I spotted this shack while driving. It was anchored by an old live oak with heavy, sprawling limbs. The wood was grey and tired. The tree was the opposite—covered in a vibrant green moss that felt alive against the weathered boards.
What I found most interesting was this dimension of time. You have a structure slowly surrendering to the elements while the tree just keeps reaching. It’s a quiet, roadside dialogue.
I used a mix of ink and acrylic for this piece. I also made a specific choice: I stopped correcting myself. If the ink bled or a line went wide, I let it stay. Usually, these are called errors. Here, the errors were the effort. They belong in the work, much like the rot belongs on the shack. It’s an honest way to record a moment.
The ink defines the twisting architecture of the oak. The acrylic adds the weight to the sky and the moss. It is a rougher, more experimental process than my usual work, but it captures the grit I was looking for.
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