The Art of Craft

Small craft advisory

As an artist, I aspire to be crafty.

Forget the misguided, and tragically oppressive Western narrative of ‘high art’ as somehow ‘enlightened’ and more valuable than the exquisite beauty found across all creative expression labeled as ‘craft’. 

If you can translate an idea from mind to hand, the material is immaterial – you are an artist - plain and simple.

My creative curiosity has led me down a crafty path or two, and I’m now enamored with one diversion so often associated with handiwork:  natural dyeing.

Some of my kitchen favorites for natural dye: avocado, turmeric, red cabbage and black bean.

While I could fight against the notion that this diminishes the value of my art, why would I entertain such a silly thought?

Nope.  I choose to celebrate, my artist friends, so let’s get crafting with natural color!

Color classics

Focusing on colors from nature in #The100DayProject has filled my fridge with an incredible rainbow of botanical dyes.

Dyes brewed from foraged plants and food scraps during #The100DayProject.

Every time I find a new plant to brew, I add to my collection.  When I see a color missing, I go searching for a plant.  It is a never-ending exploratory cycle.

10 dye plants foraged from Tambark Park and my garden waste to study local flora colors.

As I shared my project, and the art I created with these dyes, I could hear the buzz all around me as people became curious themselves.  Certainly interested, and maybe even inspired, to learn about natural dyes.

I get this.  I have a history of being intrigued myself.   It’s how this passion for organic color grew and how I learned what I know so far.  Ironically, it seems the more you know, the more you want to know.

Having had many of the same questions when I started my love affair with nature’s palette in 2017, I have been searching high and low for answers ever since.

When I learned from a Dutch artist that seaweed was a sustainable source of dye, I headed to Iceland to investigate.

And, because sharing is caring, I’m very excited to tell you a secret I’ve been keeping all to myself:

Starting in August 2020, I will be releasing short tutorial videos and mini-courses all about the incredible world of natural color.  My intention is to build a place where you can easily find the basics to get you inspired to add color to your life naturally.

Soon to be released YouTube channel, Cookin’ Color, with short video tutorials on organic dyes, August 2020.

The topic is HUGE.  There are so many options and different approaches to extracting color, plus a multitude of ways to use it.

For me, organic color has been an integral part of my installation practice, and more recently my mixed media work.  But a beautiful aspect of natural color is that it is available to everyone, no matter where you consider yourself on the art/craft spectrum.

Bioplastics cooked and cured with natural dyes in my kitchen studio in June 2020.

And, the botanical dye in my fridge right now is a perfect example of the countless ways we can weave natural color into almost everything.

Nature’s bounty

Finding a way to create color in an ephemeral installation without hurting an environment is how I got hooked on natural dyes.  But as my #100DaysOfNaturesColors meandered its way through botanical dyes and earth pigments, I could clearly see just how many different ways I have been exploring color from nature.  Maybe one or more of these will strike a creative chord with you too!

TEXTILE

Probably the most obvious and popular use of natural dyes is to create sumptuous hues for fabric.  With a growing interest of sustainability in fashion, botanical colors are popping up from head to toe.  If you’ve got natural fibers in your closet (cotton, hemp, silk, wool), you can dye organically – the options are endless.

Textiles of wool, silk, cotton and bamboo hand-dyed in Oaxaca exclusively with organic matter.

My first on-line workshop will be on how to create an ombre-dyed scarf from foods in your kitchen, and this fall, I will be teaching a similar technique using earth pigments.  Incorporating these rich colors into a wardrobe is a delicious way to get your art out of the house.

However, if knitting or weaving is more your speed, soaking yarn, string or ribbon in a batch of botanicals can create subtle sweetness.  Just look at the wonder of this wool I dyed in Mexico.

Wood hand-dyed in organic matter including indigo, muicle, pericon and cochineal in Oaxaca, Mexico.

While I preferred to use this fiber for installation, imagine a hat, scarf, mittens or sweater with that special colorful touch?

