Creative Currency

Whole numbers

I am now rich with sand dollars.  Not the broken shells typically found in my childhood beach hunts, but perfectly whole specimens of this sea urchin treasure.

Seriously – we are talking the mother lode of sand dollars.

Never have I seen such a gorgeous array of sizes and colors of whole sand dollars washed up on the beach, Cayucos, California, September 2020.

So, what does an artist do with so much natural wealth?

Simple – leave it behind in exchange for creative inspiration that only the coast can generously offer.

Welcome to California’s Central Coast!

Bank holiday

My latest journey to visit my daughters living in San Luis Obispo filled my pockets up in more ways than one. 

Christmas was the last time I saw my oldest daughter, Devon, and the pandemic had cancelled a springtime trip to play on the beach with all four of us together.

So, two weeks relaxing oceanside with my kids this past month was a true gift. 

Hiking Harmony Headlands with my kids, Zsofi, Devon and Mason, August 2020. So much fun!

Exploring the sea cliffs at Montaña de Oro and Harmony Headlands state parks, watching my girls surf at Dog Beach and Moonstone, and catching some pretty sweet sunsets brought some big smiles.

Devon living the surfer’s life on Dog Beach in Cayucos, California, September 2020.

Zsofi shredding it on a foggy day at Moonstone Beach, Cambria, California, August 2020.

It also brought me the opportunity to connect more deeply with my surroundings by leaving small installation offerings as an ephemeral payment of gratitude.

Thank you, Central Coast.

Frozen assets

To tender ice as an artistic medium on a windy beach is exciting stuff.

Finding the perfect spot to create a brief visual experience involves sand, stone and surf.  And, as you might imagine, not all places freely accept my form of creative currency.

You have to place a lot of ice to get a lucky shot, and luckily, the failures melt fast! Moonstone Beach, Cambria, California, September 2020.

But, failed attempts are all part of the trek, and without the stagger there can be no sparkle. 

Ice installation is a true balancing act of patience and persistence. Cayucos Beach, California, August 2020.

All of the rejected installations are rewarded with laughter and lessons of letting go - critical elements of building a balanced artistic practice.

Bag of sand

Two beaches that are especially generous in their inspirational exchange along the Central Coast are the pebbly Moonstone and the long sandy strand stretching from Morro Bay to Cayucos.  Although waves crash against both to sculpt the tideline, there are unique features at each one that draw me in time and time again.

•  MOONSTONE

Say hello to a rock hound’s paradise of agates, jade and jasper.  Every visit I make to the area requires a few hours simply sifting through the stones.  So, leaving a small ice installation to mimic the colors of the tumbled rocks felt perfectly placed.

Blue butterfly pea, hibiscus, spirulina and turmeric created beautifully vibrant ice sticks to complement the colorful stones on Moonstone Beach, Cambria, California, September 2020.

The honeycomb banks of sandstone at Moonstone are another fascination of mine that has spurred inspirational curiosity on every trip.  While others leave pebble offerings in the rounded crevices, my donation materialized as ice orbs of frozen hibiscus, spirulina and blue butterfly pea.

Ice orbs mixing with the salty spray of Moonstone Beach honeycomb rocks, Cambria, California, September 2020.

The wind whipped hard on the beach that day, adding to the expressive challenges, but my incredible kids stuck by my side (behind a driftwood shield!) so their free-spirited mom could artfully play.

Love you guys! 

• CAYUCOS

While this beach charmed me with its trove of whole sand dollars, it was the long, slow tide and larger rock outcrops that inspired my icy installations.

The proximity to our house made it an especially great space to experiment with frozen shapes across several days and in different light.

As the tide stretched in and out, tidal pools exposed vibrant sea anemones and their starfish friends. 

The neon glow of the sea anemone at low tide was breathtaking, Cayucos Beach, California, September 2020.

The variation of barnacle formations and mussels on the exposed rocks created intriguing complements to the melting blue cylinders of ice.

Perhaps the most compelling geological feature was a sea stack that brought back memories of an installation adventure in Lofoten, Norway in 2018.

Granite Stack ice installation in Lofoten, Norway is one of my very favorite shots, October 2018.

I made several attempts to capture the essence of Granite Stack, and was treated to a special image in exchange for hours quietly washed away by the California tide.

