We are all, whether we admit it to ourselves or not, in a committed relationship with the natural world. We are part of its fabric. There can be no “us” without “it.” My work is an expression of this interconnectedness.
Feminine Forces and Nature's Beauty: The Art of Reconnection | Jeanne K Simmons
Jeanne K Simmons’s work blends the beauty of the natural world with a deep reflection on human existence. She creates sculptures that celebrate the interconnectedness of women and nature. Drawing inspiration from the landscapes around her, Jeanne forages materials she encounters during her walks—branches, twigs, leaves, and grass—that she uses to cover the body and transform into poignant art pieces. Her work speaks to the impermanence of life.
In this interview, we delve into her journey as an artist, exploring her perspectives on femininity, the environment, and how her work challenges societal norms.
Was there a specific childhood memory or experience that had a lasting impact on your artistic approach?
I grew up in coastal New Hampshire in a chaotic household with four siblings. Together with a bunch of free-range neighborhood friends, we had many feral adventures at the beach, in the woods, and along the banks of the tidal salt marsh that sprawled behind our house. I grew up collecting acorns and chestnuts, seashells, stones, and sea glass. I could whistle by holding a blade of grass between my thumbs, and I could make a necklace out of daisies. I once had an epiphanic episode while marveling at the blossoms growing on the apple tree outside my bedroom window. In short, I recall being moved by my environment, and by the plants and critters that I discovered inhabiting it. I am profoundly grateful for a childhood that was set so close to nature. The curiosity about the natural world that was nurtured throughout my childhood continues to steer me towards places and materials that inspire my work today.
The landscape around your home appears to be a significant source of inspiration for your creation. Are there particular elements of the landscape that you feel drawn to?
I am surrounded by woods, beaches, and fields that take my breath away. Having lived in Port Townsend for 25 years, I enjoy a deep sense of familiarity with many landscapes and seascapes, which I visit often, like checking in with old friends.
However, to my delight, I still find new places that fill me with awe. Last year I discovered a new-to-me beach that shockingly houses easily an acre of sun and saltwater-bleached logs of all sizes, some of them enormous, that have become lodged beside a stone jetty. It’s a massive grey logjam that I never knew existed, 5 minutes from my studio. It was a shocking discovery. The enormity of it and the vastness of the sea behind it are mind-boggling. I visit this place often now, and I am nursing along an idea for a photographic project that will be set there. My life is immeasurably enriched by these encounters.
How do the materials you discover along your journey inspire your creative process, and what role does foraging play in shaping your art?
Most often, I discover materials that inspire me while adventuring with my dogs. A few summers ago, for example, we had a series of summer storms that flushed tons (literally) of bull kelp onto our local beaches. So, as I was walking my dogs along those beaches every day, I couldn’t help but notice and study the kelp. It wasn’t long before my imagination took over and I began to dream of creating a gown out of the kelp, and I eventually created the piece that I call Katrina. Similarly, a couple of years ago, I was walking my dogs in a field beside a beach that was lined with a hedge of fennel. The fennel seemed to imply that it would make a very beautiful skirt, and a while later, I created Grey Study with Alison. I think I am very lucky to live in an environment with an abundance of opportunities to bump into amazing materials. I also think that repeat exposure to these places and materials is part of my process. The daily requirement of walking my dogs is a boon to my artistic practice.
Your work often centres on the body and its relationship to nature. Do you think sexism affects how women’s bodies are represented in the arts? How does this influence your portrayal of the female form in your work?
I think sexism affects every aspect of our lives as women. I have come to understand that women, the natural world, and all marginalized groups have been the victims of a patriarchal system of overarching violence and systemic discrimination.
We can easily observe the tidal wave of patriarchal assaults that have occurred since Trump took office. His very first actions were to compromise and reduce the rights of women, marginalized groups (immigrants, LGBTQIA+, and people of color), and the natural world. With my work, I attempt to elevate women while also expressing my reverence for the natural world. This is my way of counteracting the weight of patriarchy in my own life. It’s my personal antidote. I view the women depicted in my work as goddesses. I hope the world views them this way as well.
In the context of the ongoing climate crisis, how can art serve as a force that transforms the inner world of the observer, creating a change in the outer landscape? How do you personally experience this connection through your creative process?