But who says you have to wear hand-dyed textiles?  My mom was an avid quilter which I’m certain has influenced my mixed media textile pieces and love of squares.

Naturally dyed textile piece, Blossom, created while on residency in Oaxaca, Mexico, March 2020.

How special it would have been to forage with my mom and organically dye fabric swatches for her to sew into her quilt creations.  Keep that in mind for the quilters in your life.

PAPER

Textile’s extended fiber family is paper.  The delicate translucency of paper has intrigued me for quite some time, both for sculptural and 2D applications.  In Oaxaca, I first tested how wet strength fibers like mulberry and tissue would hold the colors I had brewed, and it worked like a charm.

First time hand-dyeing paper with plant matter in Oaxaca, Mexico, March 2020.

So, one chunk of 10 days during #The100DayProject, I focused on creating collage with these dyed papers.  The variations of color, especially when layering, felt closely tied to the depth I love to create with overlays of silk in my textile pieces.

Hand-dyed paper collage backlit in Tambark Park, made exclusively from organic dyes foraged in Oaxaca, Mexico.

Feeling inspired, I foraged local ‘weeds’ in my beloved Tambark Park the last 10 days of the project and made a new rainbow stock of colorful paper from the PNW.

Paper samples of natural dyes brewed from foraged plants in my neighborhood. Only blue butterfly pea was from my kitchen!

What’s wonderful about paper is its versatility across several art disciplines, and a true staple in many craft projects.   Why not make hand-dyed paper with plants foraged from your neighborhood the next time the scissors and glue need some exercise?

INK

Dyeing paper is one way to spread some of nature’s colors around, but making ink turns just about any organic matter into a medium for drawing and watercolor fun.

I simply poured the dyes I brewed from foraged plants in Iceland and Mexico on paper, but learning how to make ink specifically was yet another way to expand my natural color wheel during the last 100 days.

Testing inks made from avocado skin and red cabbage during #The100DayProject.

I even made blue ink with my cherished blue butterfly pea blossoms for the first time, one of the most elusive colors of nature.

Watch out - lake pigments might be just around the next corner!

KITCHEN KRAFT

While all of the above may result in time at a craft table, a stovetop is still a critical element in a studio of natural dyes.  Therefore, it’s no surprise that crafts of the kitchen can also add a splash of organic color.

Much of my installation work was born in the kitchen - infused ice, mung bean and playdough have been some of my edible shining stars.

Mung bean string installation naturally dyed with kitchen scraps in Sayulita, Mexico, December 2018.

Brewing organic dyes as natural food coloring for baking, cooking and blended drinks is certainly a fun way to add color in the kitchen.  At the very least, you can start with next year’s Easter eggs having that natural color vibe.

This year’s Easter Eggs were dyed au naturel in turmeric, red beet, red cabbage, avocado and blue butterfly pea.

Plus, the kitchen is the perfect place to start playing with natural dyes in general.   So many fruits/veggies, spices and even food scraps can make wonderful colors with very simple recipes. 

In case you missed it this spring, download a copy of my Cookin’ Color brew booklet with a few of my favorite kitchen dye recipes, or better yet, sign up here for my 5 Days of Dye short video tutorial series releasing soon in a kitchen near you!

HEADING

Go ahead – call me crafty.  I don’t mind at all.

To be honest, I question why any negative association became attached to a word that honors the vision and skill it takes to create beauty with your hands.  To be an accomplished craftsperson is a lofty goal for any artist, and certainly one I aim for in my daily practice.

So, let’s keep spreading the art of craft in the world today!

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.

Into the biodome

For the love of lava

Flying between the Pacific coastline and the Cascade range is a visual treat on a clear day.  Making this trip up and down the west coast is all in a day’s work for this technical sales person turned traveling artist.  If you’re extra lucky, the plane may even fly directly over some of my favorite volcanic peaks like Crater Lake or Mt. St. Helens. Living near Seattle, we are almost always greeted by the giant of them all, Mt. Rainier.

