One element of landscape that commonly recurs in my work is manicured grass. I am fascinated by the various and divergent ways that grass functions symbolically in American culture. Suburban lawns, interrupted only by driveways and occasional trees, spread across the horizon forming a park-like expanse, not dissimilar to the landscaping around old world manor houses, giving inhabitants a sense of social stability and calm. Bright green lawns in drought-stricken areas, however, speak of excess wealth and squandered resources. A freshly cut lawn evokes the sweet smell of childhood freedom and play, while unkempt lawns reflect a lack of social conformity and questionable moral standing. Conversely, grass is often used as a placeholder, an impersonal non-entity holding down dirt in transitional spaces like hell strips, medians, and highway dividers.