In March 2020 - when Covid lockdown began - I started hiking the same five-mile trail at Loch Raven Reservoir, almost every day. This allowed me to experience the slow daily shifts of the seasons and observe the multitude of fungi that exist, often fleetingly. I hiked that trail so many times, that even in the winter, when it was snowy and the trail was gone, I mostly knew where I was going. On my way in, I would allow my mind to wander, often I would be called off trail for one reason or another, only to be rewarded by finding the most magical mushrooms. At some point, I realized I was practicing a walking meditation, an act of present moment awareness. I started noticing the smallest details, the way nature was in a constant state of flux, birth followed by death, then birth again, incessant change. Through photography, I documented the minutiae of the daily shifts occurring on the forest floor, in particular, the fungi. Once at my destination - a beautiful peninsula overlooking the top of the dam - I would meditate. I would also hug a nearby Beech tree and pray to my ancestors. On my hike out I would spend thirty minutes thinking positive affirmations and another thirty thinking about what I was grateful for. When friends hiked with me, they joined along, it was magical; each of us taking turns sharing our most vulnerable thoughts and feelings. A much-needed moment of deep connection amidst rampant Covid induced isolation. As I continued these daily self-care rituals and documenting the shifts occurring on the forest floor, something inside of me shifted as well. We're not taught how to love ourselves or how to heal from trauma. I've been doing healing work for many years; I've struggled with addiction, childhood trauma, and loss. But the healing that occurred during those daily hikes, because of my spiritual practices, was monumental. In visually creating a snapshot of this personal journey for the exhibition, Baltimore, Addressed: Baker Artist Awards at the Baltimore Museum of Art, I hope to offer the audience a place for quiet reprieve, where nature's beauty and wonder hold space for the connection and healing of all things.

While exploring Ladew Topiary Garden’s 22 acres of gardens and the historic Manor House, sculptor-in-residence, Laura Amussen found herself reminded of Mother Nature’s unwieldy propensity to consume abandoned or unattended structures and objects. In the Oval Library, a single sprig of ivy creeps through a grate on the floor. Visible through the window—just beyond the threshold—the ivy blankets the ground. Its presence threatening to overtake the inlaid drop-leaf gaming table and side chairs before making its way to the oval partner’s desk. One can easily imagine—if given time—the ivy swallowing these interior relics whole, as Mother Nature creates topiaries of Her own. Amussen’s piece Checkmate brings this playful fantasy to life. Artificial ivy spreads across the floor and over the furniture, leaving visible only traces of the structures beneath.

Taking cues from the ivy infiltrating the Oval Library, but also inspired by the follys, gardens, and topiaries found in Ladew’s gardens, Oval Library Topiary Folly, delightfully brings the inside out, a merger of both landscape and architecture. A large oval gazebo provides the framework for this structure, as again artificial ivy and flowers overtake the building. Most of these artificial flowers were bought second-hand, a deliberate choice by the artist.

Inspired by the abundance of seedpods that blanket Ladew’s Wildflower Meadow, Amussen renders the seed larger than life and draws parallels between nature and femininity, in her piece, Embedded in the seed is the blossom waiting to unfold.