Even on a cloudy day, Mt. Rainier always pops out to say hello. Portland bound, October 2019.

As you know, I’ve got a thing for volcanoes and all things lava.  Many of my dream destinations are volcanic hotspots – Iceland, Hawaii, Mexico, Peru and my home turf in the PNW.

What I didn’t know was that one of the most incredible architectural designs, the dome, was also a natural phenomenon in the world of lava.  Just inside of Mt. St. Helens crater, for example, is a beautiful lava dome, all perfectly rounded from hot magma.

A tiny peek of the lava dome in Mt. St. Helens from 30K feet. Still Portland bound, October 2019.

Somehow knowing this, makes my pursuit of the dome shape in my installation work much more interesting.  Rather than connecting it to the architectural design feats of Dome of the Rock or Taj Mahal, I’d like to connect my inspiration back to the greatest artist of all – Mother Nature.

All that glitters

The dome shape came to my creative practice because of a simple craft kit I saw in a department store during a Christmas shopping blitz: glitter bowls.  You just never know where your next idea might pop up, so keep your eyes and mind wide open!

Glitter bowl’s brother from another mother - the thread bowl.

Eager to explore new shapes, the kit came with the first materials I would test:  glue, glitter and three sizes of plastic molds.  The kit was intended to make small sparkly jewelry bowls, but I saw everything upside down. 

The first of the upside-down glitter bowl, aka. dome, all sparkly in blue, January 2018.

These molds would become my architectural ‘crutch’ to defy gravity and build my first dome.  Rushing from store to store to gobble up as many holiday glitter bowl kits as possible, while supplies lasted, I managed to collect an army of molds so volume production could begin.

Crumbling down

Glue is pretty amazing while glitter is just plain pretty.  Combine the two and some visual magic can happen.

For six months, I feverishly built domes, and they had a starring role in my installation work in Mexico, California, Hawaii and Oregon.

A spruce bush in San Miguel de Allende all spruced up with glitter domes, February 2018.

I loved them so much, I began searching for a way to display them for an interior installation that could be submitted for art shows.  The inverted domes, aka bowls (haha), could be nested with various sizes and colors, and adhered to a flat surface of wood or canvas.

Upside-down domes all nailed down and ready to show, March 2018.

There was one major problem with the design:  glue is no friend to climate change.  Everything I designed inside, and certainly those that traveled long distances, had no chance of ever surviving.

The domes became a brittle pile of shards or a melted glob of goo.

The dome remains after a long, and obviously hot, flight from Maui, June 2018.

Back to the drawing board.

Pro Biotic

One aspect of the glitter dome that I loved was its translucency.  I’ve been chasing this in my work forever (hello ice!).  One major characteristic I was less in love with was the inorganic material used to make glitter today – plastic.  While I tested mica as a sparkly organic substitute, it did not provide the same binding properties as glitter.

Mica plays the sparkling role in these gold domes, Black Butte Ranch, Oregon, August 2018.

As my installation practice developed, my search for organic material has expanded:

·      Brewing vegetable and spice dyes from my kitchen to color my first ice installation in Iceland

·      Foraging plants like lichen and seaweed to dye textiles for my mixed media canvases

·      Hunting for mineral deposits to create earth pigments as a material for paper studies

My quest to create ephemeral sculpture that can dissolve cleanly into the soil has become an integral part of my artistic world.

But how to find a translucent material made from botanicals that could hold a dome shape?

Hello mung bean!

Hibiscus dyed mung bean all domed out in Aguas Calientes, Peru, June 2019.

Biodiversity

Ahhhh….the short-lived life of a mung bean dome.  Yes, it can drape across a form and hold its translucent shape, but again, travel and the elements are not kind to mung bean.  Even more delicate than ice, the mung bean dome could barely handle a five hour flight.

Ode to a mung bean dome after many an installation flight.

