1998, paper, cut up photographs of the sky between the trees and trees, hobby dirt, string, and air, 26 1/2 x 73 inches.

Mounted by an edge flush to the floor.

This is the hill outside my grandparent’s house.  Anyone (within reason) was welcome to come sled or walk here.  My father broke his wrist on a tobagan  there.  Once I was talking to some  big  boys who were smoking up at the top of the hill.  My father rescued me. Mr. Lowry made his shack up at the top of the hill in the woods.  We also used to ride horses up over the top and into the schooling field.  These trees in this artwork all come from my grandparent’s land.  They evoke melancholy memories though they are just trees, taken out of their context and no one would ever know how significant they are because they have lost their place in the frame.  I have given them back a place on top of the hill.  The hill is a “real” hill, made out of hobby dirt and starts at the ground (like a real hill) and is shaped like a real hill.