Art Access Articles

Three New Exhibitions at Whatcom Museum in Bellingham, Washington

Debbi Lester — Fri, 27 Feb 2026 21:57:01 GMT

Three New Exhibitions at Whatcom Museum in Bellingham, Washington

Recently, the Whatcom Museum in Bellingham, Washington opened three new exhibitions: “Murmuration,” “Hard Edge/Soft Ground,” and “Personal to Political: Celebrating the African American Artists of Paulson Fontaine Press.” These three exhibitions are distinct in content, style, and material, but they are unified in the focus on each artist’s unique vision. What is so striking to this writer is the emphasis on process and collaboration in these three exhibits. For example, “Murmuration” features the work of woodcarver Andrew Vallee who transforms his carvings into bronze and glass, while “Personal to Political: Celebrating the African American Artists of Paulson Fontaine Press” similarly celebrates the collaborative nature of printmaking. In all, these three exhibits offer a wide range of styles that are sure to delight curious viewers.

“Hard Edge/Soft Ground” is the first of a series of exhibitions titled “From the Vault” that features artwork from the museum’s permanent collection. The premise of the exhibition is simple: it is a survey of abstract art from the 1950s to 2017. But providing an overview of modern and contemporary abstraction is no easy task. The exhibition includes many forms of abstraction and non-representational art, from Kenneth Callahan to Mary Henry. Exhibiting Northwest School artists alongside Hard-edge abstraction may initially feel jarring, but this is precisely where thoughtful curation and exhibit design matter most. Not everyone experiences the exhibition in the exact same way, but my journey through the exhibition began with the soft edge of Mark Tobey’s monotype and ended with Mary Henry’s precise painting, “Linear Series #5,” an excellent example of the Op Art movement. In between these two experiences were the familiar sights of an Alden Mason Burpee series painting titled “Yellow Bingo,” two screenprints by Doris Totten Chase, and a large painting by Michael Dailey. In summary, the exhibition offers a concise survey of abstract art from the museum’s collection. It pairs nicely with the neighboring exhibit, “Personal to Political: Celebrating the African American Artists of Paulson Fontaine Press.”

If you are unfamiliar with the process of a press or print studio, here is a very concise summary. Print studios consist of a team of expert printmakers who work with invited artists, who often focus on other art mediums, to create a series of limited-edition prints at the studio. The resulting works are then printed in limited quantities for purchase. Paulson Fontaine Press produces intaglio prints and has worked with over fifty artists since their first collaboration and publication in 1997. I visited Paulson Fontaine Press in 2022 and was able to observe their process in person. It was technical, precise, and encourages the artist to express their artistic vision through the medium. The results of facilitating this process successfully are on display in “Personal to Political: Celebrating the African American Artists of Paulson Fontaine Press.”

Working with underrepresented artists is central to the work of Pam Paulson and Rhea Fontaine. The incredible work of this focus can be seen in this national traveling exhibition. At the Whatcom Museum, the curatorial team decided to include original works by the artists to illustrate how the prints fit in with the artist’s large body of work. One beautiful example is a quilt by the Gee’s Bend quilters alongside prints created at Paulson Fontaine Press. The detail accomplished in these prints is incredible and hard to describe in words. I was drawn to “Passing By” by Mary Lee Bendolph, a red and white color soft-ground etching with aquatint, spit bite aquatint, and chine collé. The print looks like a translucent quilt laid on a white background, almost as if the quilt has become thin through years of use. The exhibition is filled with highlights, but I was also drawn to Lonnie Holley’s unique artwork example on loan from the artist and prints created at Paulson Fontaine Press. “Steppin Through the Night” by Woody De Othello was also exceptional with the raking light shining across the scene of household objects.

On your way to and from these exhibitions, viewers also encounter work by local woodcarver Andrew Vallee installed in the foyer outside the gallery. The exhibition includes a wall installation of a murmuration of birds and two large sculptures of birds on the floor. These works act as a guide to lead visitors into the gallery spaces and encourage you to pause for longer observations. It was particularly delightful to watch children encounter these creatures with their combination of smooth and wood-grain textures.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is an art professional and curator based in Washington State.

Whatcom Museum, located at 121 Prospect Street in Bellingham, Washington is open Wednesday through Sunday from noon to 5 p.m. “Murmuration” is on view through January 27, 2027; “Hard Edge/Soft Ground” is up through September 26; and “Personal to Political: Celebrating the African American Artists of Paulson Fontaine Press” is on display through June 28. For more information, visit www.whatcommuseum.org.

The Spaces We Inhabit: 11 Years of Activating Memory

Debbi Lester — Fri, 27 Feb 2026 21:32:28 GMT

The Spaces We Inhabit: 11 Years of Activating Memory

Alfredo Romero was born in Barcelona, Spain. His father owned a construction company and Romero worked there during his youth, learning about materials and building techniques first-hand. He also studied Art History, Fine Arts, and Architecture at various schools in Barcelona, including the School of Arts Applications and Offices of Rubi, the School of Design EDRA, and the Technical School of Architecture. These intersecting studies formed his understanding of relationships between space, memory, and aesthetics. Moreover, Barcelona is the city of Antoni Gaudí. Mosaics by Gaudí are everywhere. How could an artist like Romero not have been affected by them?

After Romero moved to Mérida on Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula, he began going to small towns in the region, finding empty shops and wall after wall covered with dated graffiti, political slogans, and advertisements. He found history and memory on those walls. The humble marks, layered with many fading messages, are the raw material of his art.

In the current exhibition, the painting “Instantes Pasados: Iconos de Una Era Reciente” (Past Moments: Icons of a Recent Era), is an example of activating memory. Romero removes the surface from the wall through a process called strappo, which covers the painted wall with a white cloth coated in glue, and then attaches that captured surface to a canvas where he then adds to the composition. (The strappo technique was developed primarily by art conservators and restorers.)

“Instantes Pasados: Iconos de Una Era Reciente,” with its Coca Cola bottle fading into the background along with the familiar script used by Coca Cola, was sinking into oblivion. But it was recovered by Romero for us to nostalgically remember.

Romero frequently meets people in small towns and listens to their stories. Dona Petra in Aguilera single-handedly developed an active produce business and store. After Romero learned her story it became part of the emotional content of the layered graffiti on the wall near her store. As he removes the graffiti and displays it as an artwork, he brings together the small town and the art world.

He has three different approaches to this process. Selections from all three are on view at the Patricia Rovzar Gallery:

Despiel (“to strip away, detach, reorganize”)

Romero sees the surfaces as layers of time that have histories and contain stories of the life of a given place. He merely observes these “skins,” then attaches them to a canvas and backs them with fiberglass. In addition to the “Instantes Pasados,” the exhibition also includes “Blue Rush” as an example of the graffiti left intact as it was transferred. The bright blue sloping rectangle dominates the image, as though someone had arranged it.

Strattos

“Strattos Love” has several layers apparent on the surface. It almost appears as an intact discovered composition, but the sections create a unified image with wide slashes of yellow and more dispersed pinkish areas. We can see that the artist has added his own “interventions” as he calls them.

Topographic Memories

Romero’s “maps” are filled with emotion, and in them we see forgotten moments rearranged. His idea is that if we move beyond the loss in the present, we can move forward, but the future also contains the past.

“Memorias Topográficas: Belleza Robada” (Topographic Memories: Stolen Beauties) is a striking example of this technique.

The original has been cut into small squares and reassembled, with a few remaining graffiti strokes at the center. The artist enjoys disrupting the original with new ideas. Indeed, as we look at this “topography,” we can construct our own story. It is open to interpretation. Romero embraces constant change even when it comes to looking at his compositions.

Each of the artworks have a powerful physical presence, but I found the Topographic Memories series especially intense. The work ripples on the wall, it is physically present with its combination of graffiti and the artist’s arrangements of small cut-up pieces; its hard surface, mounted on plexiglass, is contradicted by the sense of movement in the whole work. I could feel it as an offering to me to embrace both the source and the artist, as well as my own activated emotions. While these works might be seen as abstract, their emotional generosity suggests a deep investment in the past, in the present, and in a future that we cannot know.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes for local, national, and international publications and her website www.artandpoliticsnow.com.

Alfredo Romero’s exhibit, “The Spaces We Inhabit: 11 Years of Activating Memory,” is on view from April 2-25, Tuesday through Saturday, 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. at Patricia Rovzar Gallery, located at 1111 First Avenue in Seattle, Washington. A reception with artist is to be held on Saturday, April 4, from 3 to 5 p.m. For more information, visit www.rovzargallery.com.

Alibaba Awrang: Didar

Debbi Lester — Fri, 27 Feb 2026 21:06:17 GMT

Alibaba Awrang: Didar

Language is at the core of a universal human desire for shared understanding, and the handwritten word can create a profound connection. Beautiful script carries additional weight in Islam, where carefully rendered transcriptions form a tangible connection between the visual and spiritual worlds.

Calligraphy means “beautiful writing,” and for over 1,400 years has been central to both Arabic religious and secular texts. Unique variations emerged out of different periods and regions; in mid-14th-century Iran, a style specific to Persian verse evolved. Nasta'līq calligraphy is distinguished by its sweeping, gestural curves paired with short, staccato vertical elements—visual forms that pair well with the rhythms of the spoken language.

Alibaba Awrang’s exhibition at Gallery Mack, March 28 to May 9, reveals entanglements with and expansions beyond these formal and functional foundations. Born in Ghazni Province, Afghanistan in 1972, Awrang studied and taught classical Islamic calligraphy for many years. In 2021, he and his family were evacuated by the U.S. State Department from Taliban-occupied Afghanistan. The works emerging after this relocation to Connecticut are physical manifestations of these complex existential layers.

In “Glory” and “Didar,” we see evidence of Awrang’s method, a collaged layering of gold and silver leaf, acrylic paint, and Japanese ink on canvas. The distinction between script and form is blurred, and lines that reveal characters (both Persian and Roman) simultaneously dissolve into pattern. Contemporary artist and calligrapher Pam Galvani observes that some of these letters appear embossed or applied to the surface, and come into the space. She notes that this kind of curiosity and exploration beyond the conventions of traditional calligraphy is also partly due to the rigorous training Awrang underwent: he knows what he is doing.

“Fall” further communicates Awrang’s intuitive fusion of the underpinnings of calligraphy with strong elements of color and form. The central gold circular focus conveys a concentrated energy that unfurls via the ribbon-like curves of the text that spin outward, suggesting a space beyond the edges of the canvas. Roman letters and numbers coexist in this plane, inviting additional interpretations, and possible conflicts. How does an artist who is freeing themselves from the literal constraints of text communicate through abstraction of letters when there’s a literal meaning embedded in these forms?

This question of sense-making is not a new one. What were the artists who left their marks in the Chauvet-Pont-d’Arc cave in France some 32,000 years ago communicating through their gestural lines? The way that some images seem to have been layered on top of each other has sparked wonder: were these seen as animated forms in the flickering light of the fat lamps illuminating these underground galleries? Awrang’s intersecting lines and forms conjure a similar illusion of movement and unresolved wonderings.

Awrang’s works also invite comparisonto Western artists who are exploring works that outside the limitations of text, such as Massimo Polello. Polello says of his own work, “…Letters become a means to exist outside myself…going beyond the letters, captured by the sole need to see. They become signs, images, evocations, urgent needs, emotions.” The connection to a world verging on the spiritual is apparent here too, in a redirection of the work from thinking to feeling.

As I am typing, a law has just been enacted that mandates cursive writing instruction for all elementary school students in Pennsylvania; this legislation acknowledges the cognitive benefits of writing by hand, cursive’s connection to cultural history, and its potential to develop critical thinking. It’s a contemporary example of the meaning and impact of handwritten script evolving over time. In a similar vein to linguist John McWhorter’s description of language as a parade, beautiful writing is another kind of moving, changing pageant that celebrates creativity.

In spite of this expansive perspective, it’s a very human condition to want to reach for clarity of meaning when we are challenged by the gray area of questions and conflicts. There seems to be an urgency these days to be certain, one way or another, and to act quickly. But there are skills to be developed that can help navigate unknowns, to make the parade enjoyable rather than rigid.

Looking slowly is one approach, and Awrang’s works are intriguing subjects for this exercise. Mimicking his process of layering and incising, observe the many elements at play: let your eyes encounter the color, the line, and the forms. His shifting poetry of words and visual culture both arise from and exceed the limits of human understanding.

Kristin L. Tollefson

Kristin L. Tollefson is an artist and educator based in Tacoma, Washington.

Alibaba Awrang’s exhibit, “Didar,” is on view March 28-May 9 at Gallery Mack, located at 2100 Western Avenue in Seattle, Washington, from Tuesday through Saturday,11 a.m. to 5 p.m. An Opening Reception is held on Saturday, March 28, at 1 p.m. For more information, visit www.GalleryMack.com.

Do Little by Milton Freewater

Debbi Lester — Fri, 27 Feb 2026 19:22:19 GMT

Do Little

As a child, I thoroughly enjoyed the imaginary world created by the English author Hugh Lofting in his 1920 book, The Story of Docter Dolittle. The rudimentary illustrations and the stilted text brought the good doctor and his coterie of animal friends to life in a rather odd way. And thenthere was Stuart Little, Mickey Mouse, Paddington Bear, the crew from Watership Down and on and on. The whole talking animal thing has been with us forever so it seems only logical, and I use that word loosely, that Seattle Art Museum would feature the voices of animals – “one hundred representatives,” according to SAM - to narrate their current collections exhibition, A Room for Animal Intelligence.

In a welcome refresh to the gallery/wide hallway/landing at the top of the escalator, the SAM curators have selected a menagerie of sculptural animal objects from their vaults. The notable exception is the loaned large cedar She Wolf, Companion Species (Underbelly), by Portland artist Marie Watt. The piece sets the tone for the room with its materiality and stacked timber construction being very DYI Northwest but referencing both early Roman history and Native cultures. It is this mix of periods and peoples that makes this show so engaging.

As a nod to the Year of the Horse, the stately terracotta Chinese celestial horse is joined by a rather ho-hum, ubiquitous welded steel horse by Deborah Butterfield (she has made better ones). As I moved through the installation, I was intrigued by the colors and style of the display furniture. The teal and yellow surfaces combined with a noticeable wood grain were of a distinct period, but I could not define it, but it felt boutique-y, for better or for worse. For instance, the compact stone Ganesha figure was in a yellow cubby whilst the Spirit Elephant mask was perched on stick with a teal wall beyond. I almost looked for price tags.

Not unlike the pairing of the elephants, which does work to make us compare and contrast, the coupling of the headless dog-like vases, Chinoiserie, #3, by Seattle artist Claudia Fitch, and the sleek Greyhounds Playing, by William Hunt Diederich, is similarly brilliant. Note how the tenor of the text changes with each animal, here with Fitch’s creatures bemoaning their lumpiness being located next to the agile greyhounds. Another ying/yang or Mutt/Jeff pair is the meet up of the Deep Plate made by a Portuguese factory in the 1860s, which mimics the work by the early 1500s French artist Bernard Palissy, with the snake and lizard in the grass and odd frog, next to Osiris, a cookie jar and cookies by West Coast artist David Gilhooly, who made so many frogs in so many ways.

I was pleased to see two beaded pieces by Seattle artist Sherry Markovitz. Sea Bear talks about a vision the artist had when she was at the ocean soon after the birth of her son. The sculpture is from a very successful series where the artist applied thousands of tiny glass beads (and other small objects) to either pre-made taxidermy forms or handmade papier-mâché heads. There is a nice selection of animals by the underappreciated Philip McCracken, who lived on Guemes Island in Puget Sound, making stylized Modernist work from traditional carving materials. Look closely for the tiny netsuke pieces tucked in for smaller, younger viewers to discover, or the mid-century Modern blue cat by noted ceramicist Howard Kottler. And who doesn’t like a bird with hat on it, The God Horus as a Falcon, as shown in the case with other works from an earlier era. To show that Big Name Artists can do animals too, there is the small version of Geometric Mickey – Scale C, by Claes Oldenburg (and his wife Coosje van Bruggen) and the exceptional Mann und Maus, by Katherina Fritsch (which used to be in the collector’s living room).

There are so many good pieces in this show that I am glad that it is on view for a while so that visitors can see things on repeat and read the many long-ish text panels. But my favorite piece is of my least favorite creature. The Mosquito Mask, by Dr. Francis Horne Sr./Khut Whee Mul Uhk, carved from cedar and adorned with horsehair and feathers, is resplendent in its ickiness. The probing slender proboscis, about as long as my arm, gave me chills.

I truly appreciate this change of pace from overthought, dreary Impressionist food shows. Sometimes, less is more. The exhibition is topical without being preachy, approachable without being cloying, and gives voice to the Animal Kingdom, who, along with Stephen Sondheim, reminds us that “the history of the world, my sweet, is who gets eaten and who gets to eat.”

Milton Freewater

Milton Freewater is an arts writer living in Seattle, Washington.

A Room for Animal Intelligence is on view through January 31, 2027 at the Seattle Art Museum, located at 1300 First Avenue in Seattle, Washington. Museum hours are Wednesday from 10 a.m.to 5 p.m., Thursday from 10 a.m. to 8 p.m., and Saturday & Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. For more information, visit http://www.seattleartmuseum.org/

Bruce Morrow: Painter, Printmaker, Carpenter, and now Author

Debbi Lester — Fri, 27 Feb 2026 02:57:47 GMT

Bruce Morrow and Buffy Cribbs have been on a “continuous, collaborative, and creative adventure,” together onWhidbey Island for nearly 40 years. They have worked as carpenters and furniture makers, finally reaching a time in their lives where they can be full-time artists.

Now, to their list of adventures, add writing.

Morrow has published his first book, Nine Bean-Rows. It is a fictionalized biography inspired by his wife’s growing-up story of moving with her mother and siblings from California to Ireland in 1966. Cribbs has described her formative years as haphazard—“life so strewn with seemingly unconnected experience which, nevertheless, seemed to add up to some kind of whole.”

Nine Bean-Rows is illustrated by Morrow with a series of drypoint-on-Plexiglass prints, which are included in an April two-person show at Rob Schouten Gallery in Langley, Washington. Printmaking is a prominent medium for Morrow as the couple also run Flicker Feather Press, a studio on their property where visiting printmakers have access to a Takach 30-by-60-inch printing press, a rosin box, a downdraft exhaust table, a ferric chloride dip tank, an industrial hot plate, and glass-top inking stations.

Morrow’s preferred medium is oil paint because he likes the quality of the colors, yet his watercolors are stunning in their simplicity and gentle machismo. He began painting watercolors after finding a killer deal on a stack of watercolorpaper at a garage sale.

Cribbs’ medium is reverse painting on acrylic or plexiglass, a method wherein details are painted before the background colors after which the sheets are flipped for the final view. Although she suffered a stroke five years ago, Cribbs still arrives in the studio to paint her often whimsical paintings.

Morrow once spent time in the U.S. Southwest, an experience that has crept into his imagery. “So, this figure,” he explained, “this dude emerged and he seemed to represent to me the ennui of the displaced American male, the maverick, the cowboy without a range.” Much like the “dudes” in works by Pacific Northwest artist Gaylen Hansen (now 104 years old!) and the late James Martin, Morrow’s alter-ego cowboy rides horseback through the landscape, passing through while being superbly present.

Nine Bean-Rows is available at www.cribbs-morrow.com in both ebook and paperback formats. Having enjoyed the writing experience, Morrow is already working on a few new projects. “I am writing a memoir thing,” he says, “plus a suspense thing that takes place in Mexico.”

Stay tuned.

Edie Everette

Edie Everette is a local artist and writer. To view her art, visit www.edieeverette.com.

View Bruce Morrow’s art, April 1-27, Monday, Thursday, Friday, from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. and Saturday & Sunday from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. at Rob Schouten Gallery, located at 101 Anthes Avenue in Langley, Washington. For more information, visit www.robschoutengallery.com.

Every Painting Mirrors

Debbi Lester — Fri, 27 Feb 2026 01:09:31 GMT

Imagine the artist as the only body on the shoreline of Lake Michigan

whose horizon is irrefutable before fallible eyes. Water and land and sky.

Inflow the Fox and Grand and Muskegon rivers. Every body has a mission.

How to paint a lake as live as root and rock and blood? Does it take a god

to create pliancy of shore grass, coarse of beach sand? Clouds defuse light,

and the trained eye forgives the mind its faults, like how into each carpet,

the weaver produces a deliberate flaw as an act of humility. Solvent water

plus insolvent rock, as in Kono’s black lava rock absorbing sunlight on the day

Captain Cook was deemed no god, so he was slaughtered dead. Where blue

buoys soft and green weaves green, she renders a small boat quiet on the lake.

Later, she knife-scratches the boat out. The landscape, where water and wet

cleave, remains unmoored by its own image. Hear the seagulls insouciant

about the artist’s sky. Chartreuse and silver and cyan, pastels greening illuminate

the climb. No, the painter can’t forget periwinkle as vulnerary while she maps

her own body in the making. Looking and painting plot not what is, but what

can be. Lake waves slam land, and, windless miles out, water as flat as a book.

Across six types of vegetation and four types of trespasses and further up, above

lake water blue, June sky cools. Artists pair the small and the vast, for each work

is emotionally echt and not one body is needed to complete it.

Janée J. Baugher

Janée J. Baugher, MFA (writer, editor, lecturer) is the author of The Ekphrastic Writer: Creating Art-Influenced Poetry, Fiction and Nonfiction (McFarland, 2020) and The Andrew Wyeth Chronicles (Tupelo Press, 2026). For more information, visit www.JaneeBaugher.com

Bainbridge Island Art Museum: Dreaming of the River Passage #3

Debbi Lester — Wed, 31 Dec 2025 21:29:33 GMT

Bainbridge Island Art Museum: Dreaming of the River Passage #3

You painted or rather futzed and finished this the year
we were married, 2003, but you began it, 1979 the year
after I finished college. I guess it took you 24 years
to finalize that wow of color or maybe that pink paint

dribble. A sailboat leaves a small white wake as the rush
of blue propels this little craft almost off your
nearly six foot canvas. In another corner, a funny
little animal, duck beaked with overweight torso

resembling a perfect small show dog stack, except
it has cat ears, like those of tabby Sophie; she must
have crept into the imagination of your studio mind.
A couple about my age, stops to study...

she giggles. I look up. She covers her mouth like
a schoolgirl — says hi with a slight blush. They
wander off to another painting holding hands
as fresh as if they were sophomores at a dance.

Your blue paint dances, especially at the bottom.
You left an undercoat uncovered, maybe while you
were dancing to Miles and maybe he just changed key.
I am with you here, today imagining your hand

on this canvas. Signs say do not touch the art work.
What if, the art work touches you?

Josie Emmons Turner

Josie Emmons Turner is a poet living in Gig Harbor, Washington and was Tacoma’s Poet Laureate 2011-2013. Her book, “More Blue” was published by Cave Moon Press earlier this year.

The painting, “Dreaming of the River Passage #3,” is by Northwest artist William Turner (1940-2021) and it is on view along with a few more of his paintings through February 15, 2026, in the “Reflecting on Collecting” exhibit highlighting artworks from Bainbridge Island Museum of Art’s Permanent Collection.

Dan Webb: Yespalier

Debbi Lester — Wed, 31 Dec 2025 21:15:55 GMT

In his fifth exhibition at Greg Kucera Gallery, Dan Webb decided to create something different. After completing several large-scale public projects, including an installation for Sound Transit, Webb wanted to retreat inward and focus on smaller-scale and more personal pieces. Each piece starts as a drawing, which the artist describes as very rough, but the outcome is an examination of material, depth, and juxtapositions.

The exhibit shows the result of an artistic exercise that allowed Webb to follow multiple thought experiments. Those familiar and unfamiliar with Webb’s sculptures are sure to delight in this new body of work, which is literally bursting at the seams. The artwork contains Webb’s signature juxtaposition and contrasts, such as rough vs smooth, but this new work reflects his desire to take a step back and challenge his process.

As Webb developed new pieces for this exhibition, he was also wrapping up a series of public art projects. These projects required a incredible amount of effort executed over several years. Artists like Webb dedicate hours and hours to a single vision that must be coordinated with engineers, fabricators, and installation crews. After finishing these projects, his interest turned to reversing this process and focusing on artwork that felt more free, more loose, compared to prior projects. If the process of creating public art involved a series of questions to be answered, Webb now wanted to create a series of pieces that leaves questions unanswered. The artwork still touches on the artist’s recurring themes—like the alphabet, humor, and the horrible—but Webb challenged himself to follow a thought to see where it leads.

