Made by Hand
Sasha Petrenko // Work Plan: Oro Residency
In April ‘18 I spent 10 days on the isolated Farrallon Islands, with 6 other government employees and volunteers, 30 miles off the coast of San Francisco, California. The islands, a nature preserve, are closed to the public, and notoriously difficult to reach. The ocean swells are particularly choppy beyond the bay due to volcanic outcroppings and strong ocean currents. A major shark feeding ground, the area is also known for being the site of over 400 hundred recorded ship and airplane wrecks since the islands discovery by the Spaniards in the late 16th century. With no dock or pier due to the islands sheer walls, we step off 2 by 2 from the deep hulled fishing boat onto a less impressive raft fitted with an outboard motor and make our way towards a craggy inlet. We are picked up by a crane and transferred safely onto land. Offloading is the same but in reverse and can only be done when the weather is fair. One unexpected swell could thrash the raft or the fishing boat against razor sharp cliffs.
We spent our time on the island abating invasive spinach, hiking around in white Tyvec suits worn to protect our clothes, we are told, from the blue dye of the diluted pesticide spray we used to subdue the unfortunate intruder. The irony was not lost on us, who are we to call the other an invasive. But the trained ecologists did not respond well when pressed on the issue. Restoration is their livelihood. And so I kept my disturbing questions to myself.
During the day we worked mostly in isolation, wandering the cliffs, clearly outnumbered by the thousands of birds that swarmed, fed and fought around us. Hundreds of seals basked, dove and swam along the islands bays and fingers. When we approached the birds took flight creating sonic clouds of white while the seals weighed down by pounds of flesh and fat growled and barked earthly and guttural, and we humans, stuck in the middle, pulled plants from the rocky soil, much like those who came before us. We were both stuck in the middle between sea and the mainland, heaven and earth.
Within a few days a daily pattern emerged. Up at dawn to brew coffee by the pot, breakfast comparisons, then suiting up in white and mounting 40 pound packs of blue fluid on our backs to dash the island spinach plant that was already haunting our dreams. Around 1 we’d start to fall out for lunch and after 5 or 6, dinner, that nightly was cooked by a different volunteer. Working on the island we developed healthy appetites and our meals together were highlights of the day. Then the evenings were spent describing everything we wish we had with us, whiskey, a guitar, more cigarettes. Later we’d read or write alone in one of the shared bedrooms in the former home for the lighthouse keeper and his family. After over a century of operation it was decided conditions were not suitable for a man and his family. The deaths of several children were recorded in official ledgers. The lighthouse has been automated for 45 years.
The isolation and general lack of what we were used to having resulted in a growing sensory awareness of my body, its vulnerability, on the island, on the rocks, in the wind, which would flap and whip at my white Tyvek suit, as I’d stare out across the prehistoric landscape, and the limitless sea. Like a thousand white kites, gulls rode the wind above me. While the wind filled my ears, I could imagine myself a time traveler or an astronaut dropped down on this barren isle, charged with restoring some lost ecology, while destroying the remaining one.
Time periods coexist. Human time, earth time, sea gull time, whale time, prehistoric time, all time inscribed in the rocks, in the architecture of the buildings pealing white paint and blackening wood, worn down nautical fixtures of copper and brass, submerged and sand encrusted. Violet light racing across the unbelievable and edgeless horizon. The sun cracks through the clouds and spills onto the sea in theatrical display. I’m not religious, but I felt this sense of deep time through and in my body during my stay on the islands which hums in me still. The Farallons. I heard myself asking “Where are we going?” And “Why?” What drives us, in an almost suicidal impulse to discover what? A new land, home, a purpose, a resurrection, our better nature, forgiveness, freedom, love?
What has this to do with my desire to experience time on the Oro Archipelago? My work for the past 6 or 7 years has been about exploring the relationships between human and extra human nature. My performance work, writing, sound work and video is layered, like a cosmic ecological sandwich. I identify systems that involve both human and extra human participants. [In my view there is no divide or border between us, despite our best or worst efforts. Their is no wall long or tall enough to stop the interweaving of our species’ fate.] But I am no scientist, or authority on anything but my own way, and that is even questionable at best. So my work asks questions by drawing parallels between us and them, humanity and animals, plants and people, our bodies and the universe.
