Black in the Landscape

Black in the Landscape is an ongoing, place-based project exploring Black presence and belonging in natural environments. Through small-scale painted portraits, site references, field notes, and transcripts from interviews the work documents how Black women choose, inhabit, and relate to outdoor spaces. The project functions as a living archive, growing slowly and intentionally alongside my life as an artist, mother, and healthcare worker.

Coming into 2026

These two works mark my return to this project at the end of 2025. They are painted from portrait references gathered in 2020, when Black in the Landscape was first taking shape through conversations, photographs, and shared time outdoors. While parts of that early archive were lost, these images remain carrying memory, intention, and presence forward.

Rather than attempting to recreate what is gone, I am allowing the project to continue from what still exists. These paintings function as a bridge between the project’s beginnings and its current form: smaller in scale, slower in pace, and firmly placed in sustained attention. They signal a shift toward a living archive that honors continuity without requiring completeness.

This is how the work enters 2026.

East Butte Heritage Park — January 18, 2026

Location: East Butte Heritage Park

Date/Time: Sunday, Jan 18, 2026 — 12:36pm - 1:34pm

Weather: Sunny, no clouds, minimal wind

Duration: ~ 58 min

I walked into the park from the SW Murdock St. & SW 106th Ave. path and sat on a bench facing the 2-5 year old kids playground structure and the forested area. A good size grass field is behind me. There is a half paved/half woodchip loop around the forest. There is a new paved walkway connecting Murdock St., linking the neighborhoods. The ground near the path has fresh, deep brown dirt. This area is an interesting balance of wild + maintained. There is barely visible trash in the area, with some small bits of caution tape blowing in some nearby bushes from the recent construction of the paved path. Aside from that, the park is clean. No graffiti. The playground is bare bones, with a small play structure that has a semi dwelling/playhouse vibe at the top, slide, spinning wheels, and underneath section where kids mix wood and bark chips into “bark chip soup” and an attached rock climbing wall. There are two swings for toddlers and a small area with rocks and stepping stone turtles. The playground is used, outdated compared to other parks in the area, but inviting. The forest section of the park has old douglas-fir trees that were planted in rows. It creates a large space of darkness across the forest floor. Along the perimeter of the forest are human-built fairy houses, a clean restroom, and the John Tigard House.

During my time here, there were people relaxing, exercising, and watching their children on the play structure. I saw maybe about 10-15 people come and go as I settled in the park. Multiple people were walking their dogs and playing with them in the field. There was an older woman with a walker doing light exercises and stretching on a nearby bench. It felt like a moment of vulnerability + strength + trust on her part. There was a hispanic family with a small child playing on the structure, but overall it was older white people in the area.

Upon entering the park my body felt open, invited, calm, and happy. It was light and airy and I experienced a fresh sensational buzzing feeling throughout my chest, legs, and arms. I felt slight air on my cheeks, face, and in my nostrils. We’ve been getting an unusual amount of dry, sunny days this winter—which I felt warm my skin as I walked down the path. It felt magnetic. These moments felt both big and inviting. Like an internal push to go out and achieve anything I put my mind to.

I left the park with some small pieces of ephemera that were scattered along the landscape—a sprig of douglas fir, some lichen, and moss (below).

Today, the landscape felt like a space that struggles between new and old, light and dark, closedness and openness—a weirdness I can’t quite name. Calm and inviting on the surface, carrying something unresolved underneath.