Webb describes his process for these works in his statement for the show. He started each artwork conceptually, and in his drawings, with a box or frame as a structural device to hold the carving. This concept is referenced in the title of the show, “Yespalier,” a word derived from the French “espalier,” or using a lattice to train trees to grow against a flat wall in a variety of shapes and patterns. One piece, “New Shoot,” is an excellent example to illustrate his thought process and method. In the work, a new plant shoot grows and curves inside a frame of carved fir. Most of the plant is contained within the frame, but it is starting to test the limits of the box. In the piece called “Yespalier” (carved madrone and Alaskan yellow cedar), the curly letters and forms are drooping over the carved lattice, similar to fruit trees grown with the espalier technique.

When I first saw that Webb’s newest carvings start within a frame or border, I immediately thought of illustrated manuscripts. When creating an illustrated manuscript, a grid would first be drawn to organize the page and to separate the area for writing from the borders for the illustrations. We see fascinating examples of the illustrations and miniatures growing, becoming more elaborate, and taking attention away from the text itself. An additional connection is Webb’s “&,” composed of stained glass, LED lights, and fir artwork framing the ampersand character. It echoes the elaborate initials included in illuminated manuscripts. I discussed the connection that I saw in the work with the artist, and he shared his admiration for the Limbourg Brothers, the artists who created the beautiful decorations throughout “Les Très Riches Heures,” a defining masterpiece of early 15th-century manuscript illumination.

The inclusion of stained glass in the show is intriguing since Webb is well-known for his wood carvings. Glass provides a stunning contrast with wood. The artist describes wood as making shadows, while glass reflects the light. Stained glass in particular has been used to magnify light and inspire spiritual experiences. For Webb, stained glass provides another reversal of his wood carving process. Just as returning to hand-held work after creating large-scale commissions creates renewal, incorporating stained glass allows Webb to play with light and themes in ways that wood carvings make challenging.

When asked what people should know or take away from his exhibition, Webb responded that it is his job to invite the viewer to encounter the work and then let them accept or understand it on their own terms. He asks a series of questions in the show and then leaves it to the viewer to either answer those questions or explore the possibilities on their own. You can experience the work yourself from January 8 to February 21, 2026, at the Greg Kucera Gallery in Seattle, Washington.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is an art professional and curator based in Washington State.

“Yespalier” is on view from Tuesday through Saturday from 10:30 a.m. to 5 p.m. at the Greg Kucera Gallery, located at 212 Third Avenue South in Seattle, Washington. An Artist Talk is being held on Saturday, January 10 at noon. First Thursday Receptions are January 8 and February 5, from 6 to 8 p.m. For more information visit www.gregkucera.com.

Aisha Harrison: Porous Body

Debbi Lester — Wed, 31 Dec 2025 20:31:24 GMT

As we enter this captivating exhibition by Aisha Harrison, we are first confronted by a large tree branch bending over us and spiraling to the floor. The bigleaf maple branch invites you under it to get to the rest of the exhibition. But as we look more closely we see the entire branch has been fabricated from natural materials. The artist calls the work “Love Letter and Splash Portal.” Fortunately, there is a step-by-step explanation of how the maple was created in the corner of the exhibition. Collaborating with her mother, Lucia Harrison, a noted Northwest artist, they began the maple by gathering dried leaves, cutting them into pieces, and boiling them to create a pulp. Other stages of the process included making the trunk with foam and covering it with tape, then sculpting it with pipe insulation and painting it. And that’s just the trunk. The tree’s six hundred leaves are made of paper, and each has veins of red wire. The very realistic moss is dyed wool. Harrison conceived of the tree four years ago, and has been working on it with her mother and volunteers for the past two years.

The other works in the exhibition seem protected by the bigleaf maple. Facing the front door is “Rooted.” Harrison is mixed-race, so the face is her African-American father, ancestors, herself, and her grandmother. From the shoulders two trees rise up, while from those same shoulders two braids of hair hang down to join the trees’ long root systems which in turn raise the art off the floor.

“take You apart to build something new” gives us a young woman with branches of hair rising up from her head, and roots hanging down. In between are a pelvis and neck vertebrae. As the artist describes it: “The pelvic bone is our center and is the structure in which we grew our first nine months of life. As a mother I greatly respect the pelvic bones and their mysteries. The spinal column holds us together and has so much importance for disseminating information to all our systems.” In other words, each part of this sculpture has deeper meaning. The branches/hair reach to the sky, and down to the dark and the unknown. The young woman is metamorphosing into the earth and sky right in front of us.

The “Pelvis” really spoke to me, with its large pelvis bone carefully made of clay so we can see all the parts. Rising up from the pelvis is a forest of red “veins” made of aluminum covered with red wool. The “veins” felt like blood rising up from the pelvis, a relief for the burden that these bones carry.
.
Another intriguing work is the “Boat of Hands,” a vessel formed from hands that were cast from the artist’s own family members, with moss, lichen, and sticks. Here again we get a sense of reaching beyond the object as those hands stretch out.

Harrison calls her show “Porous Body,” an evocative name that feels appropriate for these artworks. We can feel the separate artworks, rather than take them in rationally. Although their material presence is strong, all of them are imaginary and take us to a place inside and outside our bodies to nature, to the planet. Calling the works porous bodies gives space for both the idea of decay and the idea of rebirth. Harrison feels joy, not despair, in the ever-changing cycle of life and death on earth.
.
Susan Noyes Platt
Susan Noyes Platt writes for local, national, and international publications and her website, www.artandpoliticsnow.com.

“Porous Body” is on view through February 22 at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, located at 550 Winslow Way E. on Bainbridge Island, Washington, and open daily from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. For more information, visit www.biartmuseum.org.

Michael Nicoll Yahgulanaas: Drawing the World Anew

Debbi Lester — Wed, 31 Dec 2025 20:15:36 GMT

Ka-POW! BAM!!! Comic books in the 1950s and ’60s really did a number on young artists-to-be. They inspired important artists in all disciplines—Roy Lichtenstein and Takashi Murakami in visual arts, Steven Spielberg and Guillermo del Toro in film, David Bowie in music, and Art Spiegelman in literary arts to name just the more obvious ones.

Comic books were printed on the cheapest newsprint, making them easy to produce and distribute. They were considered more like junk mail than valued cultural artifacts. By the ’60s they were reaching even the remote archipelago of Haida Gwaii, where a boy named Michael Nicoll Yahgulanaas avidly consumed them.

Yahgulanaas came from a distinguished lineage of Haida artists, such as Delores Churchill, Isabella Edenshaw, and Charles Edenshaw. He was introduced to Haida iconography and traditional formline designs by his older cousin, carver Robert Davidson, a central figure in the modern revival of Haida art. In 1969, Davidson’s first totem pole was raised in a public ceremony that reasserted Haida cultural continuity after decades of suppression. Yahgulanaas apprenticed with his cousin before striking off on his own path.

Yahgulanaas first made his mark with activism rather than art. He helped to lead and organize protests against industrial logging operations in the southern part of Haida Gwaii. The famously successful blockade became a model in the larger struggle to protect old-growth forests throughout coastal British Columbia.

That ability to assert Haida sovereignty and stewardship over ancestral lands ties directly to his artistic practices. When he stepped back from political organizing, he turned to the art-form of comics, but comics that were in harmony with the traditional Haida visual vocabulary.

“I’m trying to take a complex, ancient iconic art form — which is totem poles, which is my cultural birthright, I guess — and translate that in a way that becomes accessible to regular people…”
(Reddit AMA, 2014)

In exploring the fertile ground between contemporary comic book arts and traditional Haida storytelling, Yahgulanaas knew comics could register with a wider public beyond the rarified spaces in which Indigenous art is typically displayed. By this time comics were no longer classed as junk; they had become recognized as a culturally legitimate form. And he knew the Haida nation was resurgent. (In 2010, the Queen Charlotte Islands were officially renamed Haida Gwaii — the result of a long process of Indigenous political advocacy.)

Things clicked into higher gear when his Japanese students referred to his work as Manga, a traditional Japanese form that he had not yet encountered. This was in the ’90s when it was still niche, though that was about to change.

Yahgulanaas studied the roots of the Manga form — learning from the masters yet again. He eventually coined the term “Haida Manga” for the hybrid graphic novels he was forging. The most successful example of Haida Manga is Red: A Haida Manga, which has been widely exhibited, taught, and discussed internationally.

In works like Red, classic Haida formlines define the panels within which Yahgulanaas depicts discrete scenes in his narrative. In comics, the space between panels are known as “gutters,” and they are typically white (the color of the paper). In Haida Manga, the black formline gutters are lifted up, they are positive marks with a meaning, a history, and a presence of their own. In fact the formlines tell a story even as they define the negative spaces or panels in which the “main” narrative unfolds. They flow across each two-page spread and then continue on the following page or spread, another level of design. Even further: the pages can be assembled into one continuous mural, allowing the story to be read either sequentially in time or viewed spatially all at once.

The strategy is a sort of conceptual intervention: Western comics privilege linear reading, while Northwest Coast Indigenous art traditions often emphasize continuous form, non-linear narrative, and the integration of image, story, and space.

All this can seem complicated, and in recent works, Yahgulanaas delights in disorienting the reader/viewer even further. He doesn’t feel that this conflicts with his goal of making the work accessible to readers of all ages and backgrounds.

“What I am trying to do is force the observer to become an active participant. I am trying to undermine my OWN authority and privilege as an artist. I am trying to say ‘You become engaged. Claim your own sovereign authority.’”
(Reddit AMA, 2014)

Yahgulanaas’s work is on view through February 3 at Stonington Gallery. This provides a golden opportunity to get acquainted with a celebrated figure and a dynamic hybrid artform. The show’s emphasis is on work produced prior to Red, but Red and individual pages and sheets from Red and other works are available in
different formats.

To see Yahgulanaas’s most recent work, consider a trip to the Vancouver Art Gallery’s group exhibition, “We who have known tides: Indigenous Art from the Collection.” Within this exhibit, the Gallery unveils a major multi-year commission from Yahgulanaas called “Clan Hat,” and it marks the beginning of an expansive story cycle and a new narrative world.

Tom McDonald
Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

“Michael Nicoll Yahgulanaas: Drawing the World Anew” is on view Tuesday through Friday, from January 8 through February 3 at Stonington Gallery, located at 125 South Jackson Street in Seattle, Washington. For more information, visit www.stoningtongallery.com.

A Grand Center for Arts & Culture: Field Arts & Events Hall

Debbi Lester — Wed, 31 Dec 2025 19:57:26 GMT

Port Angeles has created a state-of-the-art center called the Field Arts & Events Hall. It is the first of three buildings planned for the Port Angeles Waterfront Center campus that is to include the Marine Discovery Center plus a building devoted to the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe.

Besides showing local, regional, national, and international music and performance artists inside the 500-seat Donna M. Morris Theater, Field Hall also hosts regular open mic nights, weddings, and school proms.

The facility also features a cutting–edge conference and event center, the Waterfront Coffee Bar, and the 1,000 square-foot Laura Cooksey Gallery.

Ms. Cooksey is one of many supporters of the construction of Field Hall, alongside generous local donors such as Donna M. Morris, Dorothy Field, and the Elizabeth B. McGraw Foundation, as well as corporate and individual donors who value a vibrant arts community on the northern Olympic Peninsula.

The gallery features rotating exhibits highlighting local and regional artists. On view through January 31, is a show titled, “Retrospective,” which showcases 21 local visual artists who have worked with Field Hall in some capacity over its first few years of operation. Artists include Jesse Joshua Watson, Jeff Merrill, Amber Bach, Terry Breen, Katie Harmon, Jodi Riverstone, Evette Allerdings, Shari Beals, Lisa Fagerlund, Erica Iseminger, Mahina Hawley, Ines Epperson, Cody Hagen, Keith Ross, Christopher Allen, Kaisa Lemley, Sarah Tucker, Raquel Stokes, Irene Peters, Tracy Grisman, and Timothy O’Connell III.

“We’re fortunate to have a really tight-knit community with people who want to work together to make incredible things happen,” explains Field Hall’s marketing and communications director Jess Grello, “We’re really blessed to be sandwiched between the mountains and the ocean, to be surrounded by so much natural beauty. A lot of people who come out here are inspired to come back and put their all into the community, so you end up with an exciting vibrancy among the population.”

Feeling envious of this amazing facility and community, I began to dream of exhibiting my own art there. I asked Ms. Grello if artists outside of the larger region may be considered to exhibit in the future. “It’s possible,” she said, “but leaving it local still leaves a lot of room for growth and change.”

All I can say is, “Bravo, Port Angeles.”

Edie Everette

Edie Evertte is a local artist and writer. To view her art, visit www.edieeverette.com.

The Laura Cooksey Gallery at Field Hall, located at 201 W. Front Street, Suite 102, is open Monday through Saturday from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. For information and events, please go to www.fieldhallevents.org/gallery.

The Ground, which Opens Its Mouth

Debbi Lester — Fri, 31 Oct 2025 00:38:47 GMT

Swipes of blue paint meet the familiar brushstrokes of green grass. A rising peach-colored sun against purple reeds and maroon tree trunks coming out of the ground. Susanna Bluhm’s newest landscapes combine the visually familiar with abstracted internal experiences. How do we experience a landscape that we see or interact with every day? How does that landscape react to us or other natural forces at work? What marks do these interactions leave behind?

Bluhm explores these questions in her newest body of work on display at J. Rinehart Gallery in Seattle. The exhibit is Bluhm’s third at the gallery, but these paintings mark a change in the artist’s work. As she states in the gallery press release, “An individual painting can become a new place in itself, with sensations of things that might happen in a place, such as weather, touch, landscape, temperature, sex, or noise. Abstract marks interact with more recognizable shapes, a kind of narrative ensues.” Bluhm outlines a distinction in this body of work from her previous paintings; they are more personal, more intimate, and inherently tied to our lived experience with the landscape that surrounds us every day.

The paintings have a twofold purpose: they are a way for the artist to examine her own experience in a landscape that seems to be constantly shifting; and they are also a method to acknowledge that the landscape has its own events which leave their own marks. Bluhm describes this method of meaning-making as a “reciprocal co-creative relationship”; the paintings illustrate the artist’s observations of the landscape through her own lens and document the reactions or evolution of the landscape through time. The result is an environment that is active not passive, with a meaning not solely defined by a human response. For example, Bluhm painted “The Ground, which Opens Its Mouth (Greenbelt Three)” near a greenbelt by her home, and included symbols or badges throughout the picture to reference the past events that left their mark on the landscape. A wave motif appears repeatedly in these paintings, as in “The Ground, which Opens Its Mouth (Morning Greenbelt)”with its two prominent wave images in the foreground. The painting also includes a series of icons within an oval that the artist describes as a type of key for the painting. It is important to note how the waves and other water references appear throughout this series. Water appears to symbolize transformation, upheaval, and change. It is a powerful force that changes what is in its path, as we can see when looking at landscapes of the Pacific Northwest. We may not see obvious signs of this ecological history, but Bluhm documents them regardless.

But neither humans nor the landscape operates within a vacuum. When Bluhm examined the landscape in her recently-completed MA in Comparative Religion, her studies focused on the repeated story of the ground opening its mouth in ancient Jewish texts. The title of her show, “The Ground, which Opens Its Mouth,” references her research into this phenomenon, which bestows ownership and agency to the ground and landscape. In “The Ground, which Opens Its Mouth (Afternoon Neighborhood),” Bluhm paints this activity into the landscape. Red lips and teeth open wide at the bottom of the picture, appearing to swallow up what rests above. According to Bluhm and the ancient texts, this action is a response that sounds catastrophic, but it can also occur to protect what may be in danger due to human action. Regardless of the reasons for the ground opening its mouth, the action symbolizes the understanding or fear that the ground beneath us is not steady or immobile, and it could at any moment open in reaction to our own actions. All this study is the artist’s reflection on her personal experience and narrative. Her vulnerability is on display to help the viewer understand their own connection to the landscape around them.

Visitors to “The Ground, which Opens Its Mouth” see the familiar components that unify Bluhm’s paintings. Colorful brushstrokes, natural elements, and a dynamic composition are all there in the work. However, the artist is clear that this series is personal and draws specifically from her life. She is painting familiar surroundings—the greenbelt by her home, and the University of Washington—and these works are the result of intense self-reflection. They are also a consideration of deep uncertainty about our social and environmental state, which seems to be constantly moving and shifting. In her works, the ground is literally moving.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is an art professional and curator based in Washington State.

“The Ground, which Opens Its Mouth,” is on view at J. Rinehart Gallery, located at 319 Third Avenue S, Seattle, Washington, from November 1 to 26. An Exhibition Preview is to be held Saturday, November 1, from 2 to 4 p.m., with the opening reception on First Thursday, November 6, from 5-8 p.m. Bluhm joins the gallery for a discussion about her work on Saturday, November 15. For more information, visit www.jrinehartgallery.com.

Come visit these Edmonds Gems

Debbi Lester — Thu, 30 Oct 2025 22:27:06 GMT

A Decade of Rediscovery: Cascadia Art Museum’s Tenth Anniversary exhibit — up through November 23 — honors the heart of this institution whose aim has been to rediscover forgotten Pacific Northwest artists. In the current exhibit, Blanche Morgan Losey’s “The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire,” is conceptual as heck. Aurthur Runquist’s “Listening to Radio Moscow,” from 1938, brings up a troika full of questions. And Julius “Land Elk” Twohy’s studies for his “The flight of the Thunderbird,” a 72-foot-wide mural in Tacoma that was — ironically—razed to make way for the Emerald Queen Casino parking lot, are magisterial.

Cascadia’s curator David Martin — also a published author and lecturer — has been a champion of such artists fordecades. He andhis partner ownedMartin-Zambito Fine Art and showed these artists’ works in their space onCapitol Hill’s East Pike Street in 1989. Backwhen I had an art studio on 13th & Pike, I would regularly stop and look at paintings in their windows. These landscapes and figure paintings in gilt frames, without my knowing their context, often appeared as works by people trying on the painting style of European artists.

This is why I love Cascadia Art Museum. It has created a place for context. Having visited this museum many times, I have acquired a taste for these forgotten artists who I now realize are my artistic predecessors. As curator Martin has said of them, “We want to tell their stories, which are often as compelling as their art.”

Graphite Arts Center, another Edmonds gem, closes out the year with a solo retrospective of artworks by Edmonds artist d’Elaine Johnson. “d’Elaine Johnson: Goddesses,” features 15 of her large-scale works of female figures, imagery inspired by her experiences as one of the world’s first female scuba divers. This artist, with nearly 2,000 paintings to her name, annotates all her works with a quote from a reference book.

The text for her “Curative Powers” painting reads: “Triplism was expressed in the Celtic religion and iconography. This was expressed in three mother goddesses, who together form a unity representing strength, power, and fertility. They presided over springs, lakes, bogs, and watery places that had curative powers.”

The opening reception for this exhibit is Saturday, December 6, 7-8:30 p.m. The reception is open to the public, and d’Elaine Johnson is to be in attendance.

For more information on these exhibits, visit www.cascadiaartmuseum.org and/or www.graphiteartscenter.org.

Celebrating 30 Years: ArtX Contemporary in Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Thu, 30 Oct 2025 21:56:17 GMT

ArtX Contemporary (formerly ArtXchange Gallery) is celebrating 30 years on the scene! I spoke with Cora Edmonds, the founding director, about her main motivation in creating the gallery. It is a cultural bridge, a community-driven space. It was founded before the internet put international connections at our fingertips, but ArtX Contemporary is still unusual in its commitment to international engagement, both through artists based in Seattle and those living in other countries.

Edmonds was born in Hong Kong and moved to Seattle when she was twelve, so she grew up bilingual. The idea of immersion in another culture has expanded into world-wide interests, but with a particular emphasis on Southeast and rurl Asia.

She and her husband have created Namaste Children’s Fund, that provides “quality education for girls in rural and under-served regions of Nepal.” Edmonds’s famous photo of a young child offering her a “namaste” many years ago was the starting point for this endeavor. Edmonds is also an excellent photographer.

A group show opening December 4 celebrates the 30th anniversary of the gallery with almost 50 artists contributing to the show. The show offers a cross-section of the artists that the gallery has shown and worked with since its founding, reflecting its deep commitment to diversity. Many of these artists are now well-known in Seattle and beyond, such as Pakistani-born Humaira Abid who was supported for many years by ArtXchange. Edmonds also spoke about her deep and on-going engagement with the indigenous artists of Australia, and an exhibition coming up to coincide with a major show of Australian Indigenous Art at the National Gallery in Washington D.C.

The artists in the anniversary exhibition have deep connections to other cultures. For example: Fulgencio Lazo divides his time between Seattle and Oaxaca; Lauren Iida lived in Cambodia for over a decade; June Sekiguchi has created works inspired by her travel in Southeast Asia; Tatiana Garmendia was born in Cuba, Juan Alonzo makes reference to his Cuban roots, and Michelle Kumata paints images of the Japanese internment and its aftermath.

Alan Lau, who has the current exhibition at the gallery (on view until November 15), spends several months in Kyoto, Japan each year. His show titled “Walks Along the Kamogawa: The Kyoto Series Part I” gives us moody and lyrical paintings in sumi, watercolor, and pastel on rice paper. The Kamogawa is a river that runs through Kyoto. Along its banks the paved sidewalks form the “city’s playground.” People do calisthenics, jog and walk, as well as make impromptu solo music.

Lau’s paintings are abstract: “in the clearing” suggests loosely-spaced trees that hang in space, leaving a resonant empty space at the bottom. Many birds (“tracing migration patterns of small birds”) live along the river, including ducks, herons, coots, and gulls—even hawks swoop in.

The paintings refer to different places as well, such as “arctic ledge” with its cool grays, and “that day by the sea” which suggests the movement of water.

Two artworks, “in the peach orchard” and “trapped within my garden of longing (in memory of peach blossom spring),” are entirely different in stroke, texture, and color, although they both reference peach blossoms. Reciting only the titles of these works, all written in lower case by the artist, suggest a poetic enchantment in themselves.

We can imagine the artist in Kyoto, in his “makeshift studio in my in-laws’ house…the only room in the house where the sun filters in…adobe walls are covered with a white wash now crumbling away in flakes and splotched with smudges of sumi ink from my painting.” (The quotes are from Lau’s own artist statement.)

In October, Lau invited three musicians to respond to his work. Esther Sugai played a dragon flute, Geoff Harper his bass, and the sound artist Suzie Kozawa carried a bowl through the audience using a rolling ball to make a soft sound. The music gave us, almost magically, another entry into the paintings.

Alan Lau’s new book This Single Road. Postcards and Notebooks From Kyoto includes drawings, text, and handwritten letters. A book launch takes place at the Gallery on Saturday, November 1, at 2 p.m. Alan is to read selected passages from the book, accompanied by a soundscape performance by Susie Kozawa. This event is free and open to the public.

Be sure to attend the 30th anniversary celebration on December 4, from 5-8 p.m.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes for local, national, and international publications and her website, www.artandpoliticsnow.com.

ArtX Contemporary, located at 512 First Avenue South in Seattle, Washington, is open Tuesday through Saturday from 11 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. For more information, visit www.artx-contemporary.com

Glowing with Potential: Asia Pacific Cultural Center in Tacoma, Washington

Debbi Lester — Thu, 30 Oct 2025 16:10:14 GMT

Glowing with Potential: Asia Pacific Cultural Center in Tacoma, Washington

There’s something about the Asia Pacific Cultural Center that feels like it has always been there, tucked among the trees on the southwestern fringe of Tacoma’s South Park. While the building is new, freshly opened to the public at the end of August, the APPC has in fact been breathing with life, magnetizing and energizing Tacoma’s Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander (AANHPI) community for 30 years.

On the bright fall afternoon when I visited, it was very much pulsing with activity: a tour convened in the lobby as staff greeted each arrival, people chatted in the parking lot while others paused on the wood slat bench outside the front door. Even though I had come unannounced, I was warmly passed from person to person in the way of a shirttail relative or new neighbor until I was welcomed into the office of Faaluaina “Lua” Pritchard, Executive Director. She’s led the organization for 15 years, a time of tremendous change and growth.

When I asked what she wanted people to know about the Asia Pacific Cultural Center, Lua spoke of the 47 nations represented within the Asia Pacific region, programs that form the core of the organization and echo its vision to “transform our community to become a dynamic, inclusive hub for diverse communities, cultures, and generations.” Two popular public cultural programs include the annual Lunar New Year celebration—this year spotlighting Cambodia—coming to the Tacoma Dome on February 28, 2026, and the Taste of Asia, every first Saturday at the APCC, featuring the cuisine of a different nation each month. Other celebrations take place throughout the year, some at other locations in the South Sound, but most at the center.