I sort of stumbled, quite luckily, into making this body of work. So I was surprised when, after making Grass Cocoon, I received an enormous outpouring of interest in my work. I can only surmise that many other people, like myself, were wanting to deepen their connection with the natural world, and that my work perhaps gave them a way to imagine doing that. Seeing women resting on the Earth, connected to it somehow and at peace there, has perhaps served as a reminder to some people of our shared history of deep connection to the natural world.
All of our ancestors had a working relationship with the natural world. Back in the day, if you couldn’t read the natural world, you wouldn’t survive in it. The natural world is talking to us now, in quite clear language, but we are so divorced from it, that many can’t hear it.
I often say that this body of work was a product of my anxiety about climate change. I can’t fix climate change. I can drive a hybrid, and recycle like crazy, and support the right causes, but none of that is going to fix it. This work that I make… this is the thing that I can do. Mary Oliver’s poetry offers readers of her work a sense of kinship and shared understanding of the value of the natural world. How many of us have felt restored to sanity or serenity by Wendell Berry’s poem The Peace of Wild Things? This is what artists can do. We can inspire others, move them, restore them, and comfort them. I think this is the most that I can aspire to do with my one wild and precious life.
What does vulnerability mean to you? How do you experience vulnerability as a human, a woman, and an artist?
I think the concept of vulnerability involves being or feeling exposed and either not having a means of self-protection or choosing to not self-protect. My perception of my own vulnerability has shifted as I have gotten older. I’ve endured a catastrophic personal loss, and I am navigating a lifelong grief journey as a result. This kind of thing changes you. While in many ways, I have never felt more vulnerable and have had to shelter myself from the world, in other ways I have grown less fearful. As an artist, I feel more able to trust myself. I feel less fearful of rejection. I feel that making this work is my truest calling and that my one job is to answer that call. It’s an enormous relief really, to finally know why I am here and to just follow the trail of breadcrumbs that keeps appearing before me. I am deeply grateful for this meaningful path.
Nature in your work evokes a reflection on time and transformation. How do you explore the themes of change and decay in your pieces?
I’ve noticed this spring that I have been feeling a little bit sad about all the leaves coming out and beginning to obscure the structure of the trees that I love! I had to laugh at myself the other day when I realized this. I must be one of the few people I know who isn’t thrilled to see the trees filling out with green. I do love green. It’s my favorite color in fact. But I am obsessed with the structure of deciduous trees when they are bare. The calligraphic mark-making of their branches is very beautiful to me. I also sometimes think I prefer dead grasses over living grasses. Likewise, I am attracted to the dried fennel and dried Queen Anne’s lace that are still standing in our fields this late spring. I am similarly attracted to dead branches and all manner of other dried plants. I’ve embraced this fascination and I have often used decaying elements in my work. Perhaps it’s a gift to be able to find beauty in dead things. Much of my work decays and composts back into the Earth after a photo shoot, which I find satisfying.
How would you describe your inner landscape at the moment? What is the source of your imagination?
My inner landscape is often a challenging place. I struggle there. But I am still able to feel an overwhelming sense of awe most days when I arrive at a destination with my dogs. The feeling of awe is an extraordinary thing. It stops me in my tracks. It brings me into the moment. And it fills me with gratitude. It’s an amazing thing to recognise in oneself that we can suffer and still feel grateful.
The natural world continues to be my source of inspiration and imagination.
I still feel pulled towards my photographic projects with women in nature. I have also been making sculptures in the studio again, which helps me to more fully express and explore my own unique human experience.
Reverence is the deep respect and acknowledgement of the interconnectedness of all beings, recognising the value and significance of every story, culture, and experience. Do you consider your work a reflection of reverence for these connections, and how does that shape the stories you tell through your work?
Yes, my work is an expression of my reverence for the natural world and for the sacred bond that we humans are meant to have with it. My relationship with the natural world is of primary importance. It is a marriage. I feel a kind of overwhelming love for it. And when we feel that kind of true love for someone or something, we want and need to express it somehow. My work is an expression of the love that I feel for the natural world.
We are all, whether we admit it to ourselves or not, in a committed relationship with the natural world. We are part of its fabric. There can be no “us” without “it.” My work is an expression of this interconnectedness.
Words by Jeanne K Simmons
Introduction and Interview by Virginia Passaro