Mussel Stack ice installation in honor of Granite Stack, Cayucos Beach, California, September 2020.

Stack ‘em deep

Seems that my creative reserves have been happily refilled by my time on the Central Coast, and for that I’m thankful. 

The rush of excitement I felt by collecting fistfuls of sand dollars was immediately followed by a natural impulse to interact with their subtle beauty.

Sorting, stacking and releasing them back to the sea is somehow intertwined with the curiosity that drives my installation practice.

How comforting to know I can bank on this coastal inspiration forever.

The Tambark Ten

Frozen

The itch to travel runs deep in my veins.  Funny enough, I’m also strangely content to hole up in my home for long stretches of time.  Perhaps the balance for me is having an alternating pulse of movement and stillness.

With travel at a standstill, walking has become my movement of choice this spring, and as luck would have it, a small forested land sits opposite my house – Tambark Park.  Daily excursions into the lush greenery spurred inspiration that translated into a surprisingly abundant creative surge starring two of my art darlings:  ice and installation.

Shot glass ice installations popping up all over the place!

Boy, have I missed you two!

100 steps

Heading into the fourth 10-day chapter in #The100DayProject, I committed to placing installation right outside my front door.  Until now, I had connected my installation practice solely to the exploration of distant lands – a way for me to personally interact with a landscape that provided wonder and inspiration.

One of many ice installations inspired by the breathtaking beauty of Iceland, December 2017.

You don’t have to go far in the PNW to have this sensory experience of marvel.   Slowing down and opening up to my local surroundings brought me simple joy, loads of chuckles and some pretty sweet photos.

Organic dyes of avocado, turmeric and red cabbage melting in all their glory.

Let’s meander through these 10 days together.

Spark

Full disclosure - I stole the idea to place installation in Tambark Park.

As the world shut down in March, a beautiful trend of leaving small gifts of love and hope emerged.  Walking the trails, I started noticing flowering plants that were not indigenous to the undergrowth.

Did forest elves plant these colorful treats amongst the cedars?

It took the brightly colored blooms at the base of several looming evergreens to notice a pattern:  Someone was planting these in the darkest corners of the forest to offer light.

Another sweet offering scattered across the property were colorfully painted rocks.  Spying the hidden stones became a visual treasure hunt I looked forward to playing every day.

Some of the painted treasures even had messages of hope.

These acts of kindness poked at my creativity, and so bloomed 10 days of installation.

Icy roads

Colors from nature first appeared in my art as a non-toxic way to tint the ice pieces I placed in Iceland in 2017 – the launching point for my installation practice.

Winter sunset through blue butterfly pea and red cabbage in the Westfjords of Iceland, December 2017.

Frozen climates eventually graduated to balmy locations to push the limits of ice as an ephemeral medium.

From tiny rental refrigerators to mobile coolers meant for chilling wine and travel snacks, I froze all kinds of shapes and sizes of water infused with plant-based organic dyes I brewed.  I took some crazy pride in the lengths I went to transport my frozen works of art to their installation destination.

The ice cooler is a must-have on installation road trips, Maui June 2018.

Ice was an obvious choice for Tambark Park to stay true to my project of #100DaysOfNaturalColor.  And to be honest, I never had it so easy!  Using my full-sized freezer, packing a thermal lunch bag and walking no more than 10 minutes to place installation was an absolute dream.

The beauty of ombre dyes frozen in a full size freezer is pure magic.

Note to self:  it doesn’t always have to be so difficult!

Secret garden

Tambark Park has a network of trails that meander through a mixed woodland.  The search for more pristine locations, however, had me traipsing off the beaten path where I found some amazing nooks and crannies in the greenery.

Ice stack placed where few have ventured except for fallen trees.

I may have been only 20 feet from the footpath I walked every day, but it transported me back to the days of my childhood where we spent muggy summer days hunting for hidden places in the brush to build forts and play hide-n-seek.

Bumping into fellow hikers in Tambark Park while reemerging from the secret spaces always garnered a curious look and sometimes even a smile.

The green light

Blazing my way through the thicket meant I stumbled into some of the PNW iconic vegetation:  erupting ferns, fuzzy tufts of moss, horsetail reed and skunk cabbage.  Such variations of green allowed for creative play that produced a visual tension with the vivid colors of the frozen botanical dyes.

