Ochre — Margaret Byrd, Installation Art and Wanderlust - The Perfect Trio

Empirical data

Growing up in the 70s, the Earth had four oceans and our solar system had nine planets.

Somewhere along the way, Pluto was downgraded to a dwarf planet while Antarctica’s icy waters became the Southern Ocean to make five. Although I have never been to Pluto, I have had the good fortune of dipping my hand into each of the 70s’ four oceans.

What I remember of the Indian Ocean was trying to keep my mouth closed as we splashed our way at high speeds out of the Maputo harbor. The grayish oil-slicked water turned to a crystal clear azure as we jumped fully clothed into its surf to swim to our sandy beach destination.

My tummy ached from all the laughing we did that day.

The crashing waves and windswept moments frozen along the Arctic Ocean have a stronger pull for me to return. From Northern Iceland to Lofoten, Norway, my polar curiosity is headed further into this frigid sea as Svalbard now beckons me north.

Abaca swirls installed on Uttakleiv Beach in Lofoten, Norway, October 2018.

Both sides of the Atlantic Ocean have provided countless memories from north to south: the rocky coves of Maine to the beaches of Ipanema in Brazil, all the way to the red sand of Angola and to the edge of the Irish Cliffs of Moher.

Everyone needs a travel buddy! Pre-installation times with Chris at the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, March 2016.

Simply put, I love the ocean, all four of them, but the Pacific is the one I call home.

And, in the past two years of travel in pursuit of creative inspiration, the Pacific has called me home time and time again.

Piece of peace

Being born in Oregon and living much of my adult life in California and Washington, I can safely call myself a west coaster, the rugged home to one tiny slice of the Pacific.

As with the Atlantic, I have stood on the edges of the largest ocean from north to south and east to west.

However, my creative journey along this shoreline has kept me nestled on the western side of the Americas.

The memories are many, but in an effort to quietly honor the Pacific, I’d like to share my gratitude with one simple installation photo from each of six sandy destinations, as well as one lesson I’ve learned at each beautiful seascape.

Join me as we head from north to south…

Washington

I adore beach combing and will spend much of my time on the coast with my head down, fixated on the treasures in the sand. The Washington beaches are wide and hit hard by wind and rain which brings incredible gifts from the sea.

Lesson 1: The beach covered with thousands of deep blue Velella, the sailor’s jellyfish, is a rare phenomenon that I was lucky enough to stumble upon, and install within, much to my creative delight in April 2018.

Oregon

My mom instilled my love of walking along the rugged beaches of the PNW in the off-season. Hunting for agates or sand dollars on the Oregon coast filled many stormy winter holidays in my childhood. The harder the wind and rain pelted our faces, the further we walked.

Lesson 2: The sun can shine with clear blue skies even at Thanksgiving on the beach in Oregon. I could not have asked for more perfect weather to explore the translucency with the first installation of bioplastics in November 2019.

California

The further south you venture does not change the temperament of the Pacific. The beaches of California are equally as wild as those of the Northwest.

Although my daughters may don a wetsuit to surf the Central Coast, I can honestly say I have rarely, if ever, spent time frolicking in its waters.

It’s too darn cold!

Paper pulp sticks installed in black iron oxide along a vein of red ochre on Tamarack Beach in Carlsbad, CA, October 2019.

Lesson 3: Learning about earth pigments and how to spot minerals in cliffs along the watershed has enhanced my creative beach experiences immensely. The red lines of ochre running through the weathered sandstone looks amazing next to the black iron oxide glittering as magnetite in the California sand.

Thanks to you, Golden State, for making such installation dreams come true.

Maui x 2

To visit Maui is a beach bum’s dream come true, but to return unexpectedly within a year is where manifestation blooms. Blending a perfect mix of tropical and arid landscapes with warm crashing surf makes Maui the hot climate version of the wild Pacific.

Threaded orbs installed in lava rock in Makena, Maui, June 2018.

Lesson 4: From lava rock to pure white sand, finding sites for installation in Maui is always made easier with the sparkling blue seas as a backdrop no matter when you visit.

Paper pulp stack installation on driftwood at Ukumehame Beach, West Maui, April 2019.

June 2018 or April 2019 equals installation inspiration all the time!

Mexico

The west coast of Mexico has treated me to some wonderful times splashing in the waves. Similar to Hawaii, but without the wide open Pacific pounding from all sides, the water in Mexico is deliciously warm with the perfect hint of swell.

Lesson 5: And from swell, I really mean sweltering, particularly in the dry tropics of Sayulita in December 2018. If you want a creative challenge, ice installation on this coastline will test your patience and your sandy limits.

Blink once, and it is gone.

Peru

If the Pacific of North America has taught me anything, she keeps true to her mission of creating stunning beauty wherever she makes landfall. Peru is no exception, and as luck would have it once again, we walked alone on some of the most beautifully wild beaches you could imagine in June 2019.

Lesson 6: The plight of plastic runs deep in the Pacific, and sadly, I experienced this in spades in Peru. We picked up as much plastic as we could carry from this seemingly pristine beach that blessed me with multiple installation sites.

Safe to say, my discovery of bioplastic was bred from Peruvian sand.

From the depths

So, darlin’ Pacific, thank you...

Your vast beauty will stir at my creative soul forever, even with the magnetic pull of the Poles. And, although I have my sites in 2020 on the North Pole of the Arctic Ocean, I’m coming for you too, Southern Ocean.

We shall meet one day on the 7th continent for an installation this artist is destined to place, because let’s be honest: you are simply the wild cold cousin of the mighty Pacific.

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?