Over the past couple of years, I have reconnected with the field of ecological restoration: the process of assisting the recovery of natural areas that have been degraded, damaged, or destroyed.

Destruction takes many forms, loss accumulates in layers, and sometimes the past peeks through in unexpected moments. The 40-acre prairie I restored in Kansas as part of my master’s degree, for example, was paved over for a housing development several years after I left the area, but memories of the bobcat I saw there and the compass plant that took root stay with me. More recently, my children left for college, and my husband was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive form of cancer. I find myself seeking connection, collaboration, and community—anything that can provide a sense of hardiness and hope.

In ecological restoration, the interaction of available light, water, seeds, animals (including humans), history of use, and more create subtle and more overt variations in the biological community that emerges; diversity leads to resilience. Similarly, we need a diversity of ideas to solve the problems that our world faces. I’ve discovered that joining forces with others doing similar work helps me stay engaged during those inevitable times when I feel small, lost, or ineffective.

These images show details from Revel:Reveal, a large installation piece. Each panel is the result of my collaboration with the materials: reclaimed wood panels (and a great deal of help from my father-in-law to cut them to size), thin, fragile rice paper, and transparent tracing paper; inks I made from acorn caps I gathered from a sculpture park, and black walnuts from trees on our hillside; charcoal from a recent project that felt cathartic and healing; and two commercially produced watercolors. I embraced the lack of control I sometimes had over these materials, and simply followed and gently guided the process. Ultimately, the layers on each panel show the imprint of time; evidence of history, use, and place interact to create the images that emerge.

Working on this series of small panels helped me capture the tapestry effect typical of microsites within restored areas, and of the patchy network of remaining wild lands that make up our world today. It also made the task of creating the original large interconnected installation feel more manageable. Like the natural world, each piece has many points of entry—a reminder that when it comes to doing the work of healing our planet, all are welcome, regardless of background or skill level.