A colorful shoot of ice in the midst of fern fronds.

The woody stumps of fallen trees provided sumptuous textures in a wonderfully neutral palette that also allowed the ice to shine.

Ice marbles wedged into weathered wood.

Possibly the second most exciting discovery was bumping into stinging nettles.  Yes, they left their painful mark on my hand, but without this accidental collision, I would not have been able to identify this weedy herb.

The stinging nettle that bit me during installation will be a welcome addition to my dye pot.

Soon I will head back to collect the leaves because they make the most incredible gray-green dye, a color not easy to find in nature ironically.

Creature comfort

And what would the flora be without the fauna?  Hiding among all of this incredible foliage, I was treated to chance encounters with all kinds of animals:

• Rabbits flourish here and spring is the time of baby bunnies.

• One lone squirrel would rustle in the trees in the same spot almost every day

• A bat swooshed just above my head on a twilight installation.

• Even a snake slithered its way across my path!

But, the ultimate treat, and yes, THE MOST exciting discovery was a tiny friend who joined me on the very first installation.

The first ice installation in Tambark Park had an unexpected spectator (see below photo).

Thanks to patiently waiting for the streams of sunlight to hit just the right spot, I was lucky enough to catch a glimpse, and a photo, of this sweet tree frog.

The tree frog who sat quietly for more than an hour while I placed ice and returned to its melted remains.

She didn’t dash away, and even when I returned an hour later to check on the ice melt, she was still cozy in her hole, taking in the afternoon rays.

Ice flow

Where there are frogs, there is water, and Tambark Park has a lowland marshy vibe trickling everywhere.  Many a day was spent mucking through spongey ground to install, but I also examined how a stream’s gentle current would dance with my ice pieces.

Mother’s Day ice installation in honor of my mom, Maia, who passed away May 31, 2019.

I’ve played with kinetic energy in my installation work, and certainly the simple act of melting is an inherent trait of mobility in ice. 

However, running water provided many more layers of movement to explore:  Releasing, floating, bobbing, flowing, dissolving, and ultimately, disappearing.

Frozen floats of organic dyes in Tambark Creek gone within minutes of placing this installation.

Movement, in fact, may be implicit in the ephemeral – an idea I am just now realizing.

Micro-living

Ten tiny days of micro-travel has had a macro-impact on a deeper understanding of my creative practice.  Slowing down to open the senses to my immediate surroundings has brought wide open space for reflection.  Yet again, I’m reminded that movement can be a collective effort of small steps, as long as I actively nurture its momentum.

10x10

Natural order

I’m a big fan of squares in my art.

To be more accurate, I should probably broaden that statement to say ‘I love parallelograms’ because rectangles and rhombi pop into my artwork as well.  Since a square is a kind of rectangle and rhombus, but neither a rectangle nor a rhombus is necessarily a square, I may want to be more inclusive of the linear shapes that have inspired me for decades.

All kinds of naturally dyed parallelograms playing on this canvas!

Side note:  Can you tell that I’ve been tutoring my son, Mason, in geometry this spring?

So, as I sat down to write this month’s Trail Tale to share my journey into #The100DayProject, I realized I was playing with squares again.  Only this time, in an algebraic way:  10x10=100, or more simply written 10².

Projection

When mixed media artist, Natalie Dadamio, suggested I try #The100DayProject this year, I thought it would be a fantastic way to deepen my commitment to my creative practice.  Knowing I would be grounded from travel, at least of the air variety, diving into 100 days of a focused art ‘project’ seemed like a wonderful way to enrich the time in my home studio.

We used to have a kitchen island, but that real estate is now gone, along with the dining room table.

But why 100 days, and how would this differ from the extensive hours in the ‘off-hours’ that I’ve already heavily invested in this crazy creative biz dream of mine?

Seems the consensus is as follows on the power of 100 days of focus:

• It is long enough to create a habit

• It is short enough to see the finish line

• It requires setting an achievable goal

• It demands planning to allocate time and space

• It is extremely helpful to break it up into manageable micro-steps

Coincidentally, three of my 2020 goals are hovering right now in the 100 day range.  Making healthy nutrition choices, increasing movement and meditating have become daily habits.  Ways of living that seemed to elude me throughout the years are wonderfully entrenched in my world today.