But it is the less visible work that continues to keep the organization relevant and thriving. APCC offers an array of educational, environmental, social and economic programs that address people as complex wholes who are part of a generational community linked by geography. They guide at-risk students toward high school graduation and beyond, raise awareness and educate on environmental justice, lessen stigma and provide services for mental health and wellness, and strengthen businesses owned and operated by AANHPI community members.

Language instruction is also offered at APCC, through 10-week courses taught by experienced teachers in Korean, Thai, Filipino, Mandarin, Lao, Japanese, and Samoan. As the website states, “The goal of the program is twofold. First, it provides an opportunity for students to increase their understanding of diverse cultures through learning another language. Secondly, it helps build bridges between communities and promotes cultural exchange within the region.”

The non-profit strives to reach its constituents where they live, and where their need is greatest. Walking into the reception lobby at the Asia Pacific Cultural Center, this is immediately visible. Ceiling-high, glassed in shelves form a gridded window wall display of the artisanship and tangible culture from each of the 47 nations represented there, each one distinct from one another with unique culture, economies, history, and social practices. The range was staggering, with ceramics, baskets, stone and wood carvings, and metalwork, meriting another visit in the future to gaze and wonder.

When I come back, I’ll call ahead and arrange a visit to linger in the Jade Choe Art Gallery. Exhibits feature artwork by Asia Pacific artists who represent a rich mix of media, styles, and content. The upcoming show features young Cambodian artists Nak Bou and Ye Ranue.

Nak’s work melds graphic design, illustration, drawing, and painting in bold and textured works about people, food, music, and the vibrancy of life. Ye Ranue is the youngest member of Open Studio Cambodia, an artist collective in Siem Reap, Cambodia, founded by Washington state artist and his adopted mother, Lauren Iida. Ranue’s drawings and block prints feature wildlife, nature, and his family history. Ranue is a high school student who saves all the proceeds of his art sales for his future college tuition. Their exhibit runs from November 1 to December 31, 2025.

It’s a huge lift for an organization of this scale and scope to cultivate this garden of services and programs that reach and represent such a variety of people. The APCC is powered by over 300 volunteers, a busy staff of 45, and the trust that grows up from the commitment to show up and follow words with actions. Three decades in, their process of rooting with the community is well underway. Now, in a new building situated in a verdant park within a dynamic urban setting in the midst of a world where the present invites more dedicated connection, culture, and compassion, Tacoma’s Asia Pacific Cultural Center appears to glow with potential.

Kristin L. Tollefson

Kristin L. Tollefson is an artist and educator based in Tacoma, Washington.

“Cambodia: Daily Life and Diaspora” is on view at the Asia Pacific Cultural Center’s Jade Choe Gallery, located at 4851 South Tacoma Way in Tacoma, Washington. The center hours are Monday through Friday from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. The artist reception is on Saturday, November 22, from 3 to 6 p.m. For more information, please visit www.asiapacificculturalcenter.org.

Shadows by Jeff Fraga

Debbi Lester — Thu, 30 Oct 2025 16:06:33 GMT

Shadows

The edge is always there,

dangerously close to

wherever I am.

Or where anybody is.

I sleep lightly,

like a soldier before battle.

I wake quickly,

like a light being clicked on.

I lurk in the shadows

of the hot day,

waiting for night

to come to my rescue.

It’s a sudden chill,

an unexpected nuance.

It’s the universal truth

and the quintessential lie.

The perpetuation of the

Great Mystery sustains us all.

Do you know what’s

on the dark side of the moon?

Or the dark side of your closest friend?

Are the light and dark opposites?

Or two parts of the same?

Where do the shadows go

when the lights are turned off?

Is this all too thick?

When, after all, I know it isn’t

because you’ve been there too.

But it sure isn’t the letter I thought

I was going to write.

The words threw themselves

onto the paper and I got inky

when I got in the way.

And why am I so crazed?

Because you’re there

and I’m

here…

Jeff Fraga

Jeff Fraga is a poet and playwright living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

Jamie Wyeth: Unsettled

Debbi Lester — Sun, 31 Aug 2025 00:57:14 GMT

Wyeth–what a famous name! Jamie Wyeth is the third generation of painters in his family. We think of them as realists, but as you look at this exhibition of Jamie Wyeth, “Unsettled,” and compare him to his father Andrew (“Christina’s World”), and to his grandfather, N.C. Wyeth (“The Passing of Robin Hood”), we see an eerie, fantastic current in all three.

This exhibition however, foregrounds the supernatural. Two apparently straightforward works like “Bean Boots” or “Cat Bates of Monhegan” become spooky. Is the title meant to distract us as we look at “Bean Boots”? We gradually begin to see the details. First the man wearing bean boots is wearing a large glove for handling falcons, and a falcon looks at him fixedly from a cage. Above his head are numerous animal skulls sporting antlers. Along the left is an oversized pair of pants that seem to resolve into the base of a tree. In the right foreground a tree has two guns hanging off of it. Then there is the lighting which slashes a dark diagonal across the painting. A very strange painting.

“Cat Bates of Monhegan” gives us a boy standing in contrapposto like a Greek statue, naked from the waist up, next to a fiery furnace with an open door. He looks defiant, as though he actually controls the unruly fire. He is actually burning garbage, apparently, but the open flames may be out of control at any minute.

Several of the paintings have a wild, unruly ocean as in “Spindrift,” with a surging sea coming toward the Wyeth house on a point, or, in “My Mother and the Squall,” the surging waters come almost up to the house as his mother hurries inside. Sometimes enlarged animals or birds overwhelm the scenery, changing it into a bizarre and ominous scene: in “Midsummer Night’s Dusk” the cows’ white faces look like skeletons; in “Hill Girt Farm,” giant pumpkins foreground a blazing fire.

And the birds! In “Wake,” a huge gull flies above a turbulent sea, straight at us (there is another version in which the gull flies over flames). We feel we will shortly be attacked. For anyone who has been dive-bombed by a bird, this painting is very disturbing. In “Snow Owl,” the bird looks at us fixedly: the offbeat subtitle is “Fourteenth in a Suite of Untoward Occurrences on Monhegan Island.” In this painting, as in all his paintings of the sea, the artist has plunged into its turbulence with masterly strokes of paint.

Anther work in which the artist literally plumbed the depths is “Berg.” Apparently Wyeth actually did fall into the freezing sea, so this close-up view seems to recall that primal experience. Embedded in the iceberg are the imprints of birds as though they are frozen into the ice, but it melts away from the bottom (as icebergs do).

There are many portraits: a suite of small Kennedy family portraits—clearly the result of close friendship—and two images of Andy Warhol, and Weyth’s grandfather.

Warhol and Wyeth painted each others portraits in 1976. The exhibition includes two Warhol portraits, one “Andy Warhol in White (Andy Warhol Study),” painted the same year as the collaboration. The carefully studied face stands out from the white loosely painted background which merges with the white of Warhol’s face. In the second, which depicts Warhol standing behind a screen door, the most detailed part of the painting is Warhol’s head. Painted in 2015 it is an homage to a departed friend.

A portrait of Wyeth’s famous grandfather is also a part of the screen door series and an homage. Titled “Apples: Fifth in the Screen Door Series” we see an intimate look at his grandfather as he gathers apples. The background is filled with not-yet gathered apples. His grandfather’s face is lovingly painted. N.C. Wyeth died in 1945 when his car was hit by a train at a railroad crossing, a year before Jamie Wyeth was born.

One of the strangest “portraits” is “Julie on a Swing,” in which a diminutive Julie swings under a huge and threatening tree. She is oblivious to the threat. The strange yellow sky and ground suggest an imminent storm.

Finally, though, the most moving portrait is the homage to his wife, Phyllis Mills, “Spring: the Hanging of The Tree Rocks” (2017). It is clear that the artist wanted to jump into those trees himself. The tree rocks refer to the way that his wife suspended rocks from ropes on branches in order to reach the fruit she was gathering. Nymphs surround her in the trees. The entire frame is filled with growing vines. It speaks to love and life.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes for local, national, and international publications and her website, www.artandpoliticsnow.com.

“Jamie Wyeth: Unsettled” is on view Wednesday through Sunday from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. and Thursday from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. through October 5 at Frye Art Museum, located at 704 Terry Avenue in Seattle, Washington. For more information, visit www.fryemuseum.org.

Through the Light: The Sublime in Contemporary Northwest Art

Debbi Lester — Sun, 31 Aug 2025 00:52:54 GMT

James W. Washington, Jr. “Many Hats, One Spirit”

Debbi Lester — Sat, 30 Aug 2025 23:56:30 GMT

The Seattle-based painter/sculptor James W. Washington, Jr. held a central place in the renowned “Northwest School,” but he remains an overlooked figure. This summer’s exhibition at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art (BIMA) raises Washington’s profile, and deepens our appreciation of his gifts. “James W. Washington, Jr.: Many Hats, One Spirit” runs through September 15th, and you don’t want to miss this show.

“Many Hats” is a many-sided retrospective. BIMA’s chief curator Greg Robinson, in collaboration with the Dr. James W. Washington, Jr. & Mrs. Janie Rogella Washington Foundation, has assembled a fascinating selection of the artist’s drawings, paintings, and sculptures from all phases of his career. But it’s two other dimensions of the show that make it sing.

First, the exhibit includes pieces by 25 contemporary artists who have held residencies at the Foundation. Some engage Washington’s main themes—civil rights, spirituality, the life cycle—while others provide literal or figurative portraits of the artist. This exchange between past and present is beautifully moderated, and honors Washington’s living legacy 25 years after his passing.

Second, the artist’s personal effects appear throughout the show. Furnishings from James and Janie Washington’s Seattle home occupy BIMA’s upper atrium where the exhibit begins. The stately chairs, the grandfather clock, the hat-stand adorned with (yes) many hats all evoke the personality behind the art. The sculpting tools he designed for himself are on view, as are books from his personal library—nods to Washington’s resourceful and autodidactic nature.

Entering the main gallery, you can turn to follow the outer walls where art from the Artists-in-Residence appear: these pieces end to be large, colorful, and assertive. Or you can go straight to the center of the floor to enjoy Washington’s work, which, in contrast, has a contemplative feel. His paintings and drawings have a cool quiet gravity overall; his sculptures are mostly unobtrusive, monochromatic, modestly-sized, gently-rounded.

You can do some good bird-watching here, noting the many bird figures that Washington loved to depict. Most are shown in self-effacing postures, some are even wounded and gathered inward as if unwilling to emerge from the stone.

Washington’s works are not presented in chronological order, or grouped by theme or by medium. The arrangement is more free-form than that, leaving each viewer to find their own connections. (Washington believed deeply in self-directedness and would approve.) Drawings from the 1940s hang beside granite carvings from the 1980s. African artifacts and semi-abstract sculptures share space. Paintings of busy Chicago streets and other urbanscapes hang above an artful construction of metal, wood, and leather straps—a mechanism Washington built for show-repair. This curatorial mosaic supports the show’s “One Spirit” theme: he felt that any good piece—a well-made shoe, a loose watercolor, the sandstone bust of a politicalleader—manifests a universal spiritual force.

In 1951, he traveled to Mexico City to meet artist Diego Rivera. Near the Teotihuacán pyramids, he found a small volcanic rock on the roadside. He was drawn to it, or it to him, and brought the rock home. It sat untouched for years, until the day he transformed the stone into “Little Boy of Athens.” This was Washington’s first stone sculpture, and with that he went all in on this new practice. He had taught himself to draw and to paint, and now he taught himself to shape stone. The disarming simplicity of “Little Boy of Athens” (1956) led eventually to the finely-wrought “Jomo Kenyatta of Kenya” (1982), and to public art commissions weighing up to 6 tons.

In the 1940s, Washington befriended Mark Tobey, and under his influence learned to fully embrace his own impulses. He sought to “reveal the spirituality of matter.” He opened his work to the esoteric imagery and symbology that seemed numinous to him (much in the same way he intuited the potential of the rock in Mexico). Icons from Christian and African sources came into play, as well as symbols from Freemasonry. Imagery from nature also came to the fore as he matured—eggs and fish and the ever-recurring birds, even monkeys and woodchucks. These figures from the animal world may be taken as Washington’s shorthand for the spiritual force that animates all of humanity, all of creation. One spirit, many forms.

Many forms, and many artists, too! The Foundation’s residency program is one way it helps foster creative expression. A few artists in the show are familiar names, like Esther Ervin, Marita Dingus, and Joe Max Emminger; others are newer on the scene or based outside the region. Mentioned here are just two highlights from this treasure trove of contributions: Ervin’s “Bondage” is an intricate piece with beautiful symmetry and patterning; it also documents a horrific chapter of our history. Ervin shows that one thing art can do is confront and unsettle. But art can also uplift, as with Christen Mattix’s “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” This wall-assemblage is like a grid-based portrait—think Chuck Close, except with hymnals forming the grid, some painted so that the grid resolves (as you step back from the wall) into a portrait of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. It’s certain that James W. Washington, Jr. would endorse these two pieces, and a couple dozen others assembled here under his auspices.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

“James Washington, Jr.: Many Hats, One Spirit” is on view daily 10 a.m.-5 p.m., through September 15 at Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, located at 550 Winslow Way East on Bainbridge Island, Washington.“The Living Legacy of James W. Washington, Jr.” panel discussion with Q + A is on September 7, 3:30 p.m. at BIMA Auditorium.

Art’s Alive! 40th Anniversary

Debbi Lester — Sat, 30 Aug 2025 23:23:39 GMT

In October 2025, Art’s Alive! in La Conner, Washington, celebrates its 40th anniversary—a significant milestone for any institution or art event, especially for one that is based in a small community. It is evident with this anniversary that Art’s Alive!, an exhibition and series of art programs, has tapped into a subject and a mission that the local community is passionate about, so much so that they continue to return year after year for four decades. The event started as a fundraiser for the Valley Museum of Art (now the Museum of Northwest Art), but it is now organized by the La Conner Art Foundation, which is also a nonprofit organization. Running from Friday, October 24 through Monday, October 27, visitors can enjoy multiple exhibitions and art demonstrations around the town of La Conner.

In a conversation with Sheila Johnson, the president of the Board of Directors of the La Conner Art Foundation, it became clear that the organization is dedicated to both artists and education. When an artwork sells at Art’s Alive!, artists receive a 60% commission while the remaining 40% is dedicated nearly in its entirety to scholarships for high school seniors and college students. The event this year takes place in Maple Hall, as it has been for many years, but Johnson also emphasized that there are art demonstrations taking place all over town. But this year is also a special year, and the exhibition includes 180 artworks created by around 90 different artists. The exhibition is divided into three sections: Legends (artists who have participated in Art’s Alive! in the past), Invitational (artists new to participating), and the Open Show which features artists living in the La Conner School District. In summary, the exhibition this year is larger and more expansive than any other.

The foundation and its selection committee watch artists year-round and then decide on artists to invite for participation in the exhibition. This year, the committee has also partnered with several art galleries to show the work of certain artists. For example, Allie High’s “Short-eared Owl” is included courtesy of Stonington Gallery. This collaboration allows Art’s Alive! to include artists with gallery representation while also supporting the mission of the event and foundation. High’s work is included in the Invitational portion of the exhibit, alongside other artists like Kathleen Faulkner, Ee Lin Lee, and Leo E. Osborne. This year there isn’t necessarily a theme for the Invitational; these are all artists who inspire the committee and have a connection to the Pacific Northwest. One aspect of this portion of the exhibition is the variety of materials and mediums represented, including paintings, pastels, weavings, ceramics, and more. One oil painting that stands out is Andy Eccleshall’s “Timeless,” which features a barn with the daylight shining through the open doors. The scene is so familiar in Skagit County that it almost mimics looking out a window to a common landscape in the valley.

Similarly, Art’s Alive! has partnered with several local galleries to exhibit work in the “Legends” gallery, which includes artists from past Art’s Alive! exhibits in the 1980s through to 2024. It is truly a delight to see work by artists like John Simon, Paul Havas, Meg Holgate, Thomas Stream, and Georgia Gerber in a gallery together. The “Legends” portion of the show is an interesting snapshot of artistic themes and trends throughout the past decades. Adding to this point, donors receive a poster from the 1987 edition of Art’s Alive! which features a painting of a sunflower by Richard Gilkey. It is worth pointing out that this is in some ways a unique opportunity to see and acquire work by artists with connections to the “Northwest School” while also supporting living artists working nearby.

Art’s Alive! is a longstanding art program in Skagit County with a deep history of supporting the local artistic community. The exhibition opens at 1 p.m. on Friday, October 24 at Maple Hall, with the opening event starting at 5 p.m. This is an exciting opportunity to meet the artists while enjoying food and beverages in a beautiful environment. The events continue through the weekend, and visitors are welcome to vote on their People’s Choice selection. At the time of writing this feature, the award is still to be announced. Art’s Alive! closes at 4 p.m. on Monday, October 27. October can be a delightful time to visit Skagit County since many of the pumpkin patches are open and the weather can be beautiful.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is an art professional and curator based in Washington State. Art’s Alive! Invitational & Open Fine Art Show is on view at Maple Hall, located at 104 Commercial Street, La Conner, Washington from Friday, October 24, 1-8 p.m.; Saturday, October 25, 10 a.m.-5 p.m.; Sunday, October 26, 10 a.m.-5 p.m.; Monday, October 27, 10 a.m.-4 p.m. Visit www.ArtsAliveLaConner.com.

"Hi-Fructose" 2025 Invitational

Debbi Lester — Tue, 24 Jun 2025 12:49:59 GMT

Shapeshifters | San Juan Islands Museum of Art Friday Harbor, Washington

Debbi Lester — Tue, 24 Jun 2025 12:41:59 GMT

On June 12, 150 people gathered at the beloved San Juan Island Museum of Art (SJIMA) to celebrate the opening of “Shapeshifters—Northwest Coast Indigenous Art,” an exhibition detailing four key artistic styles of Indigenous peoples living along the Northwest coast. The large group of attendees included several internationally celebrated artists who are included in the exhibition, alongside locals and museum supporters eager to learn more about Indigenous art through the exhibition. Guest curator Lee Brooks, a local gallerist, centers the exhibition around the story of Raven, a popular figure in Northwest coast art. Brooks stated that Raven was selected to be a focal point of the exhibition because “He transforms to meet life’s challenges and shapeshifts to create new solutions for today’s dilemmas.” The resulting exhibition both delights and educates visitors by bringing together important artists employing four different styles in an effort to educate and connect.

SJIMA is located about six blocks from the ferry terminal in Friday Harbor on San Juan Island. The museum has exhibited work by Indigenous artists previously and most of its permanent collection is work by Indigenous artists, but this exhibition has a different geographical focus than those previously hosted by the museum. In a conversation soon after the exhibit opened, Assistant
Director Wendy Smith relayed that “Shapeshifters” has had an incredible impact on members of the local community who are eager to learn more and support the artists included in the show. “Shapeshifters” includes over fifty artworks, eighteen of which come from the museum’s permanent collection, by some of the most renowned Northwest Coast artists. The list includes Susan Point, Dan Friday, Rande Cook, Greg Colfax, and many others.

One impressive element of this exhibition is the scale. Not only the number of artworks, but also the geographic range and size of the artwork. Upon entering the gallery, visitors see a large red cedar sculpture with copper and acrylic paint by Tom Hunt. Titled “Sun,” the sculpture includes a face with seven wooden rays extending outward. Hunt (Kwakwaka’wakw) was born in Victoria, B.C. and trained or apprenticed with many family members, including his father, uncle, and grandfather—certainly maintaining a tradition of familial artistic legacy. Similarly, Susan Point (Musqueam) speaks about learning her art form from her family members as well, and the exhibition includes her beautiful serigraph, “Symphony of Butterflies.” Point is also from British Columbia and has been an influential figure in the Coast Salish artistic community.

As mentioned, this exhibition explores four artistic styles that are represented in different areas of the Northwest coast region. Moving further south from where Hunt and Point learned their style and methods, “Shapeshifters” brings the work of Greg Colfax, a Makah artist who grew up in Neah Bay, Washington State. Colfax’s red cedar “Canoe Mask” is one of several masks included in the
exhibition. Colfax is well known for both his large scale and smaller carvings, in addition to conserving older artwork carved by other artists. The red cedar face of “Canoe Mask” is highlighted with cedar bark around the edges to represent hair, and the mouth of the figure is open to evoke action and agency.

The exhibition includes a wide range of materials amongst the many artworks. This article has already mentioned wood carvings and serigraphs, but it is also important to note Dan Friday (Lummi) and his blown glass “Sxwo’le Reefnet Anchor.” Bringing all of these methods, materials, and styles together underscores the fact that Indigenous art includes dynamic conversations on important social issues, observations about environmental concerns, and can include a discussion about traditional styles and contemporary methods.

Throughout the summer, the museum hosts artist talks to further explore the artwork, themes, and messages involved in the exhibition. More information about these events is posted on the museum’s website. The artwork is on display until September 15, so there is plenty of time for visitors to see the show and explore all the beauty that San Juan Island has to offer. If you have never visited the island, it is a ferry ride away from Anacortes, Washington. Since the ferry landing is located in the town, it may not be necessary to bring a vehicle. Summer is the perfect time to enjoy the beauty of the Puget Sound with a ferry ride to Friday Harbor in order to visit this exhibition.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is an art professional and curator based in Washington State.

“Shapeshifters” exhibition is on view through September 15 at the San Juan Islands Museum of Art, located at 540 Spring Street in Friday Harbor, Washington. Museum hours are Friday through Monday from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. For more information, visit www.sjima.org.

Echoes, Memories, and Curiosities | Chuck Iffland at Northwind Art

Debbi Lester — Tue, 24 Jun 2025 12:22:07 GMT

Port Townsend’s Northwind Art brings the celebrated Outsider artist Chuck Iffland right inside its walls this summer—quite a trick! The show consists of biomorphic works in stone, wood, and metal that Iffland creates at his Mad Monkey sculpture park and studio in Chimicum, just south of Port Townsend. The one-man show is called “Echoes, Memories, and Curiosities.” Bring your own curiosity though, because these are layered and enigmatic works.

The term “outsider artist” often seems not simply inadequate (no label is ever adequate) but exactly backwards: artists tagged “outsider” are usually the ones most possessed of an inner vision, a private world. But after chatting with Iffland, who embraces the outsider tag with a mix of pride and shrugging self-acceptance, I can see how the handle makes sense. The “white walls” (his term for art galleries) are fairly distasteful to him; the formalities required to participate in the formal art world exhaust his patience; and don’t get him started on the digitization of every single step required to play the game. He’s no Luddite or recluse, he just prefers his own path, which is to display his artwork outside of officially-sanctioned spaces, literally placing them outside in the open air.

Which brings us to another way the “outsider artist” moniker works: Iffland is often outside gardening on the wooded five-acre spread he owns with his wife, the film-maker Lynn Wegenka. Deer sleep in the fields and tend to their fawns among the strange scarecrows and other sculpted figures—works that Iffland creates in this or that old shed or barn on the property. His pieces are meant to interact with the sun, the rain, the cracking cold. How they become weathered and even disfigured is part of the draw.

Rarely is nature itself Iffland’s inspiration, though. He is more about archeology, history, and adventuresome world travel. If his figurative work seems akin to the carvings and totems of ancient peoples, and somewhat distant from the 21st century (or even the 20th century), it’s because of those passions.

Iffland and Wegenka decamped from Seattle in the 1990s, and bought a small cabin above Chimicum Creek. Their Seattle cohorts explained they were nuts to abandon the city’s thriving arts scene for some remote unheard of outpost. But Iffland could see the bulldozers coming for his studio in an industrial section of town (probably now an Amazon tower). Iffland and Wegenka pursued their visions in the secluded valley, keeping a distance even from Port Townsend’s art circles. The idea of the sculpture park (which he calls his “roadside attraction”) presented occasions to get to know the neighbors and larger community, and to spread the word about what he was up to and capable of. In the surrounding woods, he could find plenty of source materials for his art-making.

Iffland has always admired the Northwind Art space, and he teamed with its new Executive Director Martha Worthley, an artist in her own right, to map out the show. He senses the time is right for “Echoes, Memories, and Curiosities.” When Covid curtailed Iffland’s travel plans his productivity in the studio soared. He let memories of pre-pandemic hikes be his guide. He found himself working at a smaller scale than in the past. He concedes it’s a matter of aging: dealing with slabs of wood, sheets of metal, and unwieldy stone is a younger artist’s game. On the plus side, his newer more modest-sized pieces are easier for the public to bring home—and it is important to Iffland to find the pieces good homes. It’s what artists live for, he says.