My Work Plan: I would like to use my time on Oro to continue research, writing, conduct field work and begin filming a new video series about the human body and how it relates to the universe. Using systems thinking (social, political, botanical, geological, ecological) I will draw parallels between human anatomy, planetary systems and ultimately expand out to the astronomical and universal. Only slightly a kin to the canonical The Powers of 10 film by the famous American designers, Charles and Ray Eames, where as the Eames’s film was concerned with the relative scale of things in the universe, my video series will pay closer attention to a complete collapse in scale.
I plan to spend the first 10 days to 2 weeks of my residency walking around the archipelago, as walking is part of my process, and reading or listening to audio books. [I frequently refer to my work as psychedelic book reports given how much reading I do prior to production.] Typically what happens next is I will write and write and just as I am about to pull out my hair something happens and then it is recorded. I may dialogue with my computer using text to speech and or call on friends to translate and record passages in a language other than my own. And so I begin to fill in and to lay down the grounding tracks for a series. Often all the audio is completed prior to shooting video. This method I find helps me to build a structure for the series before the overwhelming idea of the visual comes into the picture.
My second 2 weeks will involve much filming and some editing. I will come prepared with essential equipment, my camera, green screen fabric, projector, sound equipment and then I will go out for my walks with my camera, recording and looking for miracles in the soil, in the trees, along the waterways. It’s not hard to find. It just takes time, patience and faith in the oneness of everything there is and a desire to tell this story so we can delight in our connection to each other and to the unbelievable cosmos, right here and now and always.
It is my hope to begin a work that aims to explore the relationships between our bodies, a sense of place, our planet, the universe and time. Quite a shopping list I agree. But if I can begin to tell the story and show how patterns in our bodies mirror those in plants and the universe, and how time is like a flower and we are all held in it’s scent, sliding down layers upon layers of satin pedals of perception, pulled continuously to the core of all that is and will ever be... it shall be something.
Big bugs like matchbox cars
Flutter and click in the shadows
cracking pale blue
chest deep thunder
full and soft
warm summer rain.
Getting soaked thru cotton
Rivulets on summer skin,
tilting your head back, eyes closed,
You open your mouth and let the rain
Land on your unfurled
and pointed tongue.
The drops prick like wet darts
but damn it felt good.
What is that feeling like really?
Wet hair and lips, arms and legs.
A little cooler now that the suns gone
You look towards home
Bending down to take off your soaked
Socks and shoes, barefoot now
You sink just a little. Blades of grass
Slip and tickle between you toes.
The rain eases and the sun shimmers
green and gold as it sets over the hill.
A warm wind chases the sunset
it brushes your hair and skin
Mama calls from the driveway
Inside there’s big brother, warm food, TV.
Fireflies and tractors, car crashes playing chicken.
We’d pick up cans and glass on the side of the road.
A quarter a can. Time reached out forever.
What was that like? Back then when it rained
Like you are alive and it would never end.