And, I’m at least 10x10 times happier.

All smiles on the cochineal farm in Oaxaca, Mexico, March 2020.

 100 days of art….bring it on!

Hash it out

First thing first was to decide what my 100 Day Project focus would be.  As you may have noticed, I suffer from a kind of creative distraction disorder.  My artwork crosses all kinds of discipline and medium lines as my curiosity drags me from one to another and back again.

So, how was I to choose just one of my many passions?

Easy:  #100DaysOfMultiPassion

But, in an effort to corral those multi-passions of mine into a more cohesive project, I needed a theme.

One idea came to me naturally:  #100DaysOfColorsFromNature

The rainbow of mineral pigments I foraged while on residency in Oaxaca, Mexico, March 2020.

Now, with not one, but two hashtags declaring my project, there was one tiny manageable micro-step I had to take.

Breaking it all down by 10.

Chunky monkey

As I hit publish on this blog, I’m about to celebrate my 25th day – one quarter done! For those of you following my adventures on Instagram, you have had a preview of where these 100 days are meandering.  For those of you on Facebook – sorry!

Breaking the project down into 10 days each of 10 different ‘topics’ surrounding natural color felt like the perfect solution to keep me on task.  Plus, I argued, it would allow me to truly explore all of the ways nature’s palette has inspired my art.

Pigment color studies from the regions of Peru where we explored and foraged in June/July 2019.

If you’ve read this far, you are in for a sneak peek of the full 10x10 plan.  Plus, I’ll throw in a little commentary and few more photos of chunks 1 and 2 (Days 1-20) which have already flown by:

Days 1-10: Natural dyes

• I may have started using organic colors in ice, but the list of materials I have dyed from nature also include textile, paper, bioplastics and even eggs.  I may have left out mung bean and dough in this project, but I added a new piece to the dye mix – ink!

Cookin’ colors in the kitchen to make inks from red cabbage, black bean, avocado skins and turmeric.

Days 11-20: Mineral pigments

• Over the past 1.5 years, I widened my color scope to include the earth beneath my traveling feet.  Each day, I shared some of the subtle hues I foraged from 7 unique locations:  Washington, Idaho, Oregon and California on the west coast, Pennsylvania to the east and Mexico and Peru to the south.

Pigmented stones foraged along Wissahickon Creek in Philadelphia, PA, July 2019.

Days 21-30: Textile colors

• I’m midstream in the 3rd chunk and creation is underway.  Every day I’m building a quick color study with textile remnants I have collected from larger pieces I built in Oaxaca.  The idea is to push the design from a limited natural palette in a small space.

Textile Stack Series of quick color studies during #The100DayProject. Drop me a line to purchase.

If you want a piece of the action, each one of these mixed media works on canvas is for sale at $40.

What a steal of a deal!

Now the next 7 chunks are part of the plan, but I reserve the right to make adjustments along the way:

Days 31-40: Installation – I will place 10 new naturally colored sculpture clusters within 0.5 miles of my house.

Days 41-50: Oaxaca Minis – I will build 10 new 8x8 textile works on canvas from the full Oaxaca color range.

Days 51-60: Bioplastics –  I will brew up all kinds of wonder with gelatin, algae and botanical dyes.

Translucency and botanical dyes all wrapped up in bioplastics.

Days 61-70: Monoprints – I’ve wanted to explore this technique, so I plan to create 10 pieces using only natural colors.

Days 71-80: Three shape challenge - Textile

Days 81-90: Three shape challenge - Monoprint

Days 91-100: Three shape challenge:  Installation

Let’s just say the last 3 chunks are meant to hold my feet to the ‘simplicity’ fire. 

The same artist who enticed me to join #The100DayProject (Natalie Dadamio), also challenged me to ONLY use three shapes in my work during the 100 days.  I figured 3 chunks totaling 30 days fit perfectly into the 3 shapes theme.

The 3 primary colors very cooly represented by turmeric, red beet and blue butterfly pea infused ice.

These three are for you, Natalie!

Cubism

Riding shotgun to my 100 days, Mason has found a teeny space for his geometry book on the dining table that is now smack dab in the middle of my studio, aka our kitchen.

We started solving for volume this past week.  All of the 2 dimensional shapes have introduced their 3 dimensional siblings:  spheres, cones, pyramids and cylinders.