Yes, I could sleep peacefully knowing the organically dyed mung bean would return quietly to the earth.   But, if it can’t be transported to the installation site, it’s burnished glimmer is lost before it’s ever seen.

While repeated material disappointment might stop some in their tracks, not this artist.  Every single iteration of my dome has been an informed failure for the next discovery.  Without each of these stumbles, I would never have found the newest material I’m so excited to explore – bioplastics.

Oh, let the light shine in, you gorgeous bioplastics, you! Bothell, Washington, November 2019.

Dome 3.0 is born!

 

Biosphere

This weekend, I cooked up my first batch of bioplastics.  Built from organics of agar, glycerol, gelatin and water, the quick and toxic free recipes were easily brewed on my kitchen stove.  Adding dye steeped from the blue butterfly pea and hibiscus flowers created subtle shades of grayish blue and purple.

Beyond the dome: molding square bioplastics in my Bothell kitchen, November 2019.

As they quickly hardened in various molds, translucent forms emerged as the water evaporated during the curing progress.  Shrinking and contorting, every day a new shape has appeared.

Agar bioplastics morphing back to algae, November 2019.

Now, it’s time to test the dome.  Only problem is I have no idea where those molds are in my new garage, soon-to-be studio.

No worries – I have time.  The bioplastics are sure to stick around.

Beyond the biodome

Finding a name for a shape before it’s even been built, I just know the biodome is going to be a success.  Beyond the lava field, some of the most beautiful ‘biodomes’ constructed by humans have been igloos, wigwams and beehive houses.  Anything built of ice, bark, reed and mud is an inspiration for an installation artist like me.

Into the biodome I go…

Head into the comments to join me!

The heART of Idaho

In the flow

Sunbeam, an old ghost mining town on the Yankee Fork of the Salmon River, is the geographical center of Idaho.  What a perfect name to describe an area of the world that has been shining it’s light on my heART for 50 years.

Just up the river is a town called Stanley, a mere stone’s throw to Redfish Lake, a place where my family spent many summers exploring the pine forests and mountain trails of the Sawtooth National Forest.  We were like the sockeye salmon of the past, the red fish, returning year after year to splash in its crystal clear waters.

Earth pigment paper pulp installed in Redfish Lake near Stanley, Idaho, August 2019.

If you keep swimming up the Salmon River to the south (yes, it primarily flows north!), the source of its bubbling coolness is hidden near Galena Summit. 

Will always stop at Galena Summit to take this breathtaking view all in!

Carrying tire tubes around our waists and sneakers on our feet, we hunted down the perfect rapids to freeze our bums as we floated our way back towards Stanley.

Now, descending the other side of Galena, you enter the Boulder Mountain Range and the headwaters of the Big Hole River.  Flowing right past Easley Hot Springs, our family’s cabin still stands among the trees, although we haven’t owned it for decades.

The rustic cabin my family owned near Easley Hot Springs where special memories were made.

That doesn’t stop us from still soaking in the mineral pool…

Mason and Zsofi having a soak with their cousins at Easley Hot Springs near Ketchum, Idaho.

Wandering up a nearby forest service road, you find yourself along Boulder Creek in the midst of an aspen grove.  Among all of this endless beauty, however, this place is now where my heART of Idaho truly lies.

Mason out exploring the road that leads to my mom’s resting place near Boulder Creek, Idaho.

Colorfast

There is no doubt that installation would have taken me to Idaho one day, but to create artwork in loving memory of my mom and her resting place was a beautiful honor.  With very little time to prepare, I let the earth be my guide:  organic dyes I brewed from avocado and lichen, natural pigments from around the world and all kinds of stone.

Preparing installation of hand-dipped paper in home-brewed avocado and lichen dye.

As luck would have it, the natural color palette hovered in the ochre and hematite family:  rich yellows, deep oranges and earthy reds.  Ochre has a strong history of being offered to ancestral spirits for their journey in the after-life.  My mom received the same beautiful offering.