When I was doing this project I had to walk about 2 miles back to my sleeping place and one summer evening the most intense storm rolled in. Before I was halfway home the storm had opened up on me. Lightening and thunder merged into a singular eruption like some cosmic tear in the universe. I had to run for cover with all my camera and computer equipment hiding in the carports and overhangs of vacant summer homes. I never in my life thought I would be struck by lightening until that day. The storm seemed to be following me, moving back and forth across my path. I was convinced it would hit me once I got out into the clearing. It seemed to be leaving, heading east until it pivoted and started to back track right towards me, now out of the woodlands, exposed on the the road. Am I the tallest thing around, like some human lightening rod? oh god yes, walk faster! I quickened my pace and tried to think of the odds. My luck just wouldn't have it. Looking over my shoulder the storm was indeed heading back towards me. How much further? Finally a dark brown sedan pulled over and took me the rest of the way to the artists house. I handed the driver 15 dollars cash I think and then ran inside, dropped my equipment bags and stood dripping in the kitchen, feeling relieved and electric. For a second I thought I had been struck by lightening owing to my frenetic state. My skin tingled. Heat seemed to emanate from my insides. But as my breathing slowed and I felt a coolness spread from my still wet hair down my back I was just grateful and amazed at the fact that weather had such a hold on me. Something much bigger than me and or any human project. I could feel small and powerless but instead I feel held in some enormous, cosmic entity. We can't control it though by now we know we have made some mortal mistakes in our careless pursuits. But that summer reminds me of how it felt as a child, in awe of the night set blazing white by a heavenly crack and rumble. May we continue to be held in this place by gravity and gratitude.
21 days ago I finally had surgery on my ankle to remove an accessory navicular bone and re-attach my posterior tibial tendon! Ouch is what that all mean. It's congenital, so present at birth. For some reason my navicular bone (the boney thing near your ankle bone) decided to develop a little twin. After years of running and jumping and dancing, and one pretty severe ankle sprain, my navicular and accessory parted ways. Which resulted in my tendon taking a ride too and my foot feeling loose and awful for months.
Surgery went well. I've been getting around on a strange contraption called an iWalk, a peg leg sort of device that causes people to look at me in horror followed by relieved curiosity. Children just stare. It's limited my mobility, mostly to avoid the awkward stares of strangers. I feel like I have a sliver of some new sense of how it might feel for people who are physically somehow different than most. Inside I think "hey, I'm just me," but people tend to just see my strangeness. This is only one of the things I've learned since my surgery.
This whole experience has forced me to find alternative resources in yourself, how to be flexible and optimistic, without my usual ways to cope. No running since October has been depressing, and now no yoga, no way to avoid all the questions I have about where I am, who am I supposed to be?
With a small armful of self help books, some pain killers and a little one-eyed dog named Xena I found that I have a deep well of resources inside. Reading and writing and working on small things with my hands and slow soft yoga practice has brought me through this time, as well as the knowledge that this is, like so much, only temporary. I am grateful for this time to slow down and discover something stronger within me. I can only believe it is the result of all the love around me and years of observation, practice and listening. I am grateful to my teachers.
Snapped a photo of the morning light beginning to glow through the trees. The air is soft. Spring is here. I'm taking in each day like a thirsty sailor! Knowing that in less than 4 weeks I'll be housebound. Finding joy is my job. Back to the shop today. Client changes!!!! Need to get this one out of the studio so I can turn back to Migration stories.... meeting this week!
new cabinet for client...!
Over two years ago I found myself dreaming of this place, dreaming awake, when I still had a studio at the Marin Headlands. Now I'm here. Lot's since then has changed. The islands don't feel as far away from the city than I imagined but I've only been here 20 hours. I wonder what it's like to be here 20 weeks?
Last night we shared pizza with our neighbors, Point Blue the only other human occupants on the island. Everything tastes better on the island, even Papa Johns Pizza. At the end of a thoroughly enjoyable meal two binders were pulled out of the library and the ritual of recording daily events commenced. First to be recorded were any unusual bird sightings, non breeding birds. Biologists rattled off a few names, I contributed 8 canada geese, 2 gray whales, heads nodded in agreement. No incidents of flushing, when you spook a marine mammal, .... and finally dreams were recorded as they had been for the past 20 years and for that here's a link:
Dream last night: small dog-bird dinosaurs running in my dream last night running through the grass near the carpenters shack on the island. They had long muscular legs, the bodies of adolescent ridgebacks. Maybe some feathers on their faces. Big eyes. They seemed docile, not passive, more like curious deer. Did they have hooves?