A fresh focus is on woodblock and linoleum prints. The printing is all by hand—no press involved. If ink splatters into the space around the image, so be it. He’s aware these marks can turn away certain buyers, but for Iffland they lend individuality to a print in a limited edition. The move from a sketch to a print is just the beginning, though. Iffland also uses the carved blocks to transfer the image into/onto a thin copper sheet. He applies elixirs to the copper (hot sauce—preferably Sriracha—is involved here) until intriguing colors emerge.

Now a final iteration of the image takes place—another echo or memory of the initial drawing. Iffland transfers the image to a steel plate about ¼-inch thick, and uses a plasma-cutter to carve out the negative space within the design.

These prints and their metallic echoes occupy the left side of the gallery space, balancing the “curiosities” along the opposite wall. (In the center sits a small army of figures to confront you as you enter the gallery.) At least a few of the “curiosities” arise from what Iffland calls “walkabouts in the borderlands”—meaning pre-pandemic hikes along the U.S. and Mexico border. In the desert Iffland encountered “signposts” that migrants use for wayfinding in that dangerous terrain. The signals are improvised, coded, and highly adaptive. In that precarious borderland surveilled by hostile forces, knowing how to read these marks and symbols means not just staying on track but staying alive. It is not surprising that Iffland the outsider artist would be engaged by these narratives, but you’ll find the form of expression surprising and curious indeed.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

“Echoes, Memories, and Curiosities: The Art of Chuck Iffland” is on view Thursday through Monday, from July 10 through August 25 at Northwind Art, located at 701 Water Street in Port Townsend, Washington. For more information, www.northwindart.org.

During the weekend of August 23-24, Iffland’s sculpture park is on the Port Townsend & Surrounding Areas Studio Tour. The Raw Art Collective partners with Northwind Art to host the free, self-guided public tour, and you’ll find details at www.rawartcollective.org.

Escape to the Reel World at the Seattle International Film Festival

Debbi Lester — Wed, 21 May 2025 19:15:00 GMT

The 51^st Seattle International Film Festival opened with a bang on May 15 with seats full of local film lovers and visitors from around the world. Inundated with an enthusiastic audience, SIFF reminded all there of the importance of broadening one's Reel Word by seeing films made in other countries.

Seeing movies can be a great way to grow your perspective and understand what is affecting the world around you. SIFF wants to highlight this and encourage you to witness what is happening through all genres, including action, comedy, drama, horror, romance, science fiction, and animation.

The opening night featured Four Mothers, co-written by Irish brothers, Darren and Colin Thornton, and directed by Darren. The film is a wonderful heartfelt comedy about a man, Edward, an up-and-coming novelist, taking care of his elderly mother, and suddenly three more mothers.

We follow Edward through his stressful journey caring for his mother, Alma, whose life we learn mirrors his own. Both of these characters are doing the best they can, with their bravest faces on. It isn’t until they have three surprising house guests that they are thrown out of their comfort zones and forced to be vulnerable in a whole new way.

This is a laugh-out-loud, witty, emotional movie that reminds you of the love for your grandmother, mother, and all of the strong women in your life. While this movie will appeal to all kinds of audiences, queer men and their moms will find its story especially engaging and personally meaningful.

While Four Mothers was shown only for the SIFF Opening Night, this is a film worth following. Colin Thornton, attended the screening and encouraged everyone to review and keep track of the film on Letterboxd and IMDb. This is a must-see film, and deserves to be widely-accessible on all viewing platforms. Spreading the word can help in reaching that goal.

SIFF runs until May 25. There are so many amazing movies in all genres and for all audiences. As you enter SIFF’s Reel World your perspective on life is strengthened. This is an opportunity to come together as a community and see what’s going on outside of Seattle's bubble. Tickets are limited, so please buy your tickets now at https://www.siff.net/festival/passes-and-tickets. Looking forward to seeing you there.

Alden Perrine

Alden Perrine is a recent graduate from Washington State University. She is headed towards Vancouver Film School for their Writing in Film program next year. Alden is passionate about film and cannot wait to get started.

For more information about Seattle International Film Festival, visit https://www.siff.net/festival.

Power of the Presses

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 May 2025 20:41:58 GMT

Don’t miss the extraordinary exhibition “Power of the Presses” at Bainbridge Island Museum of Art until June 8. A selection from the Cynthia Sears collection of 3,500 artists’ books (one of the largest in the country) curated by Catherine Alice Michaelis, it features 33 printmaking methods. But it also emphasizes a wide range of content from environmental to political. The role of the press in building community is the main theme. As the curator explained, she chose works that “shared a voice of community or personal, intimate expression — in a way that gathers community. The press as a tool for sharing voice. Pieces had to be personal in some way. I also looked for an example of every printmaking method that was in the glossary.”

Surprisingly, in the center of the gallery, we see an offset printing press. Amos Paul Kennedy, Jr. was there the day I went, printing posters for anyone that stopped by. Behind him a wall of broadsides by a range of artists featured such direct statements as “Stop Voter Suppression,” “Peace,” “Breathe,” “I ain’t afraid to live in a world of trans people I am afraid to live in a world without them,” and “Without Song Each Day Would Be A Century.”

Mare Blocker, a pioneering role model for the artists’ books community, created an “altar/throne” made of books. When I was there she sat in that throne reading excerpts from her stories and from “My Beloved Community Dictionary.” Her focus, as described by the curator, is “how creativity can lead to self-discovery and the healing power that printing offers.”

The multiple prints on one wall engage community through Partners in Print. Collectively called “Words of Courage,” some of these were selected from poems written at Seattle Children’s Hospital through the Seattle Children’s Poet in Residence program. For example, an eleven-year-old patient titled her poem “Cured.” In the last verse she says, “I hope to close the door on being bald and self-conscious. I hope to open the door to having soft hazel curls hiding my ears and neck.”

The pages in Amos Paul Kennedy, Jr.’s poem book “Riddle ma riddle as I suppose: riddles from the Sea Islands of South Carolina” unfold one by one in different directions, ultimately forming large squares. The artist told me the riddles are based on local secrets and lore so we can’t answer them.

Shana Agid’s letterpress print book features text pointing at various places in Manhattan with the provocative title “Call a Wrecking Ball to Make a Window.” The map plots the intersections of Agid’s own history with that of the famous activist/artist/writer David Wojnarowicz, who died of AIDS in 1992. Agid is making sure that queer voices persist in the face of ongoing threats.

Another approach to the book is Ben Blount’s “Africans in America: A Short History.” The book features many blank pages and then we come to a date in which something significant happened for African Americans. The book is open to 1964, the year the Civil Rights Act was passed “prohibiting discrimination of all kinds based on race, color, religion, or national origins.”

Delita Martin uses multiple techniques to create “This Side of Night,” a huge book with lavish images and text: “My black woman body created a world under the moon…where black birds gather, their bodies shimmer a blue black, wings moving to the ancient rhythms of time, over and over, all at once around me, their bodies weight, stretched long on this side of night.”

Martin is both magical and vividly present on these large pages.

Another sizable book that uses multiple techniques is by Robbin Ami Silverberg and Kim Berman, “RE—A Tale of Two Cities,” the cities being New York and Johannesburg, with text like “reclaim, retrieve, recover, reuse, recycle…”

“Ten Years in Uzbekistan,” originally designed by Alexander Rodchenko, was discovered in an archive. David King, a historian of Russian photography, found it with the faces blacked out as people fell out of favor. David King and Ken Campbell re-presented the book with letterpress printed over half-tone photographs. The result is a haunting way to honor these people, whose names and biographies remain present in the text.

The pioneering role of Cynthia Sears in collecting artists’ books, combined with the diverse selection by curator Catherine Alice Michaelis, highlights the museum’s inclusive approach to acquisition, and its openness to a wide range of printing techniques, subject matters, and formats, from simple broadsides to books that unfold. This exhibit is an exciting revelation of the democratic and community-building power of print.

Susan Noyes Platt
Susan Noyes Platt writes for local, national, and international publications and her website, www.artandpoliticsnow.com.

“Power of the Presses” is on view through June 8 at Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, located at 550 Winslow Way East, on Bainbridge Island, Washington. Museum is open daily from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. For further information, visit www.biartmuseum.org.

Museo Gallery Summer Exhibitions

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 May 2025 17:56:41 GMT

Charged Exchanges

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 May 2025 17:26:08 GMT

Art generates a particular kind of alchemy. Artists wrangle ideas and materials into a gesture, object, or image that transcends language to make sense of an unruly world. Viewers, the people who witness or experience art, expand this transformative act when they add their points of view, amplifying or challenging the artist’s meaning. Art is conveyed both through and to us.

It seems fitting that at this moment, when little makes sense in our wobbling and punch-drunk world, an antidote is offered in the work of Holly Ballard Martz. Her show, “Past Perfect Future Tense,” runs through May 17, 2025 at Greg Kucera Gallery in Pioneer Square.

Upon entry to the gallery, one is virtually surrounded by punching bags suspended in mid-air and cocooned inside coverings of antique quilts. Navigating around the torso-sized bags reveals texts on each side; with the deft wordplay that Martz is known for, the texts explore the tension that women face between unwanted attention and the equally-undesirable devaluation and invisibility that comes with age. In “(Dis)missed,” the word appears on one side, broken into a vertical stack three letters wide and three lines high. On the other side, the letters “XX” allude to the chromosome pair associated with the female gender, but also to total obliteration. Martz extends this tension through her wall-mounted quilt pieces, where misogynist and ageist labels appear. The artist reclaims these slurs using encrusted seed beads stitched to the damaged and visibly-stained fabric; “hag,” “CRONE,” and “Witch” are fastidiously camouflaged to match the quaint calico patterns of the quilt squares.

Framing the perimeter of the gallery are sinuous and glittering wall pieces displayed in a variety of clusters; some are fully exposed and some are enclosed in bespoke frames and vitrines. Allusions to the transience of life weave through each piece. Certain pieces taken from the body, such as the solitary gray braid of “Faded Glory.” Mounted on an oval frame—like Victorian-era hairwork meant to preserve the memory of a loved one—the braid hangs from under a lead tire weight. The hair succumbs to and illustrates gravity, a force echoed in the artist’s other works that point to the slow and inevitable fall to earth.

In this world where bodily autonomy is threatened in the same measure that commonly-held notions of unattainable and generic beauty are proffered, Martz’s work celebrates and accepts alternatives. Her pieces, smartly constructed both in form and concept, transform what might otherwise be unwelcome or discarded into glittering and enduring truths.

Another kind of magic is at work in the densely-populated new paintings of Anthony White. His pieces travel in time, moving fluidly back to the lush still lifes of the 17th century Dutch Golden Age, recalling sensuously rendered images full of symbols and coded visual language. In that era, overblown flowers, candles, and skulls were coded depictions of human mortality, while luxury trade goods such as porcelain, silk, and tea cataloged the emergent wealth of early-stage capitalism.

White deploys these conventions of abundance and symbolism as well, but even with recognizable historical references, his works are undeniably contemporary. He paints not with pigment suspended in oil, but with thin strands of melted, richly-colored plastic called polylactic acid (PLA), a product commonly used for 3D model drawing. As a result, his finely rendered images emerge out of an exquisite web of tiny raised lines, shimmering textured surfaces on panel.

His subject matter is front-loaded chaos, a world within a world of superabundance, an image-saturated field of media, communication, pleasure, and status suggesting a shelf is stacked to an improbable density. In the center of the image, we see a luxury-brand gift basket containing candy and bottles of tawny liquid, a small sculpture of bronze-colored clasped hands, a computer-mounted camera eye for video calls, a digital clock, a half-eaten sandwich, and a “real” hand reaching in from the right and holding a disk with a fish rendered in Coast Salish formline style. And wait, there’s more: a spray of stickers, logos, glimpses of words and icons appearing and receding in apparently strategic locations. Are they interruptions from the virtual world in what is rendered as an almost tangibly real space, or are they pointing us to find deeper meaning?

White’s work layers reference upon reference, from everyday items to the largest cultural narratives. The density within the picture plane invites all kinds of looking, and all kinds of finding. Engaging this work is like pulling a Tarot card: the dense jumbled imagery presents a world open to myriad interpretations, and the magic emerges when we pick one and respond.

Kristin Tollefson
Kristin L. Tollefson is an artist and educator based in Tacoma, Washington.

Greg Kucera Gallery presents Holly Ballard Martz’s exhibit “Past Perfect Future Tense” through May 17. Anthony White’s exhibit runs from May 22-June 28 with a reception Thursday, June 5, 6-8 p.m. and a public artist talk on Saturday, June 7 at 12 p.m. Located at located at 212 - 3rd Avenue South in Seattle, Washington, the gallery hours are Tuesday through Saturday from 10:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. For information, visit www.gregkucera.com.

Write of Way: Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 May 2025 17:21:56 GMT

The Heron Rookery

There’s a rookery on Bainbridge island that is hardly a secret, but I’m not going to say where it is. I like to imagine there are still hidden places where birds can nest without our interference.

It’s amazing how many people have never heard of a rookery, or don’t know the meaning of the word. I didn’t know before I moved here, and my sister thought I was talking about a kitchen appliance. But once I stood beneath one, it was like giving myself up to a breathtaking privilege—such an incredible feeling.

So when I heard the heron rookery is for sale, I felt nothing but fear for the herons. My god, can’t we leave anything alone? I thought about all the promises that could, and likely would, be made between the owners and buyers and agents to allay the conservationists, only to be broken later.

I wondered. I asked around. I waited.

I tried not to think of what could happen. But I was worried. Because I know, of course. I know, construction could win out.

I also know that I am such a hypocrite.

Because I live in a condo development—a controversial one—that rose to command four acres directly north of the ferry terminal, where people used to walk so that the horse chestnut trees could nurture them though long wet winters and lend shade in summer. I don’t remember how the subject of my address came up in T&C one day, but a woman with gorgeous grey hair waved a hand at me and turned away leaving me dejected among the bulk food bins. Even now, when I tell certain people where I live, I can see it in their eyes: that my home is the first housing project that changed the character of the island for good. Never mind the new round-abouts that made my friend Grace say, “We all need something to roll our eyes at.”

I took another walk to the rookery. I stood underneath taking in the sound of wingbeats and scraping toes, the elaborate nests built to shelter against windstorms and rain and eagles and ospreys and rodent predators. I watched two herons aim harsh squawks at each other. This went on for a while.

When I finally find the nerve, I call the real estate agent who listed the rookery property. She hasn’t called back, but even before I know what she’ll say, I know what she’ll say: It’s private land with a view of the harbor. It will eventually sell. If not this year, then next.

I know this world will always be plundered apart and rejoined together, but I am always stunned by how fast the plunder and how slow the rejoin. I can’t bear to think what the herons will do if their trees are felled to make room for another luxury home. If I do let myself think about it, I see stunned versions of herons frantically searching for a new stand of trees.

All I can think to say is that maybe there is something good about this terrible feeling—that it’s never bad to remember what really matters.

–––––––––––––––––––––

I am so happy to say that since writing this piece, I have received the most wonderful news—the Bainbridge Island Land Trust received enough donations to save the heron rookery!

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli’s latest title is In So Many Words. She works as a writer, speaker, and master dance teacher. For more information visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Throwbacks

Debbi Lester — Fri, 28 Feb 2025 18:55:12 GMT

In memory of Clemens Starck, 1937-2024

Who can say the old way’s dead and gone,
these days when who says anything for sure?
Feet dangling out the boxcar’s toothless maw
here sit a couple throwbacks drinking in the view,
snaking through the Siskiyous this balmy afternoon.

Both have beards, and both have scraggly hair.
In the air there is a touch of spring. One with
his Red Sox ballcap screwed down tight could be
the ghost of Clem Starck on a ramble,
heading east and south, a free ride caught
to look for work, really a footloose excuse,
a lark and nothing more. But here they sit,
their boots laced up, their knapsacks full of apples,
socks, potatoes, and a couple cans of beans.
One tells the other Siskiyou is Chinook slang
for a bob-tailed horse. We know who that must be.
On this four percent grade the engine labors,
and along for the ride climbing slow they take
a while to pass. As they are turned about to go
into the dark again they think to wave at us.

Paul Hunter

Paul Hunter is a Seattle poet who has won the Washington State Book Award for his farming poems, and is currently working on a series of contemporary cowboy novels that wrestle with how we might savor nature more fully and accommodate ourselves to climate change. The first cowhand book won a Will Rogers Medallion. His last book was Untaming the Valley, and the next to appear soon in 2025 is Desert Crossing.

Ginny Ruffner, Once Again Defying Gravity

Debbi Lester — Fri, 28 Feb 2025 18:39:02 GMT

What goes up does not always come down. Especially if it’s Ginny Ruffner. If you think that maxim sounds slightly off, like it’s been reversed, reimagined, and turned upside down, you would be correct. But that’s what Ginny Ruffner did to whatever so-called obstacles she encountered. She was naturally buoyant. She modified, reimagined, and transformed everything to suit her purpose. Like death, for instance.

The first time death came for her, in the form of an oncoming car, she turned it upside down, shook it until its pockets rained stars, and walked—admittedly, with a cane and a limp — away from a two-month coma, alive and well, and better than ever. That was in December of 1991. Against all odds, she stayed alive and thrived for another incredibly productive 34 years until she passed away a few weeks ago, quietly, quickly, gracefully, and on her own terms, in the home and studio that was one of her most astonishing works of art.

You would struggle to find evidence of that epic struggle with death in her work. It might be lurking in the twisted and tortured metal forms of her large glass and stainless-steel sculptures that are both beautiful and menacing. But her optimism is always there too, although it’s not the least bit sentimental or cloying. Optimism was simply her assumption about the nature of the world as she saw it. She insisted that beauty was always there, waiting for those who had the wit and courage to lure it out and wrestle with it. And of course she’s right about that. What kind of fool would question the assumptions of someone who has bested death?

Plenty of things made her angry — complacency, mediocrity, banality — but nothing seemed to frighten Ginny. She worried about mundane things like getting to the airport on time, but never about the big terrifying things like what her next act would be. She had second, third, fourth, and many more acts, constantly surprising everyone by taking up a new medium once she had conquered the previous one, moving from painting to glass, mixed-media sculpture, collage, pixels, and augmented reality. As far as anyone who knew her knew, she worked most of the day, every day, never stopping, and always thinking about her next move.

She once told me she didn’t understand writer’s block. How could you not know what to do next, she wondered. How could your art paralyze you? A couple of months later, when she was hopelessly stuck in the middle of an essay she was writing for a catalogue of one of her shows, she called me and said, “Okay, I get it.”

I laughed, delighted and vindicated. The mighty Ginny had struck out. My malicious glee was short-lived. She called again the next day and said, “I’ve figured it out. I’m going to write a crappy first draft and you’re going to edit it.”

“Okay, Gin. You win again.”

Ginny was interested in a wide swath of subjects that included mathematics, philosophy, botany, genetics, normal science, weird science, space exploration, and world-building. She worked with an impressive array of eminent thinkers and inventors who became friends and enthusiastic collaborators in her quest to unleash beauty on an unsuspecting world. Her work was and is important. Although she’s gone, it is still here in museums, public spaces, and prestigious private collections. But she left behind many friends, followers, and fans here in Seattle, and all over the world, who have been gathering informally for the past weeks to remember and celebrate her as a person as well as a public figure. Her passing left a deep hole in the lives of everyone who was close to her and anyone who loved her art.

So, the story of death and Ginny Ruffner has ended in a tie. She would have laughed at that idea. She laughed at everything. She found it especially funny whenever anyone described her as a glass artist, because it made her sound like she was made of glass. But Ginny wasn’t made of glass. She was made of steel.

To find out more about Ginny, her work and her life, watch the excellent feature-length documentary about her, A Not So Still Life. It was directed by filmmaker Karen Stanton and produced by David Skinner and his company, ShadowCatcher Entertainment, who have generously made the film available for streaming online at https://player.vimeo.com/video/1002140337?h=0d9b3177db. For a comprehensive look at her work, visit www.ginnyruffner.com which was created in collaboration with her friend and colleague, Michael Hilliard.

Kathleen Cain

Kathleen Cain was a journalist and a creative director at the legendary Heckler Associates for many years before starting her own communications consulting firm. Find her writings at www.postalley.org.

Museum of Northwest Art Ceramic Invitational & News

Debbi Lester — Sat, 22 Feb 2025 21:27:02 GMT

The Exquisite Veil: Works by Alfredo Arreguín at Whatcom Museum in Bellingham, Washington

Debbi Lester — Sat, 22 Feb 2025 21:03:05 GMT

A small immersive exhibit of Alfredo Arreguín at Whatcom Museum offers us a chance to meditatively enter into his luscious canvases. “The Exquisite Veil” refers to Alfredo Arreguín’s repeated use of masks from Pre-Columbian culture and folk art. The masks can appear in the foreground, or as a frieze filling the background.

In many paintings he inserts animals and birds in the jungle, as well as the faces of familiar icons.

An early work, Mexicans in Exile, sets the theme of entering his paintings: here the jungle becomes a proscenium curtain that opens to a view of lake and mountains.

Arreguín alternates between flat surfaces and opening up the center as in—most dramatically—The House of Peace. A tiger lies on a patterned floor looking straight at us. He is not exactly inviting us to move past him, but we move our view beyond his space anyway, beyond a simple fence to the background of land, sea, and birds.

Many of these works, even as they include depth, as in Rialto, can also be read as a series of horizontal planes. This beach is familiar as the public beach on the Olympic Peninsula. In the painting, the lovely succession of land, sea mist, and starry sky with birds flying across gives a feeling of joyful freedom.

Similar in composition is Kodiak II, referencing Alaska, except that here we have a large bull moose in the foreground, and formline design on the glaciers in the background as a tribute to Native artists.

Six of the paintings in the exhibit are the gift of Arreguín’s estate, including the three described earlier. Another is Los Monos de Peru, a depiction of five monkeys hanging from trees in different positions, with some sky behind them. La Familia, is a stupendous all-over painting of masks that align up and down and which also create a continuous pattern.

Twilight, a stunning work of salmon leaping through Hokusai-like waves with a huge moon above, creates a rhythmic panorama. This piece epitomizes the second major theme of Arreguín’s work, a celebration of the Northwest cultures of salmon and orca, sea, beach, and sky.

The additional works include Zapata, a portrait of the Mexican revolutionary hero embedded almost entirely in an abstract red pattern. But most intriguing for studying the various ways that Arreguín works are the three portraits of Frida Kahlo. El Collar has a simple repeated pattern, so that her profile is clearly seen. She appears to have a snake around her shoulders for a necklace.

In La Feria, Kahlo’s face emerges from blues leaves that seem to be holding her; beneath, unusually, Arreguín breaks his pattern to include several faces of skeletons, as well as what appear to be ordinary people attending the fair.

Untitled (Frida with a blue butterfly mask), almost entirely hides the subject’s face behind a blue butterfly mask. The jungle filled with birds, flowers, and insects surrounds her and almost envelopes her.

Many are familiar with Arreguín’s dramatic life story: as an illegitimate child, he was passed from one relative to another, but eventually ended up at art school in Mexico City. He then had an accidental meeting that changed his life, an encounter with an American family lost near the Chapultepec Castle. They subsequently invited him to join them in Seattle. After being drafted into the army during the Korean War, he visited Japan, which later became an important reference point for his art. While studying at the University of Washington in the 1960s, Arreguín explored European modernism in addition to following his own interest in Mexico. La Serape indicates that intersection with its strong geometric x-shape indicating an abstracted serape all embedded in an all-over pattern.

Whatcom Museum is a perfect place for Arreguín’s art, given the museum’s strong commitment to Northwest culture. There are permanent exhibits featuring artifacts and detailed explanations of Northwest Native American fishing, weaving, and other practices. The museum also feature exhibits about the local shipbuilding industry.

Bellingham is a delightful city to visit. The Whatcom Museum is in the magnificent early-twentieth-century city hall building close to the waterfront. It includes two other buildings nearby. Hopefully you can get there before Arreguín’s show closes on July 6.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes for local, national, and international publications and her website: www.artandpoliticsnow.com.

“The Exquisite Veil” is on view through July 6 at Whatcom Museum’s Old City Hall Building, located at 121 Prospect Street, in Bellingham, Washington. Museum hours are Wednesday through Sunday from 12 to 5 p.m. For further information, visit www.whatcommuseum.org.