Earth pigment paper pulp stacked on a boulder bursting with minerals, Little Redfish Lake, Idaho, August 2019.

Substrates of paper and it’s pulp, ice and river stone held each subtle color that nature provided for my mom.

Ice installation infused with lichen and avocado dye, Big Wood River, near Ketchum, Idaho, August 2019.

Rock on

From Redfish to Boulder Creek, I spent quiet reflective time exploring each site that has brought me so much joy and helped fuel my love of vast landscapes.  My family, however, has always been by my side in Idaho, so sharing an installation that we could build together was the ultimate gift.

Collecting stone from the Salmon River with my loved ones, we each painted a personal creation with mineral pigment to leave by my mom near Boulder Creek.

River stones of the Salmon River collected and ready to paint. Can you see my heART stone?

My family gathered for an evening of river stone painting with earth pigments and walnut oil, Ketchum, Idaho.

Each step along the way held a sacred visual and emotional transformation. 

The uniquely beautiful works of rock art by each member of the Willms Family ready for my mom’s memorial on August 13th, 2019.

The river stones will forever adorn the forest floor at the base of the small pine tree we planted for my mom’s ashes to nurture in the rich Idaho soil.

My mom’s resting place among the pines and aspen of Boulder Creek, Idaho, August 13th, 2019.

I left my heART…

For me, the heART and soul of Idaho is just up the river and over the pass from Sunbeam.   The feel of ice cold water rushing through my toes, the smell of sagebrush warmed by the sun, and the sound of the wind rustling in the trees will always bring me right back.  I’m forever grateful that my mom and her family brought me here so I could fall in love with such an amazing place and leave my creative installation behind.

My heART stone just for my mom, Boulder Creek, Idaho, August 13th, 2019. I love you, Mom!

Now I have the joy of returning to sit quietly with my mom under the whispering aspen and watch as her tree grows towards the deep blue sky.

Peru Rocks

Stone age

Peter is my catholic confirmation name, or en francais, Pierre.  While my female classmates chose more traditional saint names like Mary or Theresa, I had to add a dash of creativity to the catechism mix.  If Jesus built his church on the rock of Saint Peter, I argued, it was certainly a name strong enough for me. 

Pierre also means ‘stone’ in French.  Maybe that is why I picked it.  Could I have known then that I simply wanted my spiritual name to reflect the deep connection I have with rocks? 

The rocks in my pocket from Moonstone Beach in California, July 2019.

At about the same age, my daughter, Zsofi, had an equally creative wish, not focused on a spiritual graduation, but the much more secular version of high school commencement. Zsofi requested a trip to Peru as her graduation gift.  Nothing could have made this wanderlust mama prouder!

Zsofi, Devon and Brianna defying gravity above Playa Roja in Paracas, Peru, June 2019.

What I did not realize at the time was that Peru would unearth my love of stone in the most remarkable ways.

Minerality mentality

Massive tectonic shifts and a healthy dose of volcanic rumbling creates some of the most amazing landscapes for this artist.  Welcome to the Andes!

Sabancaya belching her volcanic mist near Patapampa Pass in southern Peru, June 2019.

With over 50 hours of Peruvian bus time logged, my nose spent most of it pressed against the window.  Every mountain pass brought a new and wildly fresh vista for my eyes to feast.

While I’ve always been an avid road trip gazer (will not sleep in a car!), I traveled through the Altiplano with a newly acquired knowledge and pure fascination of earth pigments.

Mineral pigments I foraged and ground near the ancient sea bed of Paracas, Peru, June 2019.

One year ago, I bumped into an incredible creative philosopher and professed mineral pigment worker, or whisperer as I prefer to think of her.  Heidi Gustafson has dedicated her practice to honor the sacred mineral of iron oxide and her earth pigment sister of ochre.  I became increasingly intrigued by her work and thrilled to learn that she lived less than 2 hours away in the great PNW.  When Heidi offered a mineral foraging workshop on Whidbey Island, I jumped at the chance to walk the beach with her to learn how to extract color from yet another one of earth’s natural resources.