Making progress in the new studio finally. It's taken me long enough. The task feels immense. And with my injury it involves some pain. But the joy of working, handling my tools again, dreaming about how to arrange and fill the space.... a little pain is worth it. Yesterday I built a new base for my new Bosch Table Saw, twice of course as the first time it was too tall. I managed to pry open another window so now I have a pretty bright space now, plenty bright to work in and I like to hear the people walking past, the cars honking on Main Street, tamale, garlic, corn and occasional fish smells from the taquerias, which are legion downtown. I want to eat at them all. Witnessed a man through a window of one slurping from a bowl as big as his head. I could imagine the red, smokey broth, dotted with cilantro and cotija.
I feel so soothed by the process of making. It's been absent from my life for months. I am looking forward to getting the last furniture piece done for my Berkeley friends and then make some pieces for myself, or my friends, but also I'll need to practice and prepare for my Summer Wood Working for WOMEN class at Cabrillo!!!! Good thing I still have the step stool and haven't ever glued it up! And I found the plans for the dove-tail jig. Just need to make plans for the caddy.... There's also the basketry class at Cabrillo I'll be teaching in June. Now what did I say we'd do?
I've been writing little prose pieces.
I'm just like you always running always hoping over the next hill the next sun rise the next wave the next round, I'll be saved and you'll be found.
or images in words...
Soldiers guarding the space where the walls once stood so old men won't try to pile rocks again...
Thinking a lot about migration, teaching, and my nomadic tendencies... among other things. I've moved 17x in my life. That's once every 2.64 years.... also discovered that this old song might be the start of the new project....
It's just a sketch but I am beginning to think of this project differently.. as a soundscape and as sculpture, tents, backpacks, photographs.... trying to not think of video yet. But rather maps, drawings, dance scores, prose.... soundscapes. Video may be the ultimate object, or not. Not going to just assume that's the deliverable in this case. This is more complicated. This is going to take a while.
Meanwhile there's the Farallons trip coming up in gosh... 10 days! That'll be wild and immersive. On an island 30 miles from shore in the Pacific Ocean. Can't wait but also just a bit on edge. No way out!
Next up, another public presentation at the Santa Cruz Museum of Art in May... but this time it's going to be different... HA! yes this time I hope to not be alone on the spot. And to just use the time to workshop new pieces, songs, movement scores, and more.
Finally tomorrow renting a truck to haul a bunch of drywall to the studio. Gotta spend some money on my space. Need to re-establish the habit of being in studio every day as I did a couple years ago when I first moved back to Berkeley. It was a very fruitful period. A special time filled with deepening relationships, expanding opportunities, and then I went to Santa Cruz for a month and let it all go... just let go, for real reasons. Financial, personal, professional. But I wonder, just for a minute and then I look around and I know I followed my heart back to a place that gave me joy and freedom and a sense of possibility long ago and again. I'm here now. I can't say what the future holds but in the immediate outlook, it'll be a spring and summer to remember.
I've been recovering from the flu. Feeling a bit better. But last night, my goddess, the back of my head felt as if it would crack or how do glaciers do it... calve, the back of my head would calve off. Damn. Somehow I managed to wake up, clean my computer, make food, coffee, download footage for my presentation, drive to San Francisco, conduct a welding demonstration, finish my presentation, and facilitate a collective exchange at the Santa Cruz Museum of Art on Migrations and now I'm home and wow.
I am really amazed by the openness of the guests. Several teachers, some retired ladies and then the museum staff. I gave an average presentation, did a silly dance, then joined the guests at their table to talk more intimately about migration.
Everyone had a story. A story about finding home. One woman claimed to have no story until asked again and then she did have a story. I can remember it now. She has lived here her entire life. But her father was a navy man. He took her mother and the children to San Francisco and then when he was about to go out to sea again, mother said "you're not leaving me in San Francisco," so they moved to Santa Cruz. She's Finnish. Her mother did not teach her the language except for "wash the dishes with me." I see white butterflies against lavender when I think of her.
The dancer and his English professor wife that live in Watsonville and teach at Cabrillo. He doesn't feel attached to place, but through dance he finds himself in space. She went back to Ireland where her people are from and had a life altering experience that convinced her we can have memory beyond ourselves... Oh yes, let us talk more of this!