Nature-Inspired Art at Smith & Vallee Gallery in Edison, Washington

Debbi Lester — Sat, 22 Feb 2025 20:18:20 GMT

In March, Smith & Vallee Gallery in Edison, Washington exhibits the work of three artists: Nicki Lang, Brian O’Neill, and Tia Matthies. The gallery often pairs artists together in their large gallery, and this month-long exhibit displays Lang and O’Neill’s work side by side. Matthies’ encaustics are installed in The Flex Gallery, a smaller, more intimate room in the back of the gallery. The styles are as varied as the materials used by each artist, but all draw attention to the surface of the object or picture plane in their work. Smith & Vallee Gallery focuses primarily on artists based in the Northwest with a connection to the landscape and natural environment, and this thesis holds true this March.

Nicki Lang paints her landscapes primarily with a palette knife, and this body of work captures images ranging from the Oregon coast to British Columbia mountains. Lang states that she paints what she sees; these aren’t imagined landscapes but are scenes depicting real places. The paintings feel immediate, almost as if they were intuitive reactions to the artist experiencing these places in real time. Because she paints with a palette knife, the paint accumulates with every movement and creates an enticing texture, almost mimicking a frosted cake of landscapes. In Bull Kelp, the paint deposits from the palette knife start to mold a surface that comes out of the picture plane toward the viewer as if the kelp itself was emerging. The nuances of color are reminiscent of the changing tones of the Puget Sound as water moves and overlaps with marine vegetation. This movement creates a dynamic image as the colors and textures swirl around the landscape, created by layers of paint and color to build both depth and tactile texture.

It seems very fitting that Lang’s dimensional and layered paintings are paired with Brian O’Neill’s ceramics, which are described by the gallery as “monumental at any scale and ancient, as if unearthed from the sea.” The forms of O’Neill’s work are so appealing and balanced, yet they also feel very organic and fluid. The patterns swirl along the surface to create more dynamic movement and recall certain elements of mid-century design. O’Neill is part of a long history of ceramicists in the Northwest, each with their own way of bringing art, design, and the natural world together in their work. One favorite in this body of work is Black/White Crater Egg Sphere. The object is small, measuring 8 x 4.5 x 4.5 inches, and appears as if the bottom half was charred by fire. These objects tell a story in their own way through the narrative interpretations of the marks on the surface.

The Flex Gallery at Smith & Vallee is a small space that allows the gallery some flexibility in their programming. Sometimes the room has a rotating selection of artwork in the gallery’s inventory, and during other months an artist is selected to display their work. In March, the space features the work of Seattle-based artist Tia Matthies. The show focuses on Matthies’ reflections on the Pacific Madrone trees on Orcas Island, and that artist writes in her statement that the trees “have a flesh-like quality that sends my imagination to a place where I start to see them as beings that express in shape and form and also have a particular way of relating to each other in their tree world.” The artist creates these images using encaustic on panel, and the luminous quality of the material combined with the intertwined branches of the Pacific Madrone trees create an image that glows and moves from within.

All three artists featured in the current shows at Smith & Vallee Gallery take direct inspiration from the natural world. Lang’s visual interpretation is direct, while O’Neill and Matthies use their chosen material to bring an element of conceptual interpretation to their subjects. Lang and O’Neill consider the texture and artist’s physical intervention in the work. In contrast, Matthies attributes human emotion and relationships to her Pacific Madrone trees in such a way as to personify them for the viewer. All three seek to make a stronger connection between the viewer, the artwork, and the environment that surrounds and inspires them.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is an art professional and curator based in Washington state.

Artworks by Nicki Lang, Brian O’Neill, and Tia Matthies are on view through March 30 at Smith & Vallee Gallery, located at 5742 Gilkey Avenue in Edison, Washington. Gallery hours are Thursday through Sunday from 11 a.m, to 5 p.m. and by appointment. On Saturday, March 1, 3 to 5 p.m. hosts a reception for the artists. For more information, visit www.smithandvalleegallery.com.

"Thirsty" by Paul Hunter

Debbi Lester — Sat, 22 Feb 2025 20:14:51 GMT

Thirsty

Their first real fight caught Charlie

at a low spot tractor broken down

just with the wheat coming on

golden heads nodding in the sun

no room time money for anything

but this toothless gear to mend

when Evaleen had most need of him

with her firstborn just starting to show

he loaded up sold half the pigs

they were fattening for the fall

counting on said not one word

until there was the check in his hand

to squander on tractor parts

the deed done an announcement

she met with an absolute silence

which meant he slept in the hayloft

took a couple days quiet thinking how

to lift the whole thing on his shoulders

carry on like he knew best

somehow with or without her

ignore her while she simmered down

forgetting how good she could be

figuring things close which only meant

his first mistake he compounded

so there they were both broken down

stuck in the road where life went

silent in slow motion on around them

untouched untasted all but meaningless

each put-upon staggered like a young

mule overburdened scared to take a step

then he recalled how folks used to say

looks like you threw both your

bucket and rope down the well

better hope you don’t never get thirsty

which to look at her he surely did

so drug out his heart’s longest ladder

in the cobwebby dark after supper

got set to climb down that hole

sundown on the porch apologize

down on his knees like he meant it

purely ask her forgiveness and vow

from now on to forever ask her first

Paul Hunter

Paul Hunter is a Seattle poet who has won the Washington State Book Award for his farming poems, and is currently working on a series of contemporary cowboy novels that wrestle with how we might savor nature more fully and accommodate ourselves to climate change. The first cowhand book won a Will Rogers Medallion. His last book was Untaming the Valley, and the next to appear soon in 2025 is Desert Crossing. “Thirsty” is from a book of comic poems about a farming couple, Charlie and Evaleen, that is titled Starry Dark Farm Romance.

In Memoriam: Reid Ozaki and Ken Lundemo

Debbi Lester — Fri, 27 Dec 2024 04:04:26 GMT

Last summer was a dark one for the Puget Sound ceramics community; it lost two important figures within a day of each other. Revered local potter and ceramics teacher Reid Ozaki died suddenly on July 25. One of Ozaki’s last public statements was to mourn the passing, the day before, of sculptor and ceramicist Ken Lundemo. Neither man played the part of the introverted-and-isolated-artist stereotype. Both men helped cultivate the creative community around them, passed along their knowledge of ancient traditions and techniques, and brought together local artists young and old to strengthen the craft. These are rare and much-needed capacities, and their losses are keenly felt.

Lundemo was born and raised in the southern Puget Sound area. After serving in the U.S. Navy, he enrolled in the Arts program at Olympic College in Bremerton, Washington, circa 1950. The program had just one art instructor at the time, and he did not teach sculpture. Lundemo made sculpture his focus anyway. Two years later, armed with his Associate of Arts degree, Lundemo became a lineman for Pacific Northwest Bell Telephone. Although art-making was a side gig, the artist scored some notable early successes: in 1975, the Washington State Art Collection made its first acquisition, Lundemo’s 19-foot tall longboat sculpture “Langskip Norseland Spirit.” It still stands proudly today in Poulsbo, Washington. Lundemo continued to expand his toolkit and skillset—he taught himself welding and metal casting, he sculpted stone, bronze, wood, and clay. He worked in miniature and monumental scale using a boom truck to install his more colossal work.

Lundemo hung up his lineman’s hardhat in 1984 to focus on art full-time. On his 20-acre property in Seabeck near the Hood Canal, he and two potter friends constructed Santatsugama, a 17-foot-long anagama, or Japanese-style wood-fired kiln. The three-chambered “Dragon kiln” became a gathering place and informal learning center for ceramic artists near and far. Lundemo hosted nearly a hundred firings. A firing involves five days of around-the-clock burning and stoking of the fire by a crew of 10-12 people. Working in shifts, they maintain a temperature of approximately 2300 °F in the bellies of the Dragon. A communal spirit is inherent in the ancient tradition.

Lundemo’s spirit and teachings live on in the work of the artists who fired at Santatsugama, such as Eva Funderburgh (former kiln manager), and Kitsap artists Jenny Andersen and Elena Wendelyn. His presence also continues to be felt at Collective Visions Gallery in Bremerton, Washington, which Lundemo co-founded in 1994—a place where his work is shown and celebrated.

Reid Ozaki, for his part, was raised in Hilo, Hawaii, but came to the University of Puget Sound to study biology. And though he did earn a Biology degree, an elective course in ceramics changed everything. He took courses toward an MFA degree at University of Puget Sound, and then joined the faculty at Tacoma Community College. Ozaki taught ceramics for the next 25 years. Being an educator didn’t seem to detract from his art making. He loved to show his innovative work and to tell about it: check out the YouTube video of Ozaki’s gallery talk at Bainbridge Arts and Crafts in 2021. What shines through is his boundless fascination with the practice of pottery-making (mistakes and mishaps included) from shaping to glazing to firing.

Raised to respect his Japanese heritage, Ozaki let Ikebana (flower-arranging) and Chado (tea ceremony) and other Japanese aesthetic traditions influence his work at the potter’s wheel. One reason his pieces are in prominent collections (including the Smithsonian Museum) is that they embody Japanese, Hawaiian, and Pacific Northwest influences. A shallow bowl, an empty tea cup, can hold multiple worlds.

Ozaki may have retired from the teaching profession, but he remained a teacher until his death. In his own words: “Several years ago, I came across the Japanese word shokunin. It’s generally translated as ‘craftsman’ and is a title earned after years of practice and accomplishment; however, craftsman doesn’t quite capture the full meaning… It implies a responsibility to present one’s best work in a spirit of social consciousness, to honor the traditions of the craft, and to pass that knowledge on.”

Ozaki was all too aware of discouraging trends in the arts scene: the closure of galleries, museums, and craft centers that once featured serious ceramics work; the defunding of arts programs at all education levels; the list goes on. Ozaki and his colleague Kristina Batiste established the Tacoma Pottery Salon to counter these trends. They drew together potters young and old to share, to learn, to laugh, to teach, to support, and of course to eat. Batiste, an influential ceramic artist in Tacoma, stepped up to host the monthly gatherings at her home. The salon was casual, organic, free. Ozaki came up with an activity he called “Potle” (think “Wordle”), a way to get the community to recognize itself and the notable pottery work going on locally. Tacoma Pottery Salon has grown to become an important hub—much like Ken Lundemo’s Santatsugama. And yes, the salon continues, even without its dearly departed shokunin, Reid Ozaki.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

For information about the Tacoma Pottery Salon, visit www.tacomapotterysalon.org.

Eva Funderburgh and Mary O'Toole at J. Rinehart Gallery in Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Fri, 27 Dec 2024 03:33:10 GMT

Peek Inside the Artist’s Mind

Debbi Lester — Fri, 27 Dec 2024 03:11:36 GMT

Nestled in downtown Bellingham, Rebecca Meloy’s Meloy Gallery occupies a small space off Bay Street and E. Holly Street. Meloy describes her gallery as a “closet gallery” due to the fact that it is a small space packed full of art. She opened the gallery in 2022 and also managed Meloy & Company LLC from 1997 to 2004, where she focused on exhibiting work by local artists. Meloy Gallery is no different. In an interview with the gallerist, she noted that she often invites her friends to exhibit their work in her gallery. Meloy is also an art educator and artist, so her roster of artist friends is extensive. For January, she invited her good friend Joe Reno to exhibit his work alongside other artwork in his personal collection. In addition to Reno’s work, pieces by Jay Steensma, Patrick Burke, and Elizabeth Aurich are for sale at the gallery. In February, the gallery is welcoming Richard Longstreet, a local painter and printmaker, to exhibit his work. Since Meloy is friends with many of these artists, the exhibitions have a personal connection with the gallery and offer a more intimate view of an artist’s work. She also has posted many insightful photographs of artists working on her website and in the gallery. This insider perspective is a peek inside the mind of an artist and gives us an idea of the work required to create the objects on display.

The January exhibit, organized by Reno and Meloy, titled “Chronology of Abstract to Realism” includes paintings, drawings, and prints by the artists listed above. Those who are knowledgeable about art in the Northwest will recognize Jay Steensma’s work. Steensma was a key member of the broader “Northwest School” in Western Washington, like Joe Reno. The other artists in the exhibition, Patrick Burke and Elizabeth Aurich, are close friends of Joe Reno and have a long exhibition history in Washington State. The work included in the show is expressive, both through color and the evidence of the artist’s hand, and incredibly figurative. Reno included many portraits and paintings that reference his societal observations. In “The View of a Scientist,” insects buzz around the paintings with a fervor as they are surrounded by layers of colorful swirls. The painting is filled with Reno’s energy and his unique sense of color. In his “Self Portrait” from 1991, the artist utilizes color contrasts to create depth and perspective for the viewer. The artist’s face is filled out through blocks of varying colors; periwinkle blue, orange, yellow, and pink shape the contours of his face while brushes of blues and greens make up his sweater.

In February, visitors to Meloy Gallery have the opportunity to see work by Richard Longstreet, who seeks to tap into the various aspects of consciousness and unconsciousness through his artistic process. The work appears intuitive; geometric shapes and colors are layered onto one another to create a complex web of imagery. The content is largely determined by the viewer. Much like the Surrealists and Impressionists before him, Longstreet seems to be equally, if not more, interested in the process in which an artwork is created as by the final product. Making art is a process of discovery for him and seeking out the origins of emotion and thought through mark making is of key importance. Longstreet’s woodblock prints are exceptionally beautiful, and the use of layered colors and patterns is very impressive. The resulting image has an atmospheric quality that can be challenging to attain in a woodblock print. Many of the prints on Meloy Gallery’s website are around 18 x 14 inches and quite affordable.

Artists are often in attendance at their openings at Meloy Gallery during the beloved First Friday events from 6 to 9 p.m. The gallery has a robust exhibition schedule in 2025 and Meloy plans to present a new exhibition every 4 weeks. January and February are traditionally slow months for all retail businesses, and this is true for art galleries as well. So if you have plans to visit Bellingham, a trip to Meloy Gallery can easily be combined with visits to Fourth Corner Frames & Gallery in the same building, Geheim Gallery across Bay Street, and Allied Arts of Whatcom County on Cornwall Avenue. Whatcom Museum, where guests can find art and history exhibits, is also located in downtown Bellingham. Many upcoming exhibits are already listed on the gallery websites, so please look if you are planning a visit to downtown Bellingham in the near future.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is an art professional and curator based in Washington State.

Chronology of Abstract to Realism: Joe Reno Collection is on view through January and Dream States: Richard Longstreet through February at Meloy Gallery, located at 301 West Holly in Bellingham, Washington. Hours are Thursday through Sunday from 12 to 6 p.m. First Friday Art Walks are from 6 to 9 p.m. For more information, visit www.meloygallery.com.

Poetic Collaboration

Debbi Lester — Fri, 27 Dec 2024 02:48:12 GMT

in a previous incarnation

we were an all-girl group

the styrofoam cupcakes

a one hit wonder

with the song, “love on saturn”

after that, the group just broke up

too many egos

and no more money

now we sit

soaking up rays

in the window of wig-o-rama

letting the day’s music

stream through our heads

Alan Chong Lau

Alan Chong Lau is a poet and visual artist based in Seattle, Washington. He serves as Arts Editor for the International Examiner, a community newspaper. As a visual artist, he is represented by ArtX Contemporary in Seattle, Washington. His upcoming art show opens October 2025.

John Levy is a poet and photographer. In 2023, Shearsman Books published 54 poems: new & selected, which includes works from 1972 to 2022. He lives in Tucson, Arizona.

Alan Chong Lau and John Levy have published three volumes of a poetry and photography collaboration that can be found by searching online for “eye2word.”

Crossing the Line: The Passport Re-Imagined

Debbi Lester — Tue, 29 Oct 2024 01:18:45 GMT

A slim, pamphlet-bound booklet with a monochromatic cover stamped with minimal text, the average passport has a quiet and understated vibe. At first glance, it’s common: not asking for much visual consideration, generally understood as a utilitarian legal document, a form of identification that enables travel between (typically) international locations. Yet to open it up, literally and figuratively, suggests that the passport is another thing entirely, exposing a world in which notions of passage, permission, identity and borders are writ in intimate detail.

Crossing the Line: The Passport Re-Imagined, is an exhibit of artist books at the Bainbridge Island Museum
of Art that takes us to that place. Twelve artists from across the United States, commissioned by the Cynthia Sears Artists’ Book Collection, are derivations and reactions to the passport. Northwest artists Shu-Ju Wang, Kitty Koppelman, and Carletta Carrington-Wilson, and offer artworks that expose stories having to do with movement, race, and identity.

Carletta Carrington-Wilson constructed Passport to a Past Port as an homage to an unknown, young female slave whose travel imposed on her. The horrors that these “unwilling travelers” were forced to endure are revealed in her sculptural accordion book’s surface painting. The accompanying Court$hip Gazette is print handout that narrates the ship’s circumstances and surroundings including the poem, “how far Calabar” written by Carrington-Wilson.

Shu-Ju Wang grapples with barriers to passage in her Passport, fabricated and stitched from weed suppressing landscape fabric and plant material. The contents narrate deep accounts of personal experiences with real obstacles to free movement that we encounter now and throughout history. The plant forms and garden references stand in as metaphors and offer structural support.

Kitty Koppelman also engages with ideas of permission. Gender Passport doubles as both proclamation and protection. Each spread of this passport-sized book is rendered with a balance of soft and bright colors, and reduction linocut and letterpress to convey a sense of stability and humanity, of safety, and acceptance.

Each work on display—the twelve commissioned works and passport-related works from additional artists in the book arts collection—occupies its own territory within the gallery cases, inviting investigation and interpretation on a personal level. This exhibit is worth a journey of your own to walk among what is possibly the largest publicly-accessible, privately-owned collection of artist books in the United States.

Kristin L. Tollefson
Kristin L. Tollefson is an artist and educator based in Tacoma, Washington.

The Passport Re-Imagined is on view through February 23 at Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, located at 550 Winslow Way on Bainbridge Island, Washington. The museum is free and open daily from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Visit www.biartmuseum.org for more information.

Celebrating the Work of Thomas Wood

Debbi Lester — Mon, 28 Oct 2024 23:31:06 GMT

Under the Inspiration Tree: Celebrating the Work of Thomas Wood is a major exhibition of work by beloved artist Thomas Wood at the Whatcom Museum in Bellingham, Washington. The show allows the public several months to visit the museum for this extraordinary exhibition. Drawing from numerous collections, this survey brings dozens of works by Wood to provide the guest with a comprehensive view of his artistic practice and oeuvre. The show is divided into several sections to highlight various aspects of the artist’s work and life, but the theme remains constant: Wood was a precise yet playful artist whose work was as rooted in art history as it was in his daily life.

It is likely that most people who are familiar with Wood know about his mastery of printmaking, but the main entrance of the show opens with his paintings. Fittingly, the visitor is greeted by paintings of trees before approaching the artist studio transported into the gallery. The Pollinators, an oil on canvas work completed by Wood in 2004, is the work selected for the title wall. The painting has many hallmarks of Wood’s practice: a figure bringing a boat ashore, the central tree filled to the brim with creatures and plants, and a dark, foreboding background reminiscent of Thomas Cole. The text panels reveal that drawing was an essential part of Wood’s practice, and he often took a break from his process-driven printmaking practice to paint en plein air. Excursions to the San Juan Islands provided the perfect opportunity for him to draw and paint the trees above the water on the islands. This method seemed to span decades of his career, which is evident in the work selected for this portion of the exhibit.

While his process (drawing, en plein air, painting, intaglio, etc.) was diverse and wide-ranging, it is also impressive to note the many art historical references and inspirations for his work. Lummi Cove reminds this viewer of Fauvist painters like Henri Matisse and Georges Braque through the evident brushstrokes, hazy washes of color, and blending of foreground and background to create a dreamlike quality. Wood seemed to take a known subject matter like the bouquet or landscape and explore the topic through a blend of art historical references and his own perspective. The sources are referenced repeatedly in the exhibit, perhaps most interestingly the artist’s interest in Dutch landscape painting inspired by a stay in the Netherlands in the early 1990s. The paintings bear the signatures of this historical movement in combination with recognizable figures from his other work. In Creatures of the Sky, flying figures and other creatures whirl around the sky above a landscape scene with the Dutch hallmark of a low horizon line.

Creatures, both fantastical and rooted in reality, are a throughline in his work. Viewers can spot them in his paintings and prints. While in the exhibit, many visitors were playing a game to try to find mermaids in as many works are possible. The text for the show ties these characters to the time Wood spent in Italy, since many of the early flying or playful figures have a connection to Italian folklore, stories, or art. For example, the putti shows up repeatedly in Wood’s paintings and prints. The playful and jovial flying child transforms through the years and later art include all kinds of flying creatures.

Wood’s paintings are truly beautiful, but his technical skills really shine in his prints. The exhibit groups prints
together as if to highlight the connection between the works and to reinforce the narratives that are often present in his work. It is extraordinary to see Wood weave together personal experiences with common messages found in Renaissance and Early Modern art history. Fools of Tumbo is an excellent example of Wood telling his own personal story of an unfortunate trip to Tumbo Island while using the visual vocabulary of the Ship of Fools.

In addition to Under the Inspiration Tree, viewers can also see the work of Thomas Wood in Edison, Washington at i.e. gallery and Harris/Harvey Gallery in Seattle, Washington. Thomas Wood: Bugs in a Bowl at i.e. gallery features prints, while Thomas Wood: Selected Works at Harris/Harvey Gallery exhibits prints from the last intaglio plates created by Wood as well as other prints and paintings. It is a truly unique opportunity to see such a wide range of work created by one artist that spans a career of over fifty years.

Chloé Dye Sherpe
Chloé Dye Sherpe is an art professional and curator based in Washington State.

Under the Inspiration Tree: Celebrating the Work of Thomas Wood is on view through March 2, 2025 at Whatcom Museum’s Lightcatcher Building, located at 250 Flora Street in Bellingham, Washington. Hours are Wednesday through Sunday from 12 to 5 p.m. For more information, visit www.whatcommuseum.org.

Hayv Kahraman: Look Me in the Eyes

Debbi Lester — Mon, 28 Oct 2024 23:15:42 GMT

Whenever I come close to forgetting that the Frye Museum consistently hosts some of the most interesting exhibits in Seattle, they surprise me by doing it again. Their latest surprise is Look Me in the Eyes, a collection of work in several media by Hayv Kahraman, an Iraqi-born Kurdish refugee who grew up in Sweden after her family fled Baghdad after the Gulf War.

This is her largest solo museum exhibit, and it includes painting, sculpture, collage, and an audio installation. She possesses such an impressive technical mastery in every medium she works with, that if you didn’t know that a single person created it all, you might think this was the work of two or three artists working on the same theme.

Kharaman is interested in the human gaze. She never lets you forget what it means to be watched, and possibly othered. That reality shifts gradually as you walk through the exhibit. Since it’s possible to enter the exhibit from either end of the gallery’s horseshoe-shaped space, and I’m pretty sure if you walked through it from back to front, you would get a different sense of how her work is also looking at you. Because it is.

If you enter it as I did, the first thing you will see is a space filled with paintings of floating faces that are interacting—or possibly merging—with fantastical masks that are growing on long plant stalks that are held in front of the faces by disembodied hands at the edge of the canvas.

At first glance, the faces appear female. And the mask/plants seem to be male—at least they bring a masculine quality to the faces they are partially covering with long monobrows that double as moustaches. Exchangeable, swapped-out eyes that shift perspective and identity, are a recurring motif in Kahraman’s work.

She paints on lush and beautiful khaki-colored linen that looks like it came from the inside of a tent in the desert. She applies paint in delicate layers, that recall Persian miniatures. The edges of the paintings are embellished with bands patterned in blue over a rich, meaty sienna. Marbled coronas or clouds surround and frame the faces, like embodied thought or reflection.

Her work was inspired—but not in a positive way—by the botanist Carl Linnaeus, who created the system of classifying all living organisms on the planet, in every country and culture, using Eurocentric names that paid little or no attention to what they were called locally. It’s a startling reminder that we still use a system of scientific nomenclature that was born out of Western colonialism.

The wonderfully titled 3eoon carries a hint of this. It includes an arresting image of a botanical specimen of an exotic eye/plant that’s been taped to a marbled surface that resembles the cellular structure of the insides of bones. The trapped specimen stares back at you with a resigned but unrelenting gaze of accusation.