Pigments I foraged and ground from Whidbey Island thanks to the mineral genius of Heidi Gustafson, June 2019.

What I learned that day would be exactly what I needed  to begin my first solo quest for earth pigments in Peru.

Pack it out

Installation has become an integral part of my global travel.  Weeks prior to launch, I am feverishly gathering, testing and building materials to create installation while on the road.  With only a backpack and my daughters by my side for our time in Peru, I chose to re-imagine how I would express my creativity on this treasured trip.

All loaded up in Cusco, Peru, with everything I could carry on my back (and front!), July 2019.

As if by magic, a new conceptual plan emerged in the right side of my brain:  installation vs. extraction.  I would explore Peru’s landscape with an open heart, seeking balance of giving and receiving - installing and extracting - the earth as my guide.

In my veins

Pigments on my mind, I chose to install predominantly paper pulp pieces painted in minerals sourced from other regions north of the equator.  With a newly opened eye to identify minerals that had the potential of sharing color, I discovered many places where I could make an installation ‘offering’ as gratitude for the rocks the earth presented to me.

First earth pigment offering at Playa la Mina in the Paracas National Reserve, Peru, June 2019.

What I didn’t expect was the obsession with which I would seek out color in the rocks of Peru.  In many ways, I suppose traveling by bus was a perfect way to curb my enthusiasm, or at least keep me from stopping at every curve in the road to hunt pigment.  Perhaps it gave me the reflective time I needed to practice simply sensing the rifts where color might be ready to mingle with an artist.

Easy to see the earth pigments in the Mountain of 7 Colors, aka Rainbow Mountain, Peru, July 2019.

From the ancient seabed of Paracas to the pinnacle of Vinicunca, the rocky soil gave me yet another incredible palette to sprinkle into my artwork.  The handful of stones I will lovingly grind in the following months will be cherished not only for the subtle colors they will reveal, but also the memories I was lucky enough to forge with my daughters in Peru.

Stones collected along the route to Cusco, itching to have their pigments ground.

Rock ‘n roll

So, yes, I love all things stone, and I have for a very long time.  My grandfather had an incredible rock collection that mesmerized me with their crystalized innards or smoothly polished surfaces.  My best friend, Maggie, recently reminded me of a garnet hunting expedition we took as kids.  Time at the beach often involves taking close up photographs of the pebbles beneath my feet as opposed to the crashing waves.  I even named my son in honor of stone:  Mason.

However, if I’m being totally honest, my catechism name was only coincidentally connected to rocks.  Admitting my name inspiration may have come from a crush I had on the guitarist Pete Townsend of The Who, I’m fairly certain the clergy would not have approved.  Still, it is fun to think I may have a higher calling to be grounded in the world of stone.

Tell me: Do stones rock your world?

About face

Masking Taped

Wedged between Halloween and the Day of the Dead, most ghouls ringing my doorbell this past week were hiding behind a mask.  Some scary, a few goofy and others just plain sweet. My front porch has always welcomed the masquerade parade with an equal mixture of carved expressions.

We take our jack-o’-lanterns very seriously at my house on Halloween.

Masks have a rich history of varied cultural significance, used to protect, disguise or transform those they adorn.  Mask-making is a highly revered art form in many societies, practiced by the artisan and passed to the apprentice.  In classrooms across the globe, our children learn tradition, ritual and myth as they create masks with their own hands.

But, in the season of costume, I wonder more about the mask so many artists feel compelled to wear.  Why do we hide?  I say it’s time to take off the mask and reveal the ugly truth.

Oh so serious at a stick installation in San Antonio, March 2018.

 Yes, this is the face of an artist.

Dead calm

When in the midst of creating an installation, I am lost in the moment.  Concentration and problem-solving are core to the creative process, but I believe it is the hand-mind connection that brings me the most satisfaction.  The world’s problems disappear and I find a quiet peace that I wish could be sustained forever.