The German man that has migrated more in the states then before in his homeland who found a poem by TS Elliot and read it to us off his phone.
She who has been cultivating community in multiple states and drawing back further in her migration stories, talking without words with her relatives in Mexico.
The boy whose family for five generations in England yet he finds himself here now. He knows they lost relatives in the camps but they never knew them. His family was safe. His mothers surname will disappear with her. It was a figment of immigration.
She is Portuguese, Cuban and Irish. Her grandmother thought she was going to Brazil but ended up in Boston. How different the lives become.
And the woman who can finally call this place her home, after 38 years. She is embracing her gratitude and feeling roots grow as her family surrounds her here.
He came from the Philippines 10 years ago and respects and honors his mother, her labor, her careful, calculated, determined effort to bring her young son to a place he can be safe and more free.
And the birder, who dances across the room to show past migration patterns, though lately, given the choice, he stays now, here, as we do, to share and to build a deeper sense of belonging.
I really loved our conversation. I don't know if people were satisfied or what they expected. I found that we had so much more to talk about. Language and place and loss and subnational states. Where to next?
I feel as though something has started. I know I will need to keep swimming in it for a while as I usually do. But now as I turn to dive sideways into the pool I feel like I have fellow swimmers. Which is good to know as the water is deep.
Super excited about this new project though it is daunting too. The subject of migration is so so big and present. How does one begin? The only way I know how, with a personal story. I'm swimming in it now and will enjoy having others join me in this pool of inquiry. I catch glimpses of what I want to do, make, communicate but it's to soon now. Right now I am still researching and reading and feeling the concept wrap around me like a big thick quilt of humanity, or all beings, human and extra human. We move to live. We move to love. We move to feel the freedom of our bodies and our minds. I feel so grateful to have an opportunity to share this process, the learn from others their own experiences....so maybe we can make sense of what to do now.
It appears I'll be teaching a basketry class or to at Cabrillo College in Aptos CA! Yay. I'm so looking forward to getting my hands wet again and sharing this art with folks. It's one of my favorite processes as it seems to evoke in people a certain soft chattiness I do enjoy.
Inspiring. I was just telling a friend how I might not be interested in t-track sculpture but if I could integrate basketry, performance, live-cinema, story-telling, singing, dance and video...Yes! One other note, I finally got invited to go to the Farallons Islands for habitat restoration and art research. Pretty much super excited and grateful for this rare opportunity and it falls just as I begin to think about next projects on migration....
In exchange for being there we will be working on removing invasive grasses by spraying 3% roundup. I'm not into pesticides at all but the solution is deemed safe for flora and fauna and we will be provided with protective gear and such. I'm also excited because part of the trip involves cooking a meal for the 7 member team! We'll be provided with ingredients. What to make!!!! GOtta run. I mean, still can't but that reminds me, call doctor to get 2nd opinion on foot surgery.
How is it that all this goodness gets bundled up into one week! Classes at Cal State Monterey Bay and San Francisco State! And I'll be performing in San Francisco this weekend at SPACE 151. More on that later but in the meantime I managed to complete Lessons from the Forest Part 3. I am pretty satisfied. This is the last 'episode' of the 4 part series. It's basically done! Next I'll add credits and put the separate pieces together for a possible future screening. I have to get back to school prep!!!!
I've been losing sleep, as I do, when a gopher family is moving in behind my cabin, new school and classes ahead and a video project coming to a close. Yesterday something got to me. I almost had a panic attack in the middle of Yoga. I know sort of an oxymoron but there I was, heart racing, body tingling, until finally I had to leave the room. And when I did, a few more yogis followed. I was not alone. We smiled at one another through our mutual yoga haze, sat next to each other until we could hold a conversation and stand long enough to shower. It was tough. But we got through it together. Maybe it was the weather or some holiday flashback but today I and those around me... I think we felt stronger. After class I finally went and bought that $30 dollar dress I'd been stalking for 2 months and used it in part of the video I'm working on. Finally got the green screen thing going. It's pretty fun!
