Susie Mathre

On a walk one day, I came across a fallen branch and was curious about the heartwood that was exposed at the break and how it transformed along the length from one end to the other. This piece explores the story that translates through the heartwood by sections, viewing the transitions as expanded discs along an arch. The sliding magnifying glass offers closer observation and each disc can be rotated to study both sides.

After a particularly prolific year of seed production, I was inundated with maple seed samaras in my yard and studio, and it was difficult to ignore the piles that accumulated whenever the wind blew. I wanted to make something that was structured like a book, using a grid format for the layout and then add boxes inside constructed of wood reglet that would echo the small compartments of a California job case. “Things that fly” or connote flight became the thread of connection, along with an aphorism from Georg Christoph Lichtenberg, an 18th century physicist and satirist, commenting on the irony of humans observing nature and our own nature.

Things that are sharp is the theme of this piece. These thorns can easily pierce the skin, as I experienced walking through a large thicket one day. Being impressed by their spiky nature, I was inspired to combine them with other things prickly, actual or implied.

Black henbane caught my eye while I was out hiking, it’s a tall and imposing plant, with its rows of arcing stems jutting out alternating seedpod vessels with sharp points circling the rim. Also known as fetid nightshade, or insane root, this poisonous plant is classified as invasive here, and has a colorful history of use and misuse. Native to Europe, black henbane was variously used as a hallucinogen when applied in a salve, added to beer, or inhaled as smoke from burning seeds during the Middle Ages. But too much of a good thing could cause an untimely and ghastly death; overdosing was easy to do.

Aside from the lurid history, I was also interested in working with the mathematical aspects of seedpod size. There’s a continual diminishing of size and distance between the seedpods, and I wondered if there was a consistent mathematical progression to be found, perhaps similar to a Fibonacci logarithmic sequence (where each term is found by adding the preceding two terms, i.e. 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13... ), but this sequence didn’t work; the magnitude of change was too great. So, failing to find Fibonacci, I did some measurements of the pods, and used those as a basis for the structure size sequence. I used what is called a recursive formula: f(n) = f(n-1) + 20 + n, where f(1) = 0. This translates to the sequence being 0, 21, 43, 66, 90, 115... Practically speaking, the narrowest tab is 21 points wide, the next is 22 points wide, the next is 23 points, etc., (there are ~72 points/inch). This was a challenging piece to construct, but also gratifying when it all came together, after many prototypes, and a lot of trial and error.

This piece is about labyrinths, hearing loss, and spotted knapweed: all intertwined with Greek mythology. The impetus for this work began following a trip to the emergency room on a beautiful July day in 2019. I was treated for severe vertigo, scanned for possible stroke or brain tumor, and then finally released with a prescription of steroids and told to hope that it wouldn’t happen again. The diagnosis was Labyrinthitis, an inflammation of the inner ear (the labyrinth), which can cause vertigo and hearing loss.

Receiving this diagnosis got me interested in researching labyrinths and the mythology surrounding it. This was also at a time of year when I dig knapweed at local infestations in an effort to control and eventually eradicate it. I decided to combine the two in this piece as a connection to my hearing loss and a desire to incarcerate knapweed in some manner.

The myth surrounding the labyrinth, in short, tells the story of Daedalus building the labyrinth for King Minos of Crete to contain the flesh eating Minotaur. The half-bull/half-man fed upon seven youths and seven maidens, who were sent annually from Athens. Theseus, an Athenian prince and hero, enrolled himself as one of the seven youths and slew the Minotaur, escaping afterwards using a ball of yarn to retrace his path, a gift from Ariadne, Minos’ daughter. Theseus then sailed back home to Athens and forgot to hoist a white sail as a signal of success, leaving up the black sails instead, which his father (king of Athens) saw, and mistakenly thought Theseus has been killed. In despair, he threw himself off the cliff to the sea, for which he is named, the Aegean Sea.

With that dismal ending, I had no choice but to use black paper for the background. For the labyrinth, I recreated a Cretan style because of its resemblance to the brain and connection to Crete. My drained hearing aid batteries line the path with embroidery thread representing Theseus‘ path, and the Minotaur has been replaced with a beautiful, but invasive flower of knapweed. The leaves from very young knapweed represent the seven youths and seven maidens. I’ve since been diagnosed with Meniere’s Disease (another disorder of the labyrinth), but have been fortunate to avoid another visit to the emergency room.