sacred sticks

I find Dougherty's yard works intriguing in many ways, as play itself, as garden craft, as art that embodies the ephemerality of play capturing the wildness of nature for a short time in the stories and techniques of cultural give and take. The recumbent osage orange of la Gabelle has its sacred counterpart in a Mississippi pecan tree, pulled from the earth by a storm but surviving ship-like, parallel with its earthen dock, half its roots exposed , limbs still bearing fruit even as children walked casually among its vertical branches, up into the prow of its canopy. "Be It Ever So Humble" in Savannah reminds me of garconnieres (would it if not in the marshy, humid south?), or perhaps the more modest but secret and equally sacrosanct suburban treehouse. "Spin Offs" look like tiny tornadoes tearing away at the fortress-like architectural turrets of DeCordova. All these works remind me of the alternate realities created in child's play, those imaginary worlds formed in and of nature beyond the reach of adults.

(with apologies for the late posting)