Green screen is all about lighting. I got a decent, horrible, but decent set up and am just lucky to have a good camera and computer. It's still tricky but I kind like some of the sparkle and noise. Might work for some bits. It's also nice just in black.....
Tomorrow I have to make sense of all of this new footage! It's good to have some new clips to play with. Next up, how to visualize photosynthesis without putting people to sleep....!
Developing some new skills with this one. Feels like the ending but it's really the bridge...
After hours upon hours I finally have what I feel is a damn good rough cut of LFF3 audio. Still need to work on levels and of course adding sound as it relates to video (water, fire, etc) but it's mapped out and just awkward enough that it grows on you... or at least on me.
New statement for LFF:
Lessons from the Forest is a four part poly-lingual video series exploring forest ecology and human relationships. Responding to the growing global immigration crisis, Lessons began as an exploration of borders in nature and between people. It was a hot summer in 2015 when Sasha Petrenko was traveling through Northern Europe en route to a Bavarian artists residency. Sensing the growling tension, between local inhabitants and the people fleeing for their lives, the project originated from an impulse to reconcile the dual concerns expressed by people, family members, artists and the public alike. As moral beings, we may know we should welcome those in distress, yet as individuals and as members of a distinct culture, we may fear that we will feel a burden or be threatened by opening our borders? Where can we find answers free of the dogma of human constructs of class, politics and race?
Looking to nature to find solutions for human problems is a familiar strategy for scientists and designers but what if we could draw knowledge from ecosystems and how they are structured to solve social and political crisis? Is the relative porousness of borders in nature a more effective means than nationhood for organizing sympathetic groups? What is the role of diversity in a forest and how does it contribute to a community’s resilience? What is the role of self in a society that depends on networks and relationships to survive? How does the forest’s ecosystem handle waste?
Lessons from the Forest Part 3 explores Lichen, a plant made up of three organisms, fungi, algae and cyanobacteria*, as a model for symbiosis among community members as well as our relationship with plants through photosynthesis. The reoccurring question voiced by the characters “what does it mean I am not myself,” puts the self into question as science reveals our undeniable dependence on extra human entities and organic systems for food, water, material resources and the air we breath.
The multiple languages used throughout Lessons from the Forest, namely German, English and Czech are meant to reflect the diversity inherent in a healthy ecosystem and were chosen for reasons of familiarity and convenience. Czech is artist’s mother tongue and as the work began in Germany, german speakers were willing and close at hand. Additionally, the German people and their culturally significant relationship to the forest provided additional source material and context for the ecologically grounded project. The layered quality of the soundtrack, where words are spoken repeatedly, with different languages comprising a single sentence, pushes the words towards becoming more sound and emotion, than symbol and idea. What is left is relationships, between voices, between species. And as the relationships become more essential, the self dissolves into the network and becomes part of the ecological community.
*Most recently biologists have discovered that yeast is a member of some Lichen plants but the role and whether the relationship is parasitic or beneficial is not yet determined.
CAUTION: What follows is potentially an overly personal statement made by the artist but WTF:
Lessons from the Forest is also a breakup album. In the summer of 2015 I found myself single for the first time in 20 plus years. And as a childless middle aged woman, this project is as much about ecology as it about existential dread, and grappling with human social constructs that no longer mesh with my reality.
Arriving in Germany, a country with an unfamiliar tongue, I felt even more lost than before. With no real plans for my artist residency, I resolved to visit the forest everyday, for in the forest I’d always found belonging. Maybe it’s the extra oxygen, or how I can suddenly feel small, or maybe I knew I could just lay down and become useful mulch, or maybe it’s the beauty that soothes me.