 And yes, the glorious square is full of pride and flaunting its cube cousin just to make me smile!

My trusty installation travel buddies: earth pigment painted paper pulp blocks. Stack ‘em up!

I sure do love cubes…naturally.

The colorful Mr. Biv

The stuff of rainbows

Don’t know about you, but I have a handful of tricks up my sleeve to remember trivial bits of information.  I am the maven of mnemonics:

• Need to know how many days there are in April?  Got my knuckles for that.

• That 5 letter Great Lake messing up your crossword puzzle? Try H.O.M.E.S. on for size.

• Pulling out the crayons to draw your sweetheart a rainbow?  I’d like you to meet Mr. Roy G. Biv

I think it was my grade school art teacher, Mr. Malley, who taught us how to remember the seven colors of the rainbow.  (Yes, I had a full time art teacher with a dedicated art room when I was a kid!).

Mr. Biv has been a tool in my paint caddy ever since.

The organic colors of the rainbow hand-dyed on paper in my residency studio in Oaxaca, Mexico.

So, of course, Mr. Biv was my travel companion to my artist residency in Oaxaca, Mexico, last month as I continued my quest to find the rainbow in nature’s palette.  Let’s just say, we found all seven of his colorful letters and then some! 

Red

The color of love (among many other things) is a highly sought after hue that has a history connected to imperialism and revolution.  Minerals of hematite and cinnabar, the root of madder and several parasitic creatures have been foraged and crushed so we can bathe in red.

One insect in particular has become the darling in the wide world of dye:  cochineal. 

I had only bumped into cochineal about a year ago when I was preparing for my residency in Iceland.  Visiting a dye master in the countryside two hours north of Reykjavik, Guðrún Bjarnadóttir shared the secret sauce of her scarlet wool yarn.

The gorgeous hand-dyed Icelandic wool of Hespa Iceland. Looks like a neutral cochineal soak to me with those bright fuchsias peeking through.

She had a large jar of cochineal that she imported to Iceland as her ancestors had done before.  You see, red and its variations are not natural colors found in Iceland.

Cochineal is a parasite that lives on the nopales cactus indigenous to present day Mexico and Peru.

The white powder of the cochineal insect dusting nopales cacti before harvest.

Contrary to what you may think, the red comes from carminic acid, not blood, which acts as a deterrent against predators.  Or, if you are human, it seems you are wildly attracted to it!

Working for three weeks on a cochineal farm in Santa Maria Colotepec in Oaxaca, Mexico, the secrets of its beauty were slowly revealed to me.

All the lovely shades of cochineal hanging out in wool yarn on the farm near Oaxaca, Mexico.

But, not only did this tiny insect produce the most amazing carmine color, it played a starring role in many of Mr. Biv’s letters.

Orange

Beyond the measurements I wrote about in last month’s Trail Tale, dyeing incorporates some elements of chemistry. 

Who remembers those little litmus strips from your high school lab?  Well, turns out cochineal is sensitive to the pH level in the dye bath.  Add a bunch of lemon juice, aka. acid, and mira - orange!

Shifting cochineal neutral by squeezing lemons. The secret of playing with pH!

Makes me chuckle to think that adding yellow to red actually makes orange in this corner of the dye world.  Trust me, that isn’t a hard and fast rule in dye chemistry, but cochineal happily plays along.

Yellow

I know what you’re thinking:  lemon juice must be a key ingredient in yellow dye.  Nope.  I have recently seen Sasha Duerr, a natural dye specialist, create yellow from citrus skins, but in Oaxaca, we used pericon.

You may know this native herb as Mexican tarragon or marigold, both of which are used as dye in other parts of the world.  The pericon grown and harvested on the cochineal farm, however, produced a gloriously vibrant yellow that demanded visual attention.

The green leaves of pericon cooking up some instense yellow on silk strips I used for installation in Oaxaca.

Move over marigold – you may have a rival nipping at your heels, but pericon may be tough to find in my local PNW nursery.

Green

When it comes to the plant world, it’s not easy being green.

Both, Guðrún Bjarnadóttir and Manuel, my Oaxacan dye master, utilize the primary color theory to achieve green.  First you dye with yellow (pericon or another yellow source), and then you over-dye with blue (indigo), another elusive color rarely found in nature. Voila - green!

