By Jessica Maffia

My two-week artist residency at UpS in the middle of the summer of 2021 could not have come at a better time. I had been working on a large-scale semi-sculptural permanent outdoor mural installation for the Audubon Society’s Audubon Mural Project back in New York City, and it was driving me mad. I had proposed an ambitious agenda that involved a host of processes that were new to me including cement casting, mosaic-making, and mural painting. I was halfway done with fabrication and feeling stuck with the design. Two weeks away from the city, away from the project, were exactly what I needed to reset.

I arrived at the sanctuary with no agenda other than to slow down and listen to the forest. I was overcome with gratitude for the gift of quiet, solitude, and unfettered time to learn from and connect with the plants. On my first full day at the residency, Chip took me and two very special, incredibly botanically-knowledgeable volunteers out on an ID walk. It was a marvelous introduction to the woods. I learned the names of the medicinal plants as well as trees, fungi, and more. One of the women on the walk brought up mushroom spore prints, and I was immediately enthralled with the idea. That very day I went home and made my first spore print. I let it sit overnight and the next morning was astounded by the magical work of art that the fruiting body of the mycelium had left behind! Everyday afterwards, I collected a small sampling of mushrooms and attempted to make spore prints.

During that first day’s ID walk, Chip mentioned that the terminal leaf of the pawpaw tree was historically used to paint. I was delighted by the idea and spent many days painting on fallen leaves with a pawpaw paintbrush.

Having recently finished the autobiography of Suzanne Simard, I was wildly enthusiastic about mycelium and mycorrhizal networks—those underground communication and nutrient transport networks that link fungi and trees and yield forest intelligence. I got the idea to paint a representation of the spore print of the various fungi in mycorrhizal association with each of the native trees of New York City onto the leaves themselves. This is a project that I have temporarily shelved but am eager to resume.

Early on in my stay, another phenomenon that caught my attention was the beauty and delicacy of the leaves that were partially eaten by insects. They created a lacelike, intricate design that I felt compelled to recreate by hand-cutting paper. In the process of cutting, I accidentally discovered the magic of shining light through the cut leaves. That same day, I was serendipitously introduced to the Japanese word komorebi, for which we do not have a direct translation in English, but which roughly means “sunlight leaking through trees.” I look forward to pursuing my investigations into komorebi and the shadows produced by these lace leaves as well.

It is now winter here in New York, and I hold the memory of being alone on the 400-acre sanctuary forest close in my heart. The magic of UpS will stay with me for a long time to come.

Jessica Maffia is a visual artist born and raised in New York City. She works across a wide variety of media to celebrate the familiar and honor the natural world of the city, through repetitive, meditative processes. You can see more of her work at www.jessicamaffia.com.