To Make a Pond Reflect Twice

My earliest memories are of the Ocala, Florida 'farm' my father moved the family to. It was isolated, or at least it felt that way. The roads at the time were still muddy clay, not asphalt, and we had what felt like miles of forest between us and anyone else. I think that overwhelming fear and fascination with the unknown, with what the forests 'held', is imbedded in a lot of my work. So it isn't the landscape of tropical Miami so much as the southern gothic mood of northern Florida that I'm typically drawn to. It's hard to describe, but things grow differently up there.
– Hernan Bas