So tell me, why such a sour face?

Watching out for that sneaker wave on Pacific Beach, Washington, July 2018.

It was shocking to see myself as others would if they stumbled upon me during an installation.  My heart is singing, my fingers are dancing and my mind is in a calming meditative state.  The mask I’m wearing does not reflect the sheer joy I’m experiencing as a working artist.

Moss, moss everywhere and not a spot to place, Lodingen, Norway, October 2018.

Who is this imposter?

Wafer thin

The psychology of imposter syndrome is a very real affliction for many and seems to be rampant among the artist community.  Reflecting back over my 50 years, there is no doubt I am an artist and have been traveling a creative path, no matter how winding.  Technical sales in the auto-id and telecommunications world may be the mask I wear in my ‘day job’, but it’s the creative spirit beneath that defines me.

So, stand tall, fellow creative, hiding behind a veil of self-doubt, afraid to utter these words:  I am an artist.  We can see you through the transparent material because an artistic soul is impossible to shroud.

And, while you rise up, I will be routing for all things creative from down below.

Getting a dose of hot lava rock during an ice installation on the black sands of Maui, June 2018.

Truth or dare

As I bumble my way through the landscape of social media, I’ve seen just how much the world wants to see the face of the artist behind the creations.  The overwhelming positive response when posting an image of myself in my element, particularly lying face down in the sand, has been touching and extremely encouraging.

The balancing act of a blue pea ice stack on Vikten Beach, Lofoten, Norway, October 2018

It is the real, raw authenticity of the journey that we can all relate to.  We feel connected by the passion to do exactly what we are meant to, no matter how ridiculous we may feel.  Truth be told, as soon as we reveal our heart, absurdity vanishes into thin air.

Likin’ the lichen during a heart-red ice installation on Sør Arnøy, Norway, October 2018

But, I didn’t see this on my own. Deep in creative thought and high on installation wanderlust, I was completely oblivious to the face I wore or the lengths I might go for my art.   It took the love of another to show me how others might see me when I’m being true to myself.  The gift of this mirror has helped me see my face behind the mask.

The man in the mirror, Chris, getting a piece of the installation action in San Antonio, March 2018.

Eye scream

As scary as a Scream mask might appear on your doorstep this time of year, let it be a reminder that we as artists need to shout out loud.  The world is waiting to hear our voices and see the sparkle in our eyes and the smile on our faces.

Why not take off your mask and let me hear your voice in the comments below?

Take charge of living large

The stuff of dreams

Nestled in the sand among sea-weathered driftwood in La Push, Washington, my daughter, Zsofi, dazzles us with tales of the universe.  As the stars above begin to twinkle, wild statistics of relativity bounce around our banter like the sparks of our campfire:

• All of the planets from our solar system can fit between the Earth and the Moon.
• Jupiter is approximately 318 times as massive as Earth.
• 1.3 million Earths can fit inside our Sun, but 9.3 billion Suns would be needed to fill VY Canis Majoris, the largest known star in the universe.

How many grains of sand can you hold in your hand?  Only the La Push jellyfish really knows...

And to bring us right back to the very beach we are huddled on, famed astrophysicist, Carl Sagan’s timeless quote drifts by:

• “The total number of stars in the universe is greater than all the grains of sand on all the beaches of the planet Earth.”

So, as we sit in awe of the cosmic vastness around us, a very simple truth emerges:

We are small.

Zsofi sizing up the largest piece of driftwood I've ever seen.  The magic of La Push, July 2015.

 

Major Minor

The notion of small, and it’s more expressive cousins of compact, tiny, petite and wee, are often celebrated in our culture.  All things technological are shrinking while becoming more robust and efficient.  Micro-living and tiny houses are infiltrating both our consciousness and our neighborhoods.  Even our planet, in its itsy-bitsy place in the Milky Way, is dwindling as globalization becomes the norm.