In a daily practice I went to forest on a borrowed girl’s bike with a front basket (perfect for AV equipment and tripod) and wide, soft, lumpy seat. A strange thing happened on several occasions in that I lost myself on the trail in the same spot. Questioning the existence of the self, pondering ‘world’ as merely a word, another human construct, I’d arrive at a fork in the trail and inevitably turn some way other than the way I wanted, eventually ending up in a bavarian suburb with no GPS or german words at my disposal. Someway or another I got myself back to the forest and finally I decided to forgo that trail entirely as it ended up… not where I wanted to be. Lesson #1.
“I need to set some boundaries…If there are no edges, how do I know where I am?”
“Everyday I go into the forest…. I try to stay on familiar trails, but when I think of you I get turned around and I don’t know where I am anymore…..I forget”. Lessons from the Forest Part 1.
Gradually I found my bearings, camaraderie among the other artists in residence and kind folks in the forest and in town. Generally, people would speak english for my benefit but somedays I would sit and listen and glean meaning from vocal tone, eye contact and body language. Some of my best conversations took place beyond language: a nod, a smile, a crinkling of the outside edge of the eyes or a soft tilt of the head, we came to a mutual understanding.
"Words come out of my eyes, you tilt your head and understand," Lessons from the Forest Part 3.
One early afternoon the script for all four parts of Lessons from the Forest poured out of me. I’d almost given up. I was on my way to the beer garden when something made me turn around, return to the studio, to my computer Alex, and write. It all came out in one sitting, over two years ago and now as I write this it is almost finished. At the time I didn’t know the full meaning of the work and it’s been unfolding ever since. So I’ve been taking my time. Savoring the connections and the realization that despite my marital status, or my procreative choices, in looking to nature for lessons on survival and resilience I’ve learned that I am part of an ever expanding, poly-lingual, multi-species community, and I am not alone.
New year, new opportunities to support artists in your community! I'm going to start selling my work right here at Made by Hand. Check out these fresh new goodies!
I'm also restarting my drawing series where I make drawings of animals I meet in my day to day and or on special days. Here are just a few. Drawings are on 9x12 inch acid free paper and in pencil. Unframed $120, framed $175. Raccoon is in process and bobcat is in hiding. Puma is next! Inquire for more information.
The squirrel has been my ally animal for the past few years. I feel a shift coming on am not sure what will be next. But this pic is one drawn while at Djerassi, so it's dear to my heart.
Now with this one I really started to get my drawing legs back as can been seen in the face. I'm looking forward to picking up the pencil again soon.... soon as I finish the video I'm working on. Please inquire for information! CONTACT
"....like when someone hones a piece of wood," she said to me in the parking lot, sunlight dancing on silver hair and hazel eyes. She'd approached me as I made my way to the car. She remarked, "Oh that's pretty, I can see the trees through the red in your hair," and she pointed at the 2 crimson leaved trees growing in an island in the middle of the parking lot. I looked at her and paused, a little taken back by her tender observation. Surprised slightly by her own proclamation, she laughed softly as she spoke, "I'm just being myself," she replied to my curious gaze. "Being more myself," she smiled. "I'm still working on that," I said as I turned my head and began walking again toward the car.
"It's like a honing," She continued. "Like when someone hones a piece of wood," she smiled and looked around then, "Happy New Year," she said as she carried on across the lot.
Happy New Years to you too I followed. Ah yes, it is more like a honing. I'll feel more myself in time. Each day is a discovery. Sometimes a stranger sees the beauty that you can't yet recognize, but you can see the beauty in them. I think that's maybe how it's supposed to be.
Beginning to work on final piece of Lessons form the Forest series. This is part 3, not really the last chapter, second to last. I think it's about realizing that we are not islands, we are not alone. I look into lichen symbiosis and the loss of self that happens when a relationship dies.
Starting to put together videos and images. It's going to be mostly found footage, some borrowed and some green screen. Started filming green screen today. Feel like I need to play awhile to get it to work. Then have thoughts of something else, sunset, closeup, hand brushing hair out of face. Shoulder, ocean... time to go to the beach!
As I mentioned last time I'm so lucky to have found these two very generous Lichen experts who have given me permission to use their images.