Some of the paintings here are small, delicate, and even charming, in spite of their sinister content. Others are large and somewhat terrifying, like the remarkable Love Me Love Me Not. Three women surround a sinister daisy that has eyes for petals, which they are pulling off and consuming, maybe to recover their power of sight, since their own eyes are blank and empty—like eggs embedded in eye-sockets—white, and devoid of irises. Something has been stolen from these women and they are getting it back.

Sometimes Kharaman’s work escapes the frame. She has painted an entire wall of the exhibit with the fermented beet juice that’s used to make torshi, a staple of Arabic cuisine. The reference to fermentation is a reference to the fact that we all contain multitudes, which goes to the very basis of what it means to exist and co-exist with other species and cultures, a word that seems to have a double meaning here for her.

At the end of the exhibit, or the beginning, depending on where you come in, are the Brick Palms. They’re made of bricks that are painted with eyes—you are never not watched in this show—and stacked to resemble the date palms that have been native to Iraq since Mesopotamian times. War, pollution, and climate change have been hard on them and they are now dying off. Somber, arresting, dignified and silent, these sculptures are like ancient watchers of the depredation of modern civilization.

Did you ever get the feeling that someone was watching you? And possibly judging or assessing you? And maybe even trying to erase you with their gaze? That possibility of surveillance, assessment, judgement, and othering is never far from Kharaman’s mind. Nor will it be from yours. Even after you leave, you will sense these eyes watching you.

Kathleen Cain
Kathleen Cain was a journalist and a creative director at the legendary Heckler Associates for many years before starting her own communications consulting firm. Find her writings at www.postalley.org.

Through February 2, Frye Art Museum, located at 704 Terry Avenue in Seattle, Washington, displays Hayv Kahraman: Look Me in the Eyes. Hours are Wednesday through Sunday from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. For more information, visit www.fryeartmuseum.org.

Dennis Evans and Nancy Mee: Fifty Years

Debbi Lester — Mon, 28 Oct 2024 14:55:45 GMT

The idea of the artist as solo creator of their singular vision emerged during the era of global political and cultural uncertainty at the start of the 20th century. Artists, reaching for new ways to make sense of their world, echoed the changes happening around them in their work. Audiences grew to expect the shock of the new. In both science and art, Einsteinian relativity became the new rule, that truths were dependent on perspective.

Western culture has held on tight to this image of the artist ever since, and has been equally slow to open to alternative ways of working. So what image materializes when you hear about individual artists who are also a creative couple? What do you see when I tell you that they are not only makers, but curators of ideas, challengers of convention, carriers of skills, and collectors of objects?

One richly plausible answer is held in the retrospective exhibition Dennis Evans and Nancy Mee: Fifty Years, on view at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art. This complex show reveals both the multitudes and connecting threads of this Seattle-based pair’s story, unfurling in a way that honors many facets of their work.

On entering the exhibition, one is struck by the scale of Evans’ and Mee’s work. Evans’ wall pieces pulse with color both within and around the frames, while the detail of objects and text on their surfaces draw the viewer close. Mee’s standing sculptures, constructed primarily of combinations of worked metal and manipulated glass, occupy space in a way that is consistently human, both in size and references within.

Along the curved wall of the gallery is some of Evans’ early performance and installation work, contextualized by the Muybridge-style sequential black-and-white photographic proof sheets revealing Mee’s documentation of these events from the 1970s. This early work, such as Instrument Box for 100 Discrete Tune Sounding Stones for Puget Sound (1980) garnered praise by the art world at that time and still resonates today. Renderings on the walls reveal schemes and intentions for the activation of these pieces, the forms of which parallel artist books: you can’t see the whole work unless it is being engaged or performed. All of the parts are essential here: the drafted plans and directives on the walls, the objects themselves, and the visual residue. They honor the work’s challenging-to-capture element of time, and compensate for the viewer’s body not being there as it happened.

The presence and absence of the body also informs Mee’s early work. Particularly striking is Broken Body (1985), a sculptural assemblage of X-ray imagery of curved spines layered with slumped light aqua-tinted sheet glass and surrounded by stout steel. Mee reflected on the choice of glass, which positioned her a vanguard in the field of art glass at the time. “The potency of my material was that it is so beautiful, yet so dangerous. It’s transparent. It’s a barrier.” The juxtaposition with the industrial frame continues this tension, and speaks further about her engagement with material as a communicator: “the material was at obligation to my content.”

These early gestures of each artist shown in the context of subsequent works reveal connections. It is tempting to suggest that they operated like navigators, bodies moving in space with an understanding of the direction they are traveling. But looking deeper, you see that they are collectors of narratives. The exhibition expands beyond their beginnings into a space that feels like an encyclopedic museum nested within a museum of art. Find your way between shaped stone musical instruments, curio cabinets of books and letters, classical figures, vessels, and collected objects, and the forged and fabricated steel and glass. The pieces carry a palpable sense of the continuity of time and the variety of their imagery held together simultaneously.

Several of the works featured in Fifty Years, including Sedes Sapiente and The Calendar Keeper, from Imagine—After the Deluge (2008), are excerpted from sprawling narrative bodies of work that reveal the inner workings of their partnership. Evans reflects, “What confuses a lot of people when we talk about the collaboration is that we…collaborate on an idea and we both take, coming to that idea from different directions.” This parallel play let them lean in to their own way of working. Mee continues, “…vision or concept expressed through material [or] materials used to express concept.”

Being life- and work-partners has meant that these artists were never completely alone in their vision. Yet the space that Nancy Mee and Dennis Evans have built together—from sharing meals to the studio—shaped a narrative of their own. Fifty Years embraces the artifacts of such a creative life while simultaneously revealing larger human stories of mystery, discovery, humanity, and science.

Kristin L. Tollefson
Kristin L. Tollefson is an artist and educator based in Tacoma, Washington.

Dennis Evans & Nancy Mee: 50 Years is on view through February 3 at Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, located at 550 Winslow Way on Bainbridge Island, Washington. The museum is free and open daily from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Visit www.biartmuseum.org for more information.

Chatwin Arts: What's the Story?

Debbi Lester — Mon, 28 Oct 2024 14:28:43 GMT

Chatwin Arts in Pioneer Square wraps up its first full year on the gallery scene with a group show called What’s the Story? The paintings, photographs, and sculptures on view have one quality in common: they strongly suggest a narrative, and leave the viewer to imagine what that story might be.

The curator for What’s the Story? is Dale Cotton. He’s no stranger to Pioneer Square or to the regional arts scene: he was the director at the Linda Hodges Gallery throughout the final decade of its run. If the 2023 closing of the much-loved Linda Hodges left a tear in the neighborhood’s fabric, the opening of Chatwin Arts later in the year began the mending process. (There’s a story behind Chatwin Arts, too, but first things first.)

One of the show’s signature images is Candace Doyal’s Maternal Aim. With its in-your-face attitude and provocative characters, the (mostly) black-and-white photograph is a natural focal point. Its two formidable figures sit and stand front and center in the image, and they very clearly have stories to tell. But their confrontational pose says their stories are none of your business. Pose is the operative word: this is a staged portrait after all, not street photography. You can take the portrait as a variation on American Gothic but with Second Amendment rights and lots of asphalt. The vintage vehicle in the background could tell some stories, but the central question here may be the relationship between the two bad-ass characters staring us down.

Compare Maternal Aim to Riley Doyle’s oil painting, Three Watchers. Here again the white wall of an outbuilding frames the foreground subjects, but this time the figures are unaware that they are subjects. A woman stands in full sun, but she has turned her back to the artist’s gaze; the men’s faces are in full or partial shadow, difficult to read. (The interplay of shadow and light is likely Doyle’s true subject.) The mower and the patio grill place us in a banal domestic setting—until you notice the cacti, and the fact that they are props. These are clues that the scene is less mundane than it first appears. Other clues: incongruous explosions of color in the clear blue sky. There has to be more to that story.

For a contrast to these first two pieces we have Wendolin Wohlgemuth’s Departure. The painting lacks any human figure that we might wonder about or identify with. The image is depersonalized, unfocused, abstracted. To this viewer its mood is ominous. (Post 9/11, dread readily attaches to almost any image of a jet in flight.) Destruction and disruption are central to Wohlgemuth’s image making process. In this way his work echoes that of Gerhard Richter, a clear influence on the Portland-based painter. His restless and multi-layered approach to painting gives rise to a surprising depth of expression.

Several artists have multiple pieces in the show, among them are the painters Abigail Drapkin and Conrad Brudi. Drapkin’s two contributions could be from two different artists; of those, A Still Life is the one that most suggests a story. (By the way, the painting is not a still life.) Its high-angle viewpoint and unusual composition put forward a certain reading of the scene: the female figure is literally looked down upon and overshadowed; she is literally cornered. The still life elements surrounding her offer subtle commentary on the action (or inaction).

Conrad Brudi is less concerned with realist figure painting than with conjuring up a dream-like tableau with a curious rough texture. His titles—like Robbers at the Rancho Bravo—at least offer hints about the scenarios depicted. Then again, the title Cody’s Lullaby Aboard the Commerce seems to refer to an outside work (an old novel or film perhaps) that would contextualize the painting if not explain it. But if the title is a pointer, I don’t get the reference—neither does ChatGPT—and I suspect it’s a false lead. Oh well. It’s best to exercise one’s own imagination anyway, a lesson this group show happily reinforces.

• • •

Somewhere in a deeper recess of the Chatwin Arts space (past an “Employee’s only” sign), you’ll see a large letterpress printer. It belongs to a notable publisher of books, posters, prints, and more: namely Chatwin Books. (Like Chatwin Arts, it is named after the late great travel writer Bruce Chatwin.) To see some Chatwin titles, just cross First Avenue and visit Arundel Books.

It’s a beautiful old space stocked with the things book-lovers and art-lovers dream of. On their shelf of Chatwin Books, look for Candace Doyal’s Thin Coffee and Secondhand Smoke, a memoir that melds Doyal’s photography with her Bukowski-inspired prose. Or pick up Viral Murals, about the artists whose colorful murals brought positive messages to the boarded-up storefronts in Seattle during the pandemic lockdown.

The owner of Arundel Books is Phil Bevis, who is also—with illustrator Annie Brulé—a co-founder of Chatwin Books and Chatwin Arts. We are fortunate that Bevis, Brulé, and their creative partners (Dale Cotton included) have brought such vitality to their corner of Pioneer Square. “We are publishers, designers, artists, printers, gallerists, and bookmakers who specialize in bringing ideas to life,” says their website. Their story is worth following, and we hope for even more chapters to come.

Tom McDonald
Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

What’s the Story? is on view Wednesday through Saturday from 11:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. through end of November, at the Chatwin Arts, located at 323 First Avenue South in Seattle, Washington. For further information, visit www.chatwinarts.com.

Schack Art Center Turns 50!

Debbi Lester — Mon, 28 Oct 2024 14:21:36 GMT

On Paper

Debbi Lester — Sat, 31 Aug 2024 22:49:30 GMT

Located in the idyllic Skagit Valley, the Bitters Co.’s Barn is the site of both a selection of houseware goods and occasional events throughout the year. Founded by sisters Amy & Katie Carson, Bitters Co. highlights makers from around the world specializing in housewares, glassware, cork, and more. In addition to their wholesale business, the Carson sisters often welcome chefs, makers, and artists to their space. The upper level of the barn creates a beautiful venue for all types of objects, and from September 14 to October 13 visitors can enjoy drawings by a somewhat surprising artistic trio: Amy Carson, Susan Bennerstrom, and Whiting Tennis.

On Paper an exhibit of drawings by Susan Bennerstrom, Amy Carson, and Whiting Tennis is a delight because it brings together three artists who do not solely create drawings on paper. Though their styles range greatly, the show highlights their more abstract and non-representational work. Readers are likely familiar of drawings by Whiting Tennis with their fluid and wandering nature. Whiting once remarked that he attends life drawing classes but chooses to make automatic drawings even when his fellow classmates are observing and drawing the model. The resulting work creates a confluence of technology, nature, and art historical references. Has technology taken over and formed an alliance with nature? Perhaps. What forms and shapes emerge from the human mind as a part of automatic exercise? Many, it appears. Tennis’ drawings in the show vary in color, which is consistent with his drawings exhibited elsewhere.

“Untitled Stage Study”evokes a sketch of a structured physical environment with shading and texture, whereas “Fridge” references Tennis’ attraction to automatic drawing. The artist, is represented by Greg Kucera Gallery in Seattle and Derek Eller Gallery in New York, so eager viewers have another Northwest venue to see Tennis’ larger paintings and sculptures. However, a selection of the artist’s drawings is truly a treat, especially in this artistic pairing.

Drawing unifies this exhibition, but the process of each artist and resulting style makes each unique. It is also worth noting that both Tennis and Susan Bennerstrom create work at a larger scale and different medium besides drawing. Bennerstrom’s paintings are observations of the world retold by the artist. Bennerstrom clarifies that she does not define her style as that of a realist, but her precision does reference realism with an unexpected edge. The scene is familiar to the viewer but something about the composition and flat colors feel manufactured or imagined by the artist. In comparison, it is Bennerstrom’s drawings that are brought to the forefront in this exhibition. During the COVID-19 pandemic the artist poured time into her drawing practice and the result is multiple series of abstract works. “Lisbon” and “Nether Land” are included in this show, and both exhibit an extraordinary amount of tension. The shapes appear to push and pull each other within the picture plane, while the evidence of the artist’s hand give the drawings a sense of immediacy.

Bitters Co. co-founder Amy Carson also has drawings included in the show. Carson’s entire body of work brings attention to the artist’s interest in the physicality of materials and a study of color combinations. The essential shape of an object is considered and the artist brings that shape in to comparison to others through the use of color play. The black-and-white work in this show even more so heighten an interest in following the artist’s hand and gesture across the paper or board to guide the eye across the surface. The physical surface does not limit Carson, who often extends the image beyond the perimeters in the viewer’s imagination.

Drawings feel more immediate than almost any other medium. With a small leap of imagination, the viewer can visualist the artist creating a work on the surface in front of them. On Paper is no exception to this practice. Each artist is attracted to drawing to fulfill a particular need or interest, with the resulting work exhibiting a juxtaposition of control, tension, and action. It is also worth noting that the show is not on display in the white box of an art gallery. Gallery spaces are excellent venues for displaying artwork, but it is also important to consider work in locations that bring another context or perspective. Drawings installed on wooden barn walls certainly can change the context or interpretation of work, but it is up to each unique viewer to bring that aspect of the show.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is an art professional and curator based in Washington State.

On Paper is on view from September 14 through October 13 at Bitters Co. Barn, located at 14034 Calhoun Road in Mount Vernon, Washington. Hours are Thursday through Sunday from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. for more information, visit www.bittersco.com.

Maxine Martell’s Magical Beings

Debbi Lester — Sat, 31 Aug 2024 22:35:59 GMT

New paintings by prolific artist Maxine Martell are included in the exhibit, Maxine Martell: Magical Beings, at the Aurora Loop Gallery in Port Townsend, Washington. Curator Kathleen Garrett has assembled an interesting mix of paintings, collages, and other works on paper, that spans fifteen years and includes several new pieces that were created this year.

The title Magical Beings alludes to the shimmering mystery that inhabits all of Martell’s art, on the surface and sometimes just below it. The concept of collage has always been a central idea in her paintings, which is not surprising when you consider that her work is inspired by her interest in film, fashion, architecture, literature, and history. She blends those influences with her own memories, travels, and family history, sometimes incorporating personal narratives. At first glance, the paintings in this show are beautiful, decorative, and engaging, but as you spend more time with them and look more closely, an undertone of intrigue, intellect, and hidden powers emerges.

The centerpiece of the show is a selection of paintings pulled from her Hybrids series. Not all of the pieces in that series are included here, but there are enough to keep your eye and imagination occupied and your brain firing on all synapses. Their layering and collage effects echo the tromp l’oeil paintings of an earlier series called Torn Paintings, in which Martell created paintings that appear to have been pasted over paintings that have now been partially revealed by a mysterious someone who peeled away parts of the painted-over images so that they are no longer completely covering up the evidence. The longer you look at them, the more those partially exposed paintings begin to capture your attention, and you find yourself inexorably drawn to thinking about what might be happening in the concealed work, and wondering how the two layered stories connect. If you’re interested in looking at those before or after you visit this show, you will find them in the Archive pages on her website: https://maxinemartell.com.

Nearly all the new works included in this show are portraits of magisterial, elegant, and strangely powerful women. Perhaps they are they are outsiders, witches and sorceresses, perhaps they are imperious empresses. Or maybe they’re merely very confident ladies of leisure. Some appear to be established, easy and assured of their power. Others are more enigmatic and difficult to pin down, like the ethereal seer who has hung her lamp on an outstretched tree branch and gazes thoughtfully at something or someone that’s just behind your left shoulder. Martell clothes all of these women in layered and multi-patterned headdresses, hats, collars, and elegantly patchworked garments made from recycled bits of her older paintings that she has cut up and pasted onto the canvas.

There is always as much to think about in Martell’s paintings as there is to see. She’s a storyteller, but not the kind who holds your hand. Those women in Japanese kimonos—are they portraits of different people or are they different angles and aspects of the same woman? The titles are not much help. They’re little nuggets of misdirection, leading you down several possible paths or into spirals of introspection. Some portraits are named for objects, qualities, or ideas: Swallows, Evening, Plum Petals, Spring Willow. Others are directly descriptive: Gilded Butterflies and Girl with Amaryllis. There are references to mythological beings, including Merlin, Graces, Artemis, and Kitsune, the fantastical shape-shifting, nine-tailed foxes of Japanese legend, who are guardians, protectors, and sometimes lovers of mortal humans. But others are ambiguous. Are April and Aries women’s names or references to seasons and the zodiac? And speaking of odd little mysteries, why is Zodiak spelled like that? What is she up to? Since Hybrids is a series, what is the secret connection that links them?

I unearthed one possible key to this mystery buried in an interview the artist gave after an exhibit of some of her paintings at Museo Gallery on Whidbey Island. She said: “A series often begins with an individual painting, which suggests variations. Once begun, I work on several paintings at a time. They call back and forth to one another until I abandon them.”

So, there’s your first clue; the rest is up to you. Go see this wonderful show of Martell’s newest work if you want to hunt down more revelations about the kind of conversations that might be quietly whispered in the background between these magical beings. I promise it will be time well spent.

Kathleen Cain

Kathleen Cain was a journalist and a creative director at the legendary Heckler Associates for many years before starting her own communications consulting firm. Find her writings at www.postalley.org.

Through September 29, Aurora Loop Gallery, located at 971 Aurora Loop in Port Townsend, Washington, displays Maxine Martell: Magical Beings. Hours are Thursday through Sunday from noon to 5 p.m. For more information, visit www.auroraloopgallery.com.

Northwest Women Artists

Debbi Lester — Sat, 31 Aug 2024 22:17:36 GMT

Two groundbreaking exhibits at Cascadia Art Museum are A Legacy Rediscovered: Northwest Women Artists, 1920-1970 and Building a Dream: Z. Vanessa Helder and Artists of the Inland Northwest. What a special pairing!

David Martin, our treasured curator of mid-twentieth century modernism in the Northwest, curated both of these exhibits. The first introduces a group of artists each of whom demonstrate a knowledge of a main direction in twentieth century art: impressionism, realism, surrealism, abstraction. In the second, he assembled a group of Z. Vanessa Helder’s Grand Coulee Dam watercolors, as well as a selection of work by her students.

Several of the women in A Legacy Rediscovered are well-known, although not always for the type of work in the exhibit. Doris Chase became known for her large abstract sculptures, videos, and films, Myra Wiggins for her pictorialist photography, and Yvonne Twinning Humber for her realism and magic realism. Some of these women came from or were able to study on the East Coast, at major art schools, and with prominent teachers. The Women Painters of Washington, formed by Myra Wiggins in 1930, became a focal point for many women in Seattle.

The back stories of these artists can help with understanding how they chose their subjects. Peggy Strong for example, suffered a paralyzing car accident in 1933. This led to her identification with other people who were struggling, particularly African Americans. As with so many of these artists, the government art programs provided opportunities such as mural painting and printmaking that otherwise would not have been available.

In this exhibit, we see several mural studies by Lucia Wiley from a series called Youth Marches On. She worked in true fresco and later won a national award as an outstanding mural painter. As we look at these studies we see a range of approaches and a sophisticated organization of space. Later she converted to be a sister in the Community of the Holy Spirit in New York City and taught in their schools for many years.

Vivian Kidwell Griffin stands out as an early surrealist in the 1930s even as her entire education was in the Northwest. The paintings included by her are unusual and original—she does not follow other familiar surrealist approaches.

Among the abstract artists is Maria Frank whose blue green painting suggests, with its curving pastel greens and blues, quite a different understanding of abstraction than the aggressive forms of the New York based Abstract Expressionists.

Indeed, what emerges from this exhibit is a strong group of women who forged their own careers on their own terms. It is hard to believe they were so successful in the context of the Northwest culture in the mid-twentieth century.

Building a Dream: Z. Vanessa Helder and Artists of the Inland Northwest

Z. Vanessa Helder studied at the Art Student’s League in New York City on a scholarship in 1934. On returning to Washington state she was hired by the WPA to run the Spokane Arts Center from 1939-41. The center was a hub of creativity featuring theater, writing workshops, and painting until it was closed during World War II.

On her own time, Helder spent two years painting the construction of the Grand Coulee Dam, the only woman permitted on the site. She created sketches during the day and watercolor paintings at night. Her precisionist style of clean-cut buildings and industrial sites juxtapose details of the building of the dam with the specific landscape of Northeastern Washington. The compositions include complex diagonals of the industrial equipment set in the swelling hills of the region. She also painted worker housing, although in a precisionist way—no people, no cars, no stores. The small houses stand in for the life in the village of Grand Coulee. Read B Street by Lawney L. Reyes, University of Washington Press (2008), for the rest of the picture.

Widely praised for the Grand Coulee paintings, they are still her best known work. It was a fortuitous conjunction of her initiative in seeking out this subject, inspired by her precisionist perspective, and her sophisticated approach to both medium and composition.

In a second room of the exhibit are works by her students including the later well-known Alden Mason. Each work tells us that these artists learned from Helder, but went their own way.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes for local, national, and international publications and her website is www.artandpoliticsnow.com.

Building a Dream: Z. Vanessa Helder and Artists of the Inland Northwest is on view through September 29 and A Legacy Rediscovered: Northwest Women Artists through January 5 at Cascadia Art Museum, located at 190 Sunset Avenue S., Edmonds, Washington. Hours are Wednesday through Sunday from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. For more information www.cascadiaartmuseum.org.

Hib Sabin: The Four Seasons

Debbi Lester — Sat, 31 Aug 2024 21:13:32 GMT

The sculptor Hib Sabin has been showing his art at Stonington Gallery for almost two decades now—a sizable chunk of time, but just a fraction of Sabin’s lengthy artistic career. Defying time itself, Sabin at age 87 is presenting new work that is as strong as ever, on the occasion of his solo show at Stonington Gallery. The exhibit is called The Four Seasons and it is inspired by Vivaldi’s famous violin concerti, “The Four Seasons.”

The Four Seasons consists of four tableaux, each ensemble composed of four wood carved figures respresenting a season. Birds and boats are the repeated elements that unify the four ensembles.

Birds have long featured in Sabin’s imagination. They have an added resonance in the Four Seasons context: Vivaldi famously incorporated birdsong into his composition. In “Spring Equinox Ensemble,” we see one bird taking flight, another bird fixed in a watchful pose, and a bird transmuted into a bowl. And there is a bird represented by a solitary feather–that is, unless the feather refers to something else entirely: the journey of the soul perhaps, or divination, or the ephemeral nature of existence. (These are all concepts that Sabin has explored in earlier works.) Sabin’s imagery resists easy readings, and remains enigmatic; it’s as if the images are lured in from mythic or spiritual realms well beyond the rational, and then captured in juniper wood carvings. The carvings, which are beautifully hand-painted, may be taken as hand-held spiritual implements meant for healing, or tools to re-invoke the dream-world from which they emerged.

While one could ponder the tableaux all day long, the art itself is not ponderous. In fact a whimsical spirit is present, shining through in unexpected color choices, or in the simplified and almost child-like design of the boats. Boats and canoes (like owls and ravens) are recurring images in Sabin’s world; these charming vessels in The Four Seasons, with their determined little oars, may call back the Odyssey, or the Ship of Fools. Or both, or neither.