In the creative world, miniature art has been thriving for centuries with dozens of active societies across the continents.  Who isn’t intrigued by the artist who has the patience, focus and unparalleled fine-motor skills to create the minute?

That artist is not me….or so I thought.

Teeny tiny Ice embedded with pea and berry atop a lichen covered lava rock near Stykkishólmur, Iceland, December 2017.

Under the microscope

Building a sculptural piece for my installation practice has been dictated by the space it is created in - studio, kitchen, freezer, silicone mold – all relatively small.  However, the proximity I have to the work in vision, creation and documentation magnifies its size in my mind’s eye.  Nevertheless, like moving from sketchbook to canvas, I can see that my installation’s substrate is actually massive...

Welcome to Planet Earth!

I spy with my little eye a teeny tiny ice installation.  Can you find it?

Lights, Camera, Action

The Hawaiian Islands are a tiny ripple in the Pacific Ocean.  Iceland is an elf in the shadow of Greenland.  The expansive beach of the rugged Olympic Peninsula is a milli-fraction of North America’s coastline.  Yet, each of these wonderlands have elicited vastness in contrast to the tiny installations I have placed. 

Ice embedded with leaves at the base of Dynjandi waterfall in Iceland, frozen above at 330 feet tall, November 2017.

Through the lens of a camera, I’m pulled magnetically towards the details of the artwork starring in my play, but the setting is an integral part of the plot.  The locations have been carefully selected by a visceral energy, their draw magically nipping at my wanderlust.

Simply put, I travel to these sites because of their immense beauty.

Blue butterfly pea infused ice installation melting fast on the black sand beach at Waianapanapa in Maui, June 2018.

Placing an installation within a sweeping environment does not make me feel small, but rather fills me with limitless creativity.

You see, it’s all relative.

Acres of ranunculus blooming in Carlsbad, California, made a perfect site for an installation, March 2018.

Blink of an eye

Beyond the miniscule nature of being alive and kicking in this teeny twirling orb called Earth, our time here is nothing more than a blip.  How about that for making you feel small?

In my artwork, people often wonder why I make ethereal pieces that will be gobbled up by the world around them.  All of the time and effort, heart and soul, to be snatched away in a matter of moments?

Organically dyed dough (or Fruity Pebbles!) installed between lava and coral in Maui, June 2018.

Placing tenuous work allows me to experience the now.  It is the nano-second of time that I can create my own unique mark and marvel at its micro-impact.

Standing in the massive lava flow on the MacKenzie Pass in the Oregon Cascades, a spectacle that belched its way across the landscape close to 3000 years ago, I see a few scattered trees.  They have no business being there, but it is their wee mark in time and space that captures my heart and my artist's eye.

So, get out there and plant your creative sapling now.

Glitter infused resin cubes installed in a Lodgepole pine setting up shop in a lava field on MacKenzie Pass in Oregon, August 2018.

Bigsy Small

For many of us, the idea of being small is crippling.  Comparing ourselves to those around us can foster fear and produce feelings of inadequacy.  Artists have this affliction in spades, all wrapped up in limiting beliefs that keep us from making our mark, even though the world is anxiously waiting for it.

Installation of acrylic painted paper sticks installed along the River Walk in San Antonio, Texas, March 2018.  I had more people stop to talk to me about the installation than ever before, all curious about what kind of mark I was making.

Funny enough, the best way to move beyond this fear is by taking the tiniest of steps.  Just one unique speck today creates a growing momentum and informs the splotch of tomorrow.  We’ve been graced with space, so fill it up, buttercup!

The granular level

The next time you are laying in the sand, imagining the grains you hold in your hand are only a snippet of the stars you see in the sky above, remember this:

Living large and making a mark on Pacific Beach in Seabrook, Washington, April 2018.

• There are more atoms in a human than stars in the universe.

Guess that means we truly are larger than life!

How about leaving your mark in the comments below?