity to hold me in place?

I consider in this work whether it is only possible to begin understanding who I am by taking it as Willa Cather wrote, “with one eye squinted.” To take in both the honest and lasting reality I sense with my feet on the land with the values that family story has taught me, and see the wider scope. In that way, perhaps I too can “take it all as blessing.” Maybe for us, the family story we tell is not always true. And yet it can remain blessing: I sense the very best of our family’s story, and the values they carry, are themselves grounded in the land. My dad has often said we know the land when we walk it; that’s always shown itself to be true, but I would do him one better in agreement with Ortega y Gassett: we know who we are too.