Sabin’s imagery feels timeless, ancient, tied to myth, and that probably has to do with Sabin’s extensive world travels. He lived and studied with the Hadza people in Tanzania, and with aboriginal Australian communities; he immersed himself in shamanic practices in Mexico. He undertook cultural projects in India, Russia, and Uzbekistan. And somewhere along the line he encountered Pacific Northwest Coast Native mythologies and art-making traditions; they left the deepest mark on his own artistic vision.

Sabin’s days of international travel may be behind him, but The Four Seasons reveals that he still takes internal journeys, and still brings back valuable findings.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

The Four Seasons is on view Tuesday through Friday from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. and Saturday from 11 a.m.-5 p.m. through September 28, at the Stonington Gallery, located at 125 S. Jackson Street in Seattle, Washington. For further information, visit www.stoningtongallery.com.

"History Lessons" exhibit by Fay Jones at studio e in Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Sat, 29 Jun 2024 16:02:58 GMT

NWCraft24: A Survey of Craft in the Northwest • Schack Art Center • Everett, Washington

Debbi Lester — Sat, 29 Jun 2024 15:41:33 GMT

In the midst of mid-century modernism in the United States, the organization Northwest Designer Craftartists (formerly Northwest Designer Craftsmen) was founded by a group of Seattle artisans dedicated to supporting and promoting the rich tradition of craft in the region. Through August 24th, the organization is exhibiting a major show at the Schack Art Center in Everett, Washington. The exhibit includes the work of nearly 100 artists based in the Pacific Northwest,juried by art professionals Carol Sauvionand Sarah Traver. In addition to theshow, the Schack Art Center and NWDCare hosting masterclasses by artistsGeorge Rodriguez and Lisa Telford for both members and the general public.

There has been a kind of divide between “Art” and “Craft” for centuries that was amplified in the mid-twentieth century. When asked about the importance of craft, NWDC Executive Director Daniel Wallace replied, “Viewers appreciate handmade objects that are made directly with one human’s hand. There is also an appreciation for the slowness of the process. Sometimes it takes an artist a year or more to complete a work.” This is true for the works in the exhibition NWCraft24 at the Schack; it is a critical survey of the status of craft in the United States. By featuring both members of the NWDC and guest artists, the organization reinforces its commitment to dialogue about the genre amongst each other and also the public. Artists and the general public can learn much from the experienced artisans in the show. Wallace continued to say that “our membership has a life-time of experience and have been working in their method for 40+ years. The objects speak to that and are connected to the individual maker.” The over 100 objects in the show speak to that level of artistic mastery and lived experience.

Visitors to the show experience work by beloved craftartists of the region, including, but not limited to, DickWeiss, Tip Toland, Crista Van Slyck Matteson, Lanny Bergner, NaokoMorisawa, Patti Warashina, and many more. It is important to point out that art appreciators can see Warashina’s workat both the Schack Art Center andthe Seattle Art Museum this summer, which is delightful! All of the work in the show demonstrates the creator’sexperience in the material. For example,Dorothy McGuinness’ “Variations ona Theme 5” contains watercolor paper,acrylic paint, and waxed linen thread. McGuinness challenges the shapes that exist in traditional basket forms, andexpands on this craft through materials and techniques. The resulting objects areconstructed with hundreds of pieces of paper woven in unexpected ways.

The materials on display in the show are vast, which is fitting for a region with a long history of craft that is inspired by so many sources. Ceramics, glass, jewelry, stoneware, wood, silk, and more can be found in NWCraft24. The dialogue between the traditional and contemporary methods are witnessed in many works, but perhaps best illustrated in Ellen Ramsey’s tapestry. Ramsey’s “Portal to the Metaverse” measures 77 x 68 inches and connects the artist’s experience with the loom and an interest in bridging those techniques with themes of consumption and technology. Whether the artists are using solely their hands or bringing in an outside, technological instrument (such as Ramsey’s use of generative software) the time and technical commitment is evident.

The NWDC was founded in 1954 and was solely managed by dedicated volunteers until 2022 when the organization hired Daniel Wallace as the first Executive Director. Under Wallace’s leadership, the organization continues to acknowledge their commitment to supporting members and educating the broader community about the importance of craft in their region. According to Wallace, “It is important that people know the history of this organization that has been a hidden gem while also having an enormous impact on the region.” The exhibition and accompanying programs provide a thorough education in the field of craft, and by visiting the show viewers are supporting an organization and dozens of artists who are truly committed to perfecting and evolving their craft. Art and craft alike continue to evolve; by recognizing a technique’s past these artisans are able to bring their work into the present in new and surprising ways.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is an art professional and curator based in Washington State.

“NWCraft24” is on display through August 24 at Schack Art Center, located at2921 Hoyt Avenue in Everett, Washington.Hours are Tuesday through Saturday from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. Be sure to check the Schack Art Center website, www.schack.org, for more information about programming surrounding the exhibit.

Mary Ann Peters: the edge becomes the center • Frye Art Museum • Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Sat, 29 Jun 2024 15:11:51 GMT

Approaching Mary Ann Peters’ provocative exhibit, the edge becomes the center, we first encounter “the impossible monument (gilded)” filling an entire wall. Screening set in a large gold frame obscures the interior, we only have a partial view of details as we move in front of the work. What we can decipher are keys, keyhole plates, and ribbons along with laminated survival blankets. Peters refers to the act of “glazing over groups who are domestically unmoored, covering their full stories with a patina of incomplete explanations, particularly in conflict zones. The telling of the experience is gilded, defusing responsibility.” She invokes home with her choice of material. As we gaze at the keys we think particularly of the Palestinians holding the keys to their homes after 75 years. But the key as an icon of a lost home can also be a universal symbol.

Near the large “monument” hangs an empty oval frame invoking a lost ancestor. The absences in Peters’ work are as crucial as what we see, our inclination is to fill in the gaps with our own personal experiences. Her work reaches us by what we cannot see as much as the physical materials that we do see.

The ten large abstract paintings collectively titled “this trembling turf” again suggest missing and hidden histories. As we look closely at these paintings, we dive into a mysterious world of suggested images that pulse and disappear. It feels like we are being tossed in a turbulent sea or churning earth.

They were inspired by Peters’ visit to the Arab Image Foundation in Beirut which houses 600,000 photographs, all archival images created since the turn of the twentieth century. The artist accidentally found photographs of unidentified mass graves lying underneath an upscale golf course. As seen in the “impossible monument” work here and other earlier examples, the artist has long been interested in creating monuments to forgotten histories.

Each “trembling turf” has thousands of small and even tiny strokes, created with a white pigment pen on a black surface. Each painting has a distinct stroke, that builds into swelling shapes. The artist said that the titles of the work emerged from creating it, as for example, “the waters” or “the surge.”

Mary Ann Peters is a second-generation Lebanese American, who has focused for almost forty years on histories that are not told, of marginalized events, people, and places. Her work is particularly timely at this historical moment, as marginalized histories are being exposed in the Middle East and Ukraine, and decolonization of history is ever more prominent.

But these drawings are inspired by new archeological forensic techniques which give far more detail than the early photographs. On the other hand, the interpretation of these mass graves is also disputed, although prominent historians have confirmed them. We are not given information on a particular historical moment that led to this mass grave (there are certainly a lot of possibilities in Lebanon). The point for the artist is that this could be anywhere, really (think of the recently-discovered graves at Indian Boarding Schools using the same forensic technique). Her purpose is not to be specific, but to suggest that the acts of obliteration are worldwide.

We can examine each of these works for a long time. The earliest, from 2016, with no subtitle, suggests the pulse of a heart monitor, with its thrusting verticals at its center. The waters give us no rest, as we feel deep beneath the heaving sea, moving in all directions, its swirls seeming to coalesce into an image, but then slip away. The work is suffocating, it suggests the sense of inescapable movement, the feeling of no base to stand on, much like people who migrate across water, many of whom drown. The surge is equally turbulent but provides an escape in a black sky above. Several others have a focal point that emerged as the artist works, as in “the oasis,” “the burst,” and particularly “the hollow” with its large black center.

The artist has not shown this entire series together before, many of them are owned by collectors or organizations like the Seattle Convention Center. The ten works interact and immerse us in a world of unknown parameters, which is exactly what people experience as they lose their homes, migrate, or whose stories are forgotten by history.

Be sure to allow time to plunge into these swirling churning paintings.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes for local, national, and international publications and her website is www.artandpoliticsnow.com.

“the edge becomes the center” is on view through January 5, 2025, at the Frye Art Museum, located at 704 Terry Avenue in Seattle, Washington. Hours are Wednesday through Sunday from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. For further information, visit www.fryemuseum.org.

Wendy Orville: Seeing Trees • Harris/Harvey Gallery • Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Sat, 29 Jun 2024 14:31:04 GMT

Any showing of new work by printmaker Wendy Orville is a special event for her many collectors and followers. But this summer’s show seems especially auspicious: after years with the Davidson Galleries, Orville has joined the fine roster of artists at the Harris/Harvey Gallery. Her first solo exhibit at this new space is a showing of recent monotypes that explore a new thematic direction in her work, as alluded to in the show title, Seeing Trees.

It’s true that we’ve been seeing trees in Orville’s prints throughout her career–some of her most emblematic images feature a tree or two. But note the plural form in the show title: It reflects the artist’s shift from observing a tree in isolation to considering forests and other large gatherings of trees.

She is drawn to windswept coastal conifers like those at Point Wilson in Port Townsend, and riparian woodlands like those at the Nisqually Wildlife Refuge. But she also finds inspiration in a docile suburban park, past the swing sets and pickleballers. Wherever there’s a grove or stand or forest of trees, she’s there to explore its potential for image making.

People tend to mistake Orville’s monotypes for black-and-white photography; closer inspection shows how painterly they are, how unfussy and free. The artist earned a Masters of Fine Art in painting, then dallied with printmaking some time later, and was soon wholly absorbed by the process. Her lack of formal training in the art form helps to account for the originality of her monotypes.

Orville sketches with dark charcoal to work out her compositions. The real magic occurs in the translation to ink. It’s here that those “photographic” details emerge, often by removing ink from the printing plate with rags, squeegees, and Q-tips. These marks convince you that sunlight is spilling on underbrush, or glinting off ripples on a peaceful bay. Her graceful tonal blends capture subtle changes in shade or vegetation, and convey distance and atmospheric phenomena. In twilight works like “Winter Forest No. 2” you can see and almost feel the mist rolling in through the thicket.

Ambiguity and mystery, spontaneity and surprise are always in play. In “Port Gamble Grove” and “Forest Edge, Port Gamble,” she lifts ink from the mass of black woods in a series of quick vertical strokes—tree trunks in the forest. The more forceful strokes read as trees on the sunlit perimeter, while more tenuous strokes define trees in the shadowy interior. This addition (achieved by subtraction) gives realistic spatial depth to the woods, and it enriches the emotional landscape—the dark forest as a primal motif, a place of fear, a place to be drawn to.

In terms of visual energy and rhythm, these same quick strokes in the woods establish a strong pulse moving horizontally across the plane. Maybe it’s this motion that gives those high-altitude clouds their sense of expansive silent stillness. In “Port Gamble Grove” the strokes march gently downwards to suggest the underlying landform. You may not notice at first that one stroke is diagonal, to render a tree at a tilt, as if weakened by a wind gust. This touch adds subtle drama to the scene without calling attention to itself. Nothing ever seems too showy or forced in Orville’s work; secretive details patiently await their discovery.

Certain prints in Seeing Trees seem to bend the norms established in Orville’s earlier work. “Battle Point, Flooded” is twice as wide as it is tall, a departure from the squarer format the artist prefers. But that wide horizon supports the disorienting scene—a flat parkland overtaken by floodwaters. Water standing everywhere mirrors the bright sky so that we are flooded with light as well as with water. Basic distinctions are dissolved—where has the ground gone? Where does the water end and sky begin? The park itself seems astonished at its predicament. But if the flood is the antagonist here, we have a protagonist in the row of old maples. Planted on a berm that lifts them just above the waterline, the trees stand tall over standing water, images of stability in one respect and of fragility in another.

One more piece in Seeing Trees stands slightly apart from previous work, “Grand Forest.” Here the viewer does not look out toward the scene, but looks up from the forest floor into the surrounding crowns of trees that tower overhead. Trunks and branches huddle in from all four sides of the frame, nearly blocking out sky—an unexpected move for Orville, who exults in space and light. The sense of enclosure and restless energy strays from her customary voice. Some will see and feel something joyous here, I’m sure—Orville allows that her prints are often seen as “cheerfully moody.” But I’m left unsettled by “Grand Forest.” I feel that I am no longer gazing at the forest, but that I am occupying it, and the forest is looking at me. (OK, trees seeing? Maybe I need to get out more.)

Orville seems vexed that it took so many years of living in the Pacific Northwest to see that the woods are a compelling subject. (She was busy with other fascinations—skies and cloudscapes, coastal wetlands, animals.) The wait was worth it. Her best monotypes feel strangely like one’s own personal memories. The thought is never “I want to go to there,” but more like “Yes, I’ve been there, wherever it is. I was there and it was sweet like that, and I felt very alive in that place.”

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

“Seeing Trees” is on view from August 1 through August 31 at Harris/Harvey Gallery, located at 1915 First Avenue in Seattle, Washington. Hours are Tuesday through Saturday from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. For more information, please visit www.harrisharveygallery.com.

"Into the Night" Exhibit by David Poleski at Gallery Mack in Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Sat, 29 Jun 2024 14:24:39 GMT

Art Blooms in Skagit Valley

Debbi Lester — Tue, 30 Apr 2024 04:49:59 GMT

Art Blooms in Skagit Valley

i.e and Smith & Vallee Gallery • Edison, Washington

While crowds flock to the Skagit Valley throughout April to witness the beautiful tulip blooms, May is quickly proving to be another excellent time to visit the area. Edison continues to be a favorite for both locals and visitors with its excellent food and drink options, home goods shopping (including a newish bookstore), and beloved art galleries. The two staple art venues continue to be Smith & Vallee Gallery and i.e. Both galleries exhibit primarily the work of local artists but the artistic styles of their gallery directors can range greatly from traditional landscape painting to sculptural assemblages to ceramics. In short, a visit to the small town of Edison can quickly fill the day of both foodies and art lovers alike.

i.e. gallery typically exhibits one-person shows that can include both 2D and 3D artworks in their one-room space in the historic Edison Eye Building. However, May is a departure from their usual program. The gallery exhibits photographs by David Hall, an artist that the gallery represents, in addition to artwork on loan from Stonington Gallery in Seattle by Indigenous artists based in the Pacific Northwest. The show is titled “Reflections on Northwest Coast Formline” and it includes Hall’s series titled “Shoreline Reflections” and the work of numerous Indigenous artists including Susan Point, Preston Singletary, Kevin Paul, Rande Cook, and many more. The impetus of the exhibition began when Hall was photographing the water along the shore of Ross Lake, and he began to notice a similarity between the curves of the water and the shapes included in the iconic formline imagery. The comparison between the artworks provokes discussion about the origin of this imagery and its continued utilization in the present day.

It is important to note the significant work that is included in the exhibition, especially Tom Hunt’s “Kwaguʼł Thunderbird” from 1999. There are several artists based on Vancouver Island in the exhibit, and Hunt’s work is a key example of the master carver’s skill and artistic perspective. Another artist to note is Kevin Paul, also a master carver whose recently completed totem can be seen outside of the new La Conner Swinomish Library. Bringing all of these artists and their work together in conversation with David Hall’s photographs is quite the achievement, and visitors benefit greatly by learning more about formline along with the opportunity to experience many excellent examples in person. If you do visit i.e., please note that the beloved Tweets Café is right next door. But be sure to bring cash so that you can purchase one of their delectable baked goods.

A short way down the road from i.e. is Smith & Vallee Gallery. The gallery director and curators often exhibit the work of two artists during their month-long shows in the historic school house, and May is no different. Local painter Lisa McShane continues to transfix viewers with her sweeping vistas of the surrounding landscape, as the reader can see in her painting titled, “Blanchard Mountain at Dusk.” McShane shows with ceramicist Brian O’Neill who meticulously forms his vessels and pays extra attention to their surfaces. The gallery is comprised of one large room with a smaller gallery space in the back of the building. This space provides the gallery the opportunity to work with artists not on their roster, and in May they feature work by Perri Lynch Howard. Howard reflects on the landscape and includes a series of lines that emanate from various points in the picture plane. The artist refers to these as “frequencies” and writes in their artist statement that the sounds of a place transferred into a visual manifestation bring the viewer closer to their natural environment.

In summary, May brings artists from across the Pacific Northwest to the small, yet vibrant, town of Edison in the Skagit Valley. The themes range greatly and provide a rich, substantial viewing and learning experience for even the most frequent gallery visitor. If you do decide to visit and want to see even more artwork, continue to La Conner to see the Museum of Northwest Art’s exhibits, peruse the art galleries on South First Street in downtown Mount Vernon, or head to Camano Island for its 25th Annual Camano Island Studio Tour from May 10-12 and 18-19.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is an art professional and curator based in Washington State.

“Reflections on Northwest Coast Formline” is on view Friday to Sunday from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m., May 3 through June 3, at i.e., located at 5800 Cains Court in Edison, Washington. Visit www.ieedison.com for more information.

Until May 26, Thursday through Monday from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m., view exhibitions by Lisa McShane, Brian O’Neill, and Perri Lynch Howard at Smith & Vallee Gallery, located at 5742 Gilkey Avenue in Edison, Washington. For further information, visit www.SmithandValleeGallery.com.

LOVERULES - Henry Art Gallery • Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Tue, 30 Apr 2024 04:26:19 GMT

LOVERULES

Henry Art Gallery • Seattle, Washington

Hank Willis Thomas plays tricks on us in order to see racism before our very eyes. The artist began his tour of “LOVERULES” with “An All Colored Cast,” a painting that looks like bright squares of minimalist color. But when we took a flash photo of it, we suddenly saw that each square had a portrait of a famous Black actor, singer, or performer. Thomas is pointing out that no matter how famous Black performers are they are still much less visible than white performers. To underscore this, there was no list identifying the performers.

Another theme is sports. Near the door of the Henry Art Gallery a ten-foot tall shiny steel arm spinning a basketball looms over us. The title is “Liberty (reflection).” We can immediately see the irony in the celebration of this glorious arm. It echoes the Statue of Liberty and its torch; so does basketball lead to equality and freedom as promised by the statue? Hank Willis Thomas wakes us up to the truth starring us in the face, that there is no equality and freedom through sports or other means promoted to Black people to escape racism.

A partner piece to this large arm is “Endless Column,” in the main gallery: a stack of dark blue fiberglass basketballs with a shiny finish directly imitates Brancusi’s original “Endless Column,” a monument to soldiers who died in World War I defending their town against German forces. In this case, by using the same title, Thomas suggests an homage to individuals and sports players, but with a dark edge that echoes that Brancusi homage.

An homage to people killed by gun violence, “20,923 (2021)” puts a white star embroidered on a blue flag, drapedon the ground—one star for every personmurdered by guns in the U.S. in 2021. The numbers are staggering, indicated by the title, exceeding deaths in foreign wars.

As a result of the death of his cousin and close friend in a vigilante attack in 2000, apparently to take a gold necklace, Thomas has pursued the theme of the grotesque stereotypes and racist lies contained in commercial advertising images. He found it obscene that the murder occurred basically to obtain a commodity. The role of advertising in creating status had become a deadly promise.

Included are two series of photographs called “UnBranded,” one with the subtitle “Reflections in Black by Corporate America,” the other subtitled “A Century of White Women.” Thomas removes the text from the advertising images and gives his own titles to the work.In the case of “Reflections in Black by Corporate America,” one example is “Farewell Uncle Tom, 1971/2007.” It shows a Black couple wearing clothing and hairstyles popular at the time,one smoking a cigarette; the image suggests the contradiction of the effort to be in touch with the 1970s and its glamorization of cigarette smoking.

In “A Century of White Women” (which fills a large gallery) we see women in suggestive poses dating from 1915 to 2015. All of them are rife with sexual puns or explicit racial hierarchies. The artist declares that women are being consumed by this advertising, made into objects and exploited. The advertisements targeting Black audiences rely on the super-beautiful and the cliché.

A third category of work plays with our racism using words: “Pitch Blackness Off Whiteness” is a neon sign that flashes alternately on these four words plus “ness” to create combinations as it flashes, such as “Pitch Black” and “Off White”—color speaking to the subtleties of color beyond a binary.

Words and images stray into violence in the “Absolut” series, such as the silhouette of the bottle as the “Door of No Return” through which enslaved people were forcibly sent to America, or such as “Absolut Reality,” in which a murdered Black man lies on the sidewalk, his blood in the shape of the bottle.

Hank Willis Thomas strips the pretense from American society. His work reveals the racism and sexism ingrained in our culture through advertising and language. He creates art that leads us to activism, both in our own lives, by rethinking clichés of racism and its violence, and in public, though resistance to the suffocating pressure of cultural norms. The images he finds are so potent that we can’t help but be inspired to fight for change. It is remarkable that this confrontational exhibition comes from one individual private collector.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes for local, national, and international publications and her website, www.artandpoliticsnow.com.

“LOVERULES” is on view through August 4, at the Henry Art Gallery, located at 15th Avenue NE & NE 41st Street. Hours are Thursday from 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. and Friday to Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5p.m. For further information, visit www.henryart.org.

Shopkeeping by Peter Miller

Debbi Lester — Tue, 30 Apr 2024 03:46:17 GMT

On the front door of Peter Miller Books in Pioneer Square is a sign:

NO CELL PHONES.

NONE AT ALL. THANK YOU.

The message is direct, stylish, and polite—not unlike the shopkeeper, Peter Miller, who will have a bright welcome for you as you enter. The sign suggests that the space you are entering is a kind of respite.

Step inside. Books are everywhere. Mostly about art, design, and architecture. Big thick tomes from prestige publishers like Phaidon, Taschen, and Rizzoli. Softcover books from small presses. Books on typography, books on color, books on flowers and gardens. Books on landscape design, interior design, graphic design, urban-, industrial-, and information design. Books about writing, books about books.

But not only books. You find fountain pens and mechanical pencils. Sketch pads and journals, briefcases and shoulder bags. There are lights and lamps to purchase, and then to read by, or to work under. Unexpected themes emerge—one of them is Time: there are stylish clocks and watches, and on every wall a fetching wall calendar.

Speaking of walls, admire the shop’s brickwork for a minute, and the thick cedar timber beams above—feel the solidity and presence of the shop itself. Everything has been considered. Hear the symphonic music playing—it emanates from a compact Tivoli radio—Miller keeps various colors in stock. And now, turning the corner, the next theme: cooking utensils and dish towels, espresso makers, juicers, pepper grinders.

If you have questions at this point, the place to find answers is in Shopkeeping, a new book written by Peter Miller, publication date May 7th.

The book is not a manual, or a how-to. It’s more of a why-to. But it describes how the 44-year-old shop came to be, and came to be curated in this curious way. It answers the question of how Peter Miller Books became the iconic place that it is—with supporters and patrons the world over—despite missteps, despite relocations in the face of rising rents and other pressures. How does a store become more than a store but a touchstone for a thriving creative community?

Seattle had little going for it, architecturally speaking, when Miller settled here in the early 1970s; the region’s economy was in decline (Boeing layoffs). What was he thinking? And yet five decades later Seattle has an embarrassment of architectural riches. Buildings by Frank Gehry, Rem Koolhaas, Steven Holl (among other luminaries); it has Olympic Sculpture Park, renowned for its transformation of urban space as much as for its artworks by Louise Bourgeois, Richard Serra, and more. But Seattle also gave rise to Costco and to Amazon with its One-Click buying and same-day deliveries. Those developments spelled death for any number of small shops, and drained the vitality and sense of purpose from the core of small towns everywhere. There’s a reason why Miller carries four different editions of The Life and Death of Great American Cities by Jane Jacobs. And a reason for adding one more book to the shelves with Shopkeeping.

Jacobs, Walter Benjamin, and other thinkers have written about the vital role that small shops play in creating a vibrant city. But until now we’ve not heard from actual shopkeepers. Theory is great, case studies wonderful, but what is it like, in practice, to keep a shop running so well and for so long?

You don’t need to or want to run a store to relate to Miller’s tale. Your spirits will sink when you read about the shop getting broken into, or the time it flooded. And you will exult at that moment when a customer orders one copy of every book in the shop, for a design school starting up in Japan. (That one transaction turned a bleak sales season into a rosy one.) The advice in Shopkeeping seems applicable to anyone pursuing any creative pursuit that is their own. “It is the great difficulty of running a shop—the fragility of your own confidence and optimism. You are the steward of an invented form, and it is your huff and puff that gives it life.”

