Tending to Wild
Claire Elliott
October 3 - November 1, 2026
Opening Reception
Saturday, October 3, 2026
5:00–8:00 pm
Gallery Hours
Saturdays & Sundays, 12-5 pm
Rose Hips Come to Maturity, Oil on Linen, 24” x 30”
Tending to Wild is a continued exploration of the human relationship to plant life - from ignorance to desire. Through painting and sculpture, Claire Elliott considers the folkloric allure of ripe fruits and potent seed, the labors of the gardener, and the cunning stealth of the forager. Recognizing the garden as a site of transformation and mystery, she looks for moments when plants surprise and enchant.
Most garden spaces are meticulously maintained - things are clipped, cleaned, trimmed, and replaced so that nothing ever seems to stop blooming. This show takes its title from a moment in Milton’s Paradise Lost, where Eve is describing the overwhelming, ceaseless task of tending to the Garden of Eden. Even in paradise, there is a human instinct to ‘perfect’ nature and slow its encroachment.
This fictional projection of an orderly nature - forever flowering and devoid of dead leaves - has made us less curious about the plants that surround us. We do not need to be attentive to which buds will turn into fruit, or consider what seeds to save when we have the artificial abundance of the produce aisle. If seedheads are left untended, rather than pruned, their unfamiliar forms strike us as alien and grotesque. While a blushing apple or blooming rose are rare enough to tantalize in fairytales, it’s the seed pods and scraggly stems that now seem a rare marvel. The work in Tending to Wild seeks the thrill that ripeness and seasonal abundance can provoke.
the scarlet glow of rose hips dotting the dark months
the way overripe figs stud tree limbs like jewels
alien, reaching fingers of peony seed pods
eventually bursting open with dark pearls
plant shapes float, bouncing moonlight
a buoyancy amplified by summer’s thick air
daisies restrained by a spike of bamboo, so their abundance will not spill over into our path
nature must not impede
The tiny
hard
citrus fruit
grown on the thorniest plant
my father told me they were poisonous
so I wouldn't scratch my young arms trying to inspect it