Although I attempted this on the farm with my wool yarn samples, I struggled with the indigo (more on that below).  That didn’t stop me from experimenting in my own dye studio on days away from the farm, and I had some success.

Who knew the cold sludge of fermenting black beans could tease out such gorgeous greens?

No over-dye step required here.  Just a 2 day cold soak in fermented black beans! 

I was expecting a grayish blue dye result when I bought the dried beans in the Mercado 20 de Noviembre.  You just never know with natural dye - the surprise element is one of its sweetest characteristics. 

Blue

If you think red is tough, you haven’t met blue yet.  Treasured minerals of lapis lazuli and azurite are pigments of royalty.  In the plant kingdom, indigo is queen.

The cochineal farm is an educational venue exclusively focused on the natural dyes of the region, and indigo has roots in the tropical climate of the Oaxacan coastline.  Manuel grows every plant we used on the farm, but his indigo suffers in the dry heat.  So, as traders have done for centuries, Manuel brings his indigo crystals from the coast.

Grinding indigo with mortar and pestle before adding it to the dye pot.

Extracting color from indigo is a labor intensive process and one that requires humility and reverence. I was quickly humbled by the mystery of blue.

Indigo

With all the work that went into making 12 dye pots to create 40 unique colors over three weeks, saving indigo for last didn’t surprise me.  However, I soon realized that rushing indigo at the end did not honor its spirit, and so it did not fully share its color with me.

The many shades of indigo from an ignored dye pot hanging out with no-fuss cochineal orange.

When I explained how tough my day with indigo had been, a local artist told me the secret of the blue goddess: one must be fully present without distraction or haste.

I love this thought.  It rings true across so many aspects of life, and so now indigo is yet another gentle reminder of the beauty of presence.

Violet

The last letter in Mr. Biv’s name was a dual effort in the organic realm.  That sneaky, chameleon of a dye, cochineal, can be shifted to a yummy color of the violet persuasion.  All the alchemist has to do is sprinkle in minerals (various recipe options) which can shift the pH balance to alter the hue.

Cochineal neutral plus 15% alum working its violet magic!

No minerals to be had – no problem:  muicle to the rescue!  Picking the leaves of this medicinal shrub on the farm produced a lovely violet dye as well.  I doubt these leaves are sold in my local farmer’s market, so they may be a color treat solely for the Oaxacan palette.

Dye me a river

The colorful experience I was so lucky to have in Oaxaca is not soon to be forgotten. Just ask Mr. Biv.

But, that hasn’t stopped me from building my own mnemonic device to capture some of the amazing tips I learned, and a few of the easy kitchen recipes that can produce a rainbow.

Feeling inspired to get your dye on now? Click here for the Cookin’ Color Brew Booklet to see if you can catch Roy G. Biv just like I did!

xoxo - Byrdie

Beyond Measure

For good measure

One of my new favorite sayings is ‘you can’t manage what you don’t measure’.  It is a gem of Peter Drucker’s thought that I’ve applied to just about everything in my life recently:

• The food I’m eating, particularly the sugar (cause of most evil in the world!)

• The growing number on my email list (many, many thanks to all of you!)

• The distance and length of time of my daily walk (finally a habit!)

I’m sure I’ve annoyed my closest friends by spewing this wisdom a few too many times.

Funny enough, measurement is strangely absent from much of my creative practice.  My tendency is to eye it, guesstimate, and just plain wing it most of the time.  The result is an inexplicable delight of the unknown.

Will it work?  I never know, but I trust the surprise I may stumble upon is often better than any measured steps I could have meticulously planned.

Bob Ross calls these happy accidents, and I’m perfectly content crashing into some of my most beloved creations.

Bumping into the one and only Bob Ross at the Funko headquarters in Everett, WA 2019.

Drastic measures

Having a happy accident in art school may have started this trend of semi-controlled spontaneity.  It is an example I speak of often, and I believe I may have even mentioned it in a Trail Tales blog of yore.  Forgive the repetition, but I suppose that is how what we learn can truly sink in.

At the University of Montana, the Ceramics Department is world-renowned, many thanks to the unique work of Rudy Autio that pushed the conventional boundaries of clay.  As a BFA student, everyone is required to take Ceramics 101 at the very minimum.