To run a small shop day in and day out doesn’t exclude travel, and Shopkeeping is in some ways a travelogue. We have scenes from Belltown, Pioneer Square, Bozeman, Milan, Copenhagen, and Sydney, Australia (where Miller finds a “very brave” food shop). Magic and serendipity are necessary tools in the shopkeeper’s kit, but you never know where the magic will happen: one of Miller’s best finds, a treasure trove of architecture books, fell into his hands in Anacortes, Washington. Same with customers: someone browsing the store may exit without saying a word, or they may buy one of everything, or turn out to be Rem Koolhaas. Many items in the shop are well-travelled too. Miller likes to share their backstories—I enjoyed the mini-history of calendars in Italy, the inside scoop on the drama behind graphite pencils. Every item has a story, and every shopper. But the book’s main protagonist is always the shop itself.

Shopkeeping is thoughtfully put together, full of surprises, a joy to read. Miller’s a uniquely gifted writer. Colleen Miller’s charming illustrations bring space and light to the text.

As architects like to say, “Only common things happen when common sense prevails.” Peter Miller Books is no common shop, and Shopkeeping is no common book.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

Peter Miller Books located at 304 Alaskan Way South, between South Jackson and South Main Street in Post Alley, in Seattle, Washington, is holding a book launch on Wednesday, May 8, 4-6:30 p.m. Visit www.Petermiller.com for more information.

Silva Cascadia: Under the Spell of the Forest

Debbi Lester — Sat, 24 Feb 2024 06:34:58 GMT

Silva Cascadia: Under the Spell of the Forest

Museum of Northwest Art • La Conner, Washington

Forests and the trees that populate them are the inspiration for generations of artists across the world. In “Silva Cascadia: Under the Spell of the Forest,” curator Kathleen Garrett and the twelve artists included in the show explore the various perspectives provided by the forest. Garrett summarizes these views as aesthetic, forensic, metaphorical, and ecological. In summary, the exhibition offers both a holistic and in-depth view of how we are impacted by the forest and the lessons humanity can glean from how trees live (and die). The exhibition is specific to the Pacific Northwest, as the title tells us, but its lessons carry over to forests across the world. However, the show is uniquely rooted in the ecology of this region, as are the artists included. Through their observations, research, and experiences, each of the artists illustrate many of the quiet moments of reflection spent in these environments.

“Silva Cascadia” includes the work of twelve female artists: Maria Cristalli, Linda Davidson, Kathleen Faulkner, Patty Haller, Laura Hamje, Hart James, Claire Johnson, Donna Leavitt, Karen Lené Rudd, Juliet Shen, Kimberly Trowbridge, and Suze Woolf. The show is expertly organized by Kathleen Garrett, a long-standing and beloved curator based in the Pacific Northwest. The show exhibits the hallmarks of Garrett’s curatorial body of work: a thoughtfully considered and researched exhibition filled with artwork that speaks to the curator’s experience as a researcher and writer of art. It is thrilling to see an exhibition curated by Garrett at MoNA (she was their curator in the past) as she expertly and confidently guides the visitor through aesthetic, forensic, metaphorical, and ecological comparisons and contrasts. Hopefully this is the start of even more exhibitions curated by this long-standing Northwest curator.

All of the work in the exhibit connects to the overall theme of the show and is beautiful from both an aesthetic and technical perspective. What is particularly fascinating are three facets of the exhibit: the choice of sculpture, the juxtaposition of living trees and those impacted by fire, and the metaphorical connection of the “Mother Tree.” First, let’s review the two sculptors included in the exhibition: Karen Lené Rudd and Maria Cristalli. Rudd utilizes the often discarded cardboard box to recreate tree stumps to comment on the over-consumption and deforestation of these living organisms. These cardboard constructions are exhibited alongside Cristalli’s forged steel sculptures. There is something poetic and symbolic about the juxtaposition of a cardboard sculpture of a tree stump with a steel sculpture forged in fire and heat. In fact, one of Cristalli’s sculptures is titled “History of Fire.” Using exhibition design and dramatic lighting, Garrett calls our attention to the themes of construction, fire, and regeneration.

The exhibition comments on fire and trees again through more representational methods in Suze Woolf’s detailed documentation of trees damaged by wildfire. Utilizing varnished watercolor on torn paper mounted on wood, Woolf captures the impacted forests with incredible precision while also highlighting their ghostly beauty using color and shadow. These artworks are often in the same field of vision as Patty Haller, Hart James, and Laura Hamje’s luscious paintings that explore the layers of the forest in varying degrees of abstraction. James almost cuts through the layers to reveal the inner workings of the vegetation, while Hamje provides the viewer with a perspective from the forest floor through the canopy of the trees above. As living organisms, dead from fire, or somewhere in between, these majestic figures of the forests continue to tell both a cautionary tale and a lesson of beauty.

Another through-line in the exhibition is humanizing the tree and making connections to the concept of a “Mother Tree.” The gallery guide examines this metaphorical perspective quite well and articulates that the “Mother Tree” is often the largest tree in the forest with a vast network of fungi that is used to communicate with the surrounding trees so they can pass critical resources and information throughout the forest. According to the guide, this concept is central to Suzanne Simard’s research and her on-going project titled “The Mother Tree Project.” These trees are strong, old, and critical for a healthy forest to flourish. Fittingly, museum guests are greeted by three such trees in Kimberly Trowbridge’s large paintings near the entrance of the exhibition. In her statement for the show, Trowbridge states that “trees epitomize the great lessons of figure-ground: how to embody self while also dissolving the boundaries between self and environment.” For the purposes of the metaphors within the “Mother Tree” concept, these trees extend beyond themselves to provide enrichment, comfort, and support to those around them. Similarly, Kathleen Faulkner writes that “the tree community is always available to protect, warn, feed, and heal its family. Trees understand the concept of teamwork.” Perhaps this is the most important lesson from the exhibition.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Silva Cascadia: Under the Spell of the Forest” is on view through May 12, at the Museum of Northwest Art, located at 121 South First Street. Museum hours are Sunday and Monday from 12 to 5 p.m., Tuesday to Saturday from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m. For further information, visit www.monamuseum.org.

Saya Moriyasu: Ozekitachi - Stone Tails

Debbi Lester — Sat, 24 Feb 2024 05:55:33 GMT

Saya Moriyasu: Ozekitachi - Stone Tails

J. Rinehart Gallery in Seattle, Washington

In Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer’s momentous book on botany and the indigenous relationship to the natural world, the author describes her difficulty learning a Native American language; there were no nouns for bodies of water: no “bay”— only a verb meaning “to be a bay.” In her struggle, she reaches epiphany: for indigenous people, water is a living being, not an object; it may decide to be a bay, or a river, or an ocean, but it maintains its identity as water: as a living, spiritual presence with its own consciousness—and as humanity’s relative.

There is a similar spirit at work in “Ozekitachi - Stone Tails,” Saya Moriyasu’s solo show of sumi paintings, ceramic sculptures, and small, hand-built clay figures at J. Rinehart Gallery. A Portland-raised artist with a Japanese father, Moriyasu is leaning into her heritage, into the indigenous Japanese Shinto religion, in which the spirits of nature are recognized and revered as they are in the spiritual traditions of the First People of the New World.

For this latest work, Moriyasu was inspired by mineral springs encountered on the road trip to a New Mexico residency. She describes soaking in hot springs, feeling “enveloped in the wordless communication of the waters,” in the “presence of deities of the depth.” She sought to express, in ink and clay, those spirits and named her creations Onsen (“hot spring”) creatures. In Moriyasu’s conception, as they encounter human presence, the Onsen creatures awaken, rising to the surface and communicating through minerals exuded through their eyes and mouths.

Moriyasu is concerned about our relationship to the earth; she uses a green process of creating art: rainwater and solar-powered kilns, hybrid car, and eating low on the food chain. Using earth-sourced clay, she lets her hands find where faces hide. Hand-sized, her creatures invite touch. She leaves them lumpen, Caliban-like, some little more than piles of sediment with pareidolic suggestions of a face. “Blue Kappa Is Watching” is a seaweed-covered lump of mud with two large staring eye-spots; a Sumo-loving, reptilian water spirit, the kappa becomes lethal when not respected.

Some of Moriyasu’s creatures take their names from geologic formations. Her “Meromixis” Onsen creatures are named for a type of deep lake whose temperature differential at different depths prevents complete mixing, causing stratification of the water. Glazed black on the bottom like the primal slime they emerge from, the white porcelain-slip tops gape comically like a kindergartener’s clay ghosts, green puddling in their eyes, spilling as drool from their mouths.

Larger than most, “Geode Rises from Stomatolite” references a mysterious, tube-shaped, layered, sediment formation that has provided fossils of the most ancient life on earth. Moriyasu’s creature hides a double identity: a green, frog-like face peers from the interior of the mouth—a hidden geode. Red kumihimo (Japanese braids used for samarai swords) streams from his eyes like tears.

Moriyasu has designated her Onsen creatures Ozekitachi, members of the Ozeki, the second-highest rank in Sumo wrestling. Sumo has roots in the Shinto religion, originating as supplication and entertainment for the kami, the spirit deities of nature. Sumo also has its place in the Shinto creation story; through violent Sumo battles, the kami gained superiority over common humans and, through their battles, the earth with sun and moon was formed.

Many of her creatures do have the rotundity and sweetness of modern Sumo wrestlers. Like Sumo, they seem playful, yet hint of power and strength. (“Yokozuna Onsen,” his title designating him as a grand master of Sumo, rises above the slime, amphibious features exuding dignity and evaluation.) And as we who live under the looming threat of the overdue “Big One” know, ancient geology is not to be taken lightly. Like the kami, nature has two faces: it can nurture, and it can destroy.

Moriyasu tells us that “Ozeki” can be translated as “Tail of the Stone”—and hence the title of the show and also perhaps a pun: these are the tales that stones might tell, if stones could tell tales. And here they can and do, speaking of the ancient origins of life and an alternative relationship with the earth, reminders of our deep connection with the earth—and the earth’s powerful need for our respect and care.

Elizabeth Bryant

Elizabeth Bryant tutors English and writes about art.

“Ozekitachi - Stone Tails” is on view through March 27 at J. Rinehart Gallery, located at 319 Third Avenue South in Seattle, Washington. The Opening Reception is on Thursday, March 7, 5-8 p.m. An Artist’s Talk is on Saturday, March 16, from 2 to 4 p.m. For more information, visit www.jrinehartgallery.com.

SOLA: Support of Old Lady Artists

Debbi Lester — Sat, 24 Feb 2024 05:25:47 GMT

Dead Feminists: Historic Heroines in Living Color

Debbi Lester — Sat, 24 Feb 2024 04:49:27 GMT

Dead Feminists: Historic Heroines in Living Color

by Jessica Spring & Chandler O’Leary (Sasquatch Books)

Feminism has necessarily evolved to acknowledge oppressions of race, class, gender, sex, and other identities as inextricably interrelated issues. Intersections are richly entwined and depicted throughout Dead Feminists: Historic Heroines in Living Color (Sasquatch Books, 2016). As a compilation of broadside prints celebrating an expansive variety of women speaking in defense of their beliefs, it won the 2018 Pacific Northwest Book Award. It is also more than the sum of its parts: a testament to the power of art and artists to instigate change; documentation of the relationship between co-creators Chandler O’Leary and Jessica Spring; and, in the wake of O’Leary’s sudden death last year, a legacy.

Dead Feminists began as an intersection of two people with a shared art form. In 2008, illustrator, lettering artist and entrepreneur Chandler O’Leary arrived in Tacoma and shortly after, met designer, letterpress printer and book artist Jessica Spring at the Seattle Wayzgoose printing celebration. They connected over their love of type and discovered they lived just blocks apart. Their conversation continued, honed during what was a volatile election year infused with derisive commentary about the women candidates’ appearance or readiness for the job. One day, Spring came to O’Leary with an Elizabeth Cady Stanton quote: “Come, come my conservative friend, wipe the dew off your spectacles and see the world is moving.” Spring hoped O’Leary could merely illustrate Sarah Palin’s eyeglasses to accompany the text. O’Leary went much further, combining ornate hand lettering for the quote, intertwined with the infamous spectacles. These words, still relevant in the midst of cultural conflict, prompted the two to create their first print together.

That they expressed their work in the form of a broadside, a poster format used historically to spread the word about political ideas, was intentional. O’Leary and Spring both had backgrounds in design and typography, and experience in the male-dominated lineage of printmaking. While they didn’t know then that this would result in a series, they did create an edition. The 44 prints that were run of the Stanton piece represented a significant number, in honor of the 44th presidential election. Symbolism and layers of meaning continued to be important pieces of each subsequent broadside, a considered fusion of text, image, and content that amplified quotes by women aligned with contemporary social justice issues. While Dead Feminists compiles a collection of 24 of these prints, the series continued for a total of 33 broadsides.

As artists accustomed to being solo in their respective studios, working in tandem generated layers of meaning and labor that shaped their collaboration. It is striking to consider that while each brought individual strengths, they were both involved with every creative step of their process together. Each broadside was generated using a mix of traditional and contemporary letterpress processes that combined hand and digital applications. Chandler’s renderings were transformed into photopolymer plates that were run manually by Spring through her Vandercook press. A single color was printed at a time, so a multicolor print had to be run through the press multiple times. Each run required precise registration for accurate alignment so that transparent inks either lay beside or layered on top of each other to create the resulting multicolored image. Constant testing and adjustment happened along the way.

The fluid collaborative energy O’Leary and Spring generated while making the broadsides is evident in the book. Each broadside is augmented with explanatory text evoking issues of the time during which each quoted feminist was living. In O’Leary’s words, “We wanted it to be about all of humanity, through the lens of women’s contribution to humanity.” The array of women portrayed reveals the collaborators’ care and inclusion of diverse races, cultures, and points of view. Chapter headings are verbs that suggest actions to continue to move humanity in a more equitable direction, admonishing us to build, grow, protect, make, tell, lead, play, and share.

The artists lived into the ideas that they set forth in their book, putting words into action. Starting in 2010, the artists began giving donations to organizations that aligned with the causes embodied by the broadsides. They later started the Dead Feminists Fund, carrying forward a mission of supporting fledgling nonprofits that empower women and girls to become community forces for good. It is fitting that layers continue to be a central reason why Dead Feminists: Historic Heroines in Living Color remains relevant eight years after its initial publication. It is the combined impact of the layers of ink, the art, the way these two women connected and collaborated, and the importance of the stories they depict that keep reaching for us.

Kristin L. Tollefson

Kristin L. Tollefson is an artist and educator based in Tacoma, Washington.

For further information about the Dead Feminists book and series, visit www.deadfeminists.com and www.springtidepress.com.

Ethereal & Tangible Art

Debbi Lester — Sat, 24 Feb 2024 03:45:02 GMT

Ethereal & Tangible Art

Bainbridge Arts & Crafts • Bainbridge Island, Washington

Coming off its 75th anniversary late last year, Bainbridge Arts & Crafts continues the excitement with a show of two intriguing regional artists: painter Christian Carlson (Mount Vernon) and sculptor David Eisenhour (Port Hadlock).

Carlson is a relatively recent arrival to the Skagit Valley, a place that has long produced and attracted landscape painters inspired by the region’s natural beauty. Carlson’s spacious coastal scenes are meditative and luminous; they can seem gently severe or pleasantly serene as your own perceptions of them evolve.

In “Winter Light,” as in so many of his paintings, islands or spits of land occupy the middle distance—dark backlit forms that straddle the horizon line. Behind them are misty headlands, while in the foreground sits a body of water rich in reflection, undulations, shallows and depths. A diffused light from an overcast sky softens the scene before you. But this painter is not out to capture the scene and call it good—he transfigures the setting in novel ways.

For decades Carlson favored conceptual art and abstract expressionism. Only with his move to Mount Vernon in 2017 did a representational approach take hold. An abstract-expressionist spirit is present the work: stark contrasts, dynamic interplay of shapes, gestural marks, and reduction of detail—these echo New York School artists, or point even farther back to Tonalist painters and their search for essence. Carlson simplifies his landforms by rounding them off, eliminating the coniferous forests that so define this region. He excludes boats, buoys, pilings—only the natural world belongs. Even wildlife is erased, as Carlson pares down to the elemental. By these means he distances his work from the Salish Sea; his islands and peninsulas become foreign, only vaguely familiar. Carlson’s not painting a place but letting the act of painting take him places. As he himself writes: “With tenacity [artists] will eventually find themselves in uncharted territory and this is the point!”

A subtle but important part of Carlson’s pursuit is to render realistic detail. A thin stroke of white describes a wave beginning to crest (“Red Hill”); a smudge of raw sienna defines a distant bluff. These touches seem to arise spontaneously from Carlson’s fluid, unfussy brushwork, but they anchor the mood and atmosphere to the specific. As if to counter these moves he will draw a graphite pencil along the painted surface, leaving hairlines that read, at first, as cracks in the paint (“Perfectly Still IV”). Their presence snaps you out of the immersive illusory space and back into the present moment.

In one way Carlson heightens the drama inherent in coastal settings; then again his formal simplicity evokes serenity. Working with muted colors and a limited palette, he depicts calm waters and placid skies captured at the most tranquil moments of the day. Even his titles are action-free: “Winter Light.” “Red Hill.” “Perfectly Still.”

If Carlson tends toward the ethereal, the sculptor David Eisenhour is all about the tangible, usually in the form of bronze and stainless steel. Life-forms are mostly absent from Carlson’s work, but in Eisenhour’s there is nothing but the life-form—his commitment to the theme is total.

His fascination is often focused on miniscule organisms that we rarely see in life or in media. Eisenhour is entranced, too, by the patterns that creatures manifest: the precise spirals in mollusk shells, the radial symmetry of jellyfish. This aim is not only to perceive and to praise these wonders but to advocate for their protection. There’s some poetic irony in the fact that the fragile creatures Eisenhour offers up are cast in bronze and stainless steel—heavy-duty materials created under industrial-strength conditions.

Eisenhour moved to the Puget Sound in 1992 to join the legendary Riverdog Foundry in Chimicum. There at the Northwest’s first bronze casting facility he learned all phases of the casting process; he assisted such prominent sculptors as Tony Angell, Phillip McCracken, and Phillip Levine, bringing their visions to final form. Eisenhour left the foundry to pursue his own creative work in 2003.

Though Eisenhour knows how to work a bronze furnace, his process really begins with a dissecting microscope. A life-long appreciator of minutia, Eisenhour magnifies his findings for all to admire. “Lovegrass” is a single seed of grain that you’d need a micrometer to measure, but here it’s magnified to pumpkin-size and transmuted into stainless steel. We can savor its detail, trace the grooves in its patterned surface. We recognize the reality of the miniscule beings that sustain us, a reality that now becomes ours to sustain or to neglect.

The remarkable “Endless Forms” is the show’s standout piece—literally. From its coiling chambered base it extends the long elegant curve of its limb far from its pedestal and into the gallery space, where it unfurls a jubilation of foliate forms. Form from form from form—just as its title implies.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

Christian Carlson and David Eisenhour exhibits are on view daily from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. through March 31 at Bainbridge Arts & Crafts, located 151 Winslow Way East on Bainbridge Island, Washington. For information, visit www.bacart.org.

Write of Way

Debbi Lester — Sat, 24 Feb 2024 03:41:59 GMT

Every So Often

In our living room—that is also our den, dining room, and my office—there is a sweeping view of the surrounding rooftops. When I look south, I can see the sky over Elliott Bay shift from a hovering grey to open gaps of blue. Without hesitating—without thinking, really—I say aloud: thank you.

Sometimes you just have to say the words.

Sometimes you just have to stop what you are doing, look around, and be moved.

Then, after I’ve found my words for the day, I long to leave my writing behind and be moved by anything, everything, else. I want to see people. Embrace people. Even the stock clerk at Trader Joe’s who searched the back for another bag of olive oil potato chips because I asked him to. Well, that’s not exactly true. I begged him to. The thought of those chips was all that got me through my pages that day. I didn’t hug him. But I wanted to.

Contact makes a huge difference in our lives. The world is just too lonely without it. During the pandemic, we mourned its absence on a magnified level. Email, a text, Zoom (especially Zoom) is not the definition of contact. Contact is the state or condition of physical touching. Even in 2021, I refused to interpret the word in any less meaningful way.

Of course, getting to say this is one reason I write. Though someone will likely disagree and email to say, in anger more often than not, how mistaken I am. And I will wonder again: When did we grow so impatient with each other’s opinions? Has it always been like this? My mother used to say, “The division today is nothing compared to the war years.” I stopped reminding her that we’ve been in—and too briefly out of—“war years” my entire life.

But most of my readers are far more appreciative. Perhaps, like me, post-pandemic, they relish life on this whole new meaningful level. In so many ways, we have come to know ourselves better. As well as our limits. Which we have reached. Over and over. And over again.

But still, we hang in there.

And if my thoughts about contact had not intervened just now, I might have started this piece by saying how, as a child, I favored being alone to playing with other kids.

Every so often I like to remember that child.

Especially the way she loved books. How she’d hide behind the sectional to read the encyclopedias her parents so proudly bought and then never used, I love that memory.

Later, I overheard our priest tell my mother not to let me read too much because books would “fill my head with ideas.” And you know what? They did.

Books helped me to cope in their The-World-Is-So-Much-Bigger-Than-You way. They still do. I read about other people and what concerns them, and I think, let’s cut all this “divided” talk. We are more alike than they want us to believe.

It’s just impossible to not be curious if you read books where we are allowed to enter the mind of another and discover so many different ways to see the world, and ourselves within it.

And I came to see that this was exactly what my parents and priest were most afraid of: that in the silence of all my reading, so much was being said.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli is the author of Every Little Thing, a collection of essays that was nominated for a Washington State Book Award and a Pacific Northwest Book Award. Her newest title, In So Many Words, is forthcoming in September 2024. She also works as a speaker and a master dance teacher. For more information about her and her work, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Write of Way

Debbi Lester — Fri, 29 Dec 2023 22:46:33 GMT

Crazy

My Aunt Connie used to sit me down at the kitchen table to share tales of her great journey from Calabria to New York. About how young and scared she was, but also how hopeful. A rock in our family, we could always count on her. If one of us needed help, she’d cook up some pasta, open a bottle of red, and listen. Everything will work out, she’d say, tutto funzionerà.

Today, her stories stay with me. Especially this one: When people asked her where she was from, she was afraid to admit she came from a country that had sided with Germany in “the war” (and then she would cross herself), but she was never uncertain of how to answer. She was nothing but sure.

On the opposite side of this country, people move here from all over the world, drawn to its natural beauty, work opportunities, openness, acceptance. There have been so many new arrivals that the Northwest—the perception of it—has begun to feel more like an opinion, heightened in our minds by experience, background, political leaning, and attitude. Many of our conversations also begin with the question, “Where are you from?”

But it’s always the same reluctance on my part. Unlike my favorite aunt, I can still be so unsure.

Am I from New England, the place of my formative years? Or am I from the Northwest because I’ve lived here longer?

Honestly, I can still have such strong sensations of displacement that when my sister called from Florida to tell me how, after Hurricane Ian, the snakes and alligators hid from view in the puddles after being flooded out of their ponds, an intense wave of empathy came over me. I kept imagining myself peeping out from under the murky pools, clinging to the bottom with my toes, moving my hips back and forth to keep from cramping. Does this make me a truly compassionate person or just one with a writer’s crazy imagination?

When I tell this story to my friend in New York, also a writer and also Italian, she laughs. As with most conversations about writing, especially between two writers, we move on to discuss our current projects at length. Writing might not offer the same challenges as scaling the side of a mountain or ascending slippery rock, but when we talk about the ups and downs, those are exactly the metaphors we use. Finally, I ask her what she would call this sense of home-uncertainty. “Well,” she says, “I don’t know what they (meaning anyone not living in New York) would call it, but I (meaning all Italians or all Italians living in New York, I’m not sure) think writing and craziness are practically the same thing.

I could almost hear her smiling on the other end.

But I don’t feel any sense of insult about my “craziness,” quite the opposite. I can easily wrap my mind around the fact that this is one of those qualities over which I have no say whatsoever.

Which makes me re-remember something: Tutto funzionerà.

My Aunt Connie was (and still is) an honest-to-God saint in my life, the largest imaginable kind, the size of my every hope (past, present, and future) and purpose.

That’s what I like to believe.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli is ts the author of Every Little Thing, a collection of essays that was nominated for a Washington State Book Award. Her previous titles include fiction, