red earth

$350.00
SOLD

MINERALS AND MATERIALS:

hematite + clay + hemp + leather + red oak wood ✜ linen canvas textured using hematite-cemented sandstone we foraged from Catawba Falls, North Carolina, called “bog iron”. the inside of the hollow hematite rock formation holds pure red ochre in which we ground and processed: some with tempera to paint, and some raw pigment to be mixed in with natural tan clay/ soil to use with a palette knife. ✜ this piece was then embroidered with hemp yarn & brown leather, and housed in a red oak frame handcrafted by Connor.

DIMENSIONS:

9w x 11 h x 1.5 depth 

MINERALS AND MATERIALS:

hematite + clay + hemp + leather + red oak wood ✜ linen canvas textured using hematite-cemented sandstone we foraged from Catawba Falls, North Carolina, called “bog iron”. the inside of the hollow hematite rock formation holds pure red ochre in which we ground and processed: some with tempera to paint, and some raw pigment to be mixed in with natural tan clay/ soil to use with a palette knife. ✜ this piece was then embroidered with hemp yarn & brown leather, and housed in a red oak frame handcrafted by Connor.

DIMENSIONS:

9w x 11 h x 1.5 depth 

 

RED EARTH
This piece was born from a season of stillness—one of those long, quiet stretches of recovery where everything feels stripped down to the bones. No distractions. Just earth, body, breath. I foraged the clay and hematite from North Carolina—soil and ore pulled from the land I once used to escape myself, now gathered with sober hands.

I’ve spent years learning how to stay. Not just in recovery, but in my own skin. And this painting is part of that “staying”. The red is iron-rich, grounding—what miners once called bog iron. Hematite’s name comes from the Greek word for blood. The process of crushing, blending, and turning it into pigment mirrored my undoing and reshaping.

Red Earth holds weight—not just physical, but emotional. It’s the ache of remembering and the relief of no longer running. Clay that cracks if it dries too fast. Ore that stains your fingers. Materials that demand patience, presence, and humility.

This painting is part relic, part ritual. It reminds me that healing is not a clean process. It’s muddy. Mineral. And it takes time. But when we root down—into the land, into ourselves—we begin again. Solid. Real. Whole.