One of the beautiful slices of U of M art school is that it was the most welcoming, inclusive, non-competitive and encouraging environments I have ever experienced.  I count myself extraordinarily lucky as I understand this experience is not always shared among other BFA programs.

Walking in as a complete newbie, I was wowed by the amazing work being produced by the graduate students, and incredibly inspired to bumble my way through an art form that has its roots in measurement.  My professor, Beth Lo, was kind and generous in sharing her knowledge of this ancient art form, and I honestly tried to follow all the steps on each project we were assigned.

Honest.

Our final project was a chance to design anything we wanted to be saggar-fired in a vessel we built ourselves.  As my 3D intrigue was beginning to bubble, as well as my installation curiosity and unexplained love of all things square, I knew exactly what mixed media magic I wanted to create, and I quickly sketched the design and built a board to describe my vision.

One of my BFA thesis mixed media pieces used in an installation. This was the vision I had for my ceramics project.

When Professor Lo pulled the vessel from the fire, she warned me that I would be extremely disappointed in the result because it was nothing like what I had planned.

The center piece of the biggest mistake in my art career, 1995.

True, the 5 cube forms were not the smooth porcelain surface I was after, nor the rusty colors of the earth.  They were a bubbly mess of grays and blues with ashen edges.  My idea of embedding polaroid transfers into the center square was quickly washed away by residual globules of mis-measured glazes that had an unexpected combustion soirée in the kiln.

I was blown away, smiling from ear to ear, because I could never have planned such surprising beauty.  At that moment, my professor told me I would be well-suited in the wild world of art.

Measure up

For the past two years, I have become passionate about extracting color from nature.  Much of this was driven by a desire to use only organic matter in my installation practice, particularly when leaving a piece of art to dissipate into the earth.

Starting in my kitchen, I began brewing colors from spices and vegetables I found in my cabinets and fridge.  From there, I became curious about foraging for botanicals and experimented by creating dyes from seaweed and lichen.  My longstanding love of stone lead me to the world of minerals and earth pigments.  Yes, I am officially addicted to the quest for a natural palette.

The colors of the rainbow courtesy of Moonstone Beach in Cambria, CA.

And, the exploration continues.  Today, I am writing from my artist residency studio in Oaxaca, Mexico, a global center for textiles and botanical dyeing.  My intention is to learn by doing with hands-on instruction from a dye master of the region, as opposed to my stand-by instructor known as the internet.

How will things measure up?

In short measure

As I’ve quietly entered the wide world of natural dyeing, I’ve become acutely aware that ratios, weights and recipes are quite important in assuring a desired color result.  I have the utmost respect for the long history of passing precise knowledge from master to pupil.  Beyond that, I am humbly grateful to have the unique opportunity to simply learn about botanical dyeing.

My master, Manuel, teaching me the Zapotec dye tradition from the Oaxacan region in Mexico, Feb 2020.

Manuel, the dye master in my residency, has shared many local practices along with some practical advice about what to avoid:

• Don’t let your dye come to a boil to avoid losing the colorant to vapor

• Don’t brew your textile with your botanical material to avoid splotching

• Don’t let the textile touch the bottom of the dye pot to avoid color variation

• Don’t stray far from the ratio of plant-to-water-to-textile to avoid weak color saturation

• Don’t dry your fabric in the direct sunlight to avoid quick color fading

All of this makes perfect sense in the world of order and consistency, but as Manuel noted, none of it is a guarantee of color perfection to match your mind’s eye. It’s Mother Nature’s job to figure that out for you.

With this wisdom, I believe I’m perfectly suited for organic dyeing.   The joy I experience is in the unique variation of color that nature chooses to surprise me with every single time.

First color swatches in my residency studio with textiles brought from the US and NL. Excited for the wool yarn soon to dye at the farm with Manuel!

In fact, I hope to never dye the same color twice, and splotches – bring ‘em on!

In equal measures

On my mantle, I lovingly display the biggest mistake of my BFA program, and my most cherished piece of art.  These explosive cubes of clay are a constant reminder that although measurement is important, celebrating the unexpected is the spark of life.

Wonder what color surprises Oaxaca holds for me the next few weeks? Stick around for the big reveal in next month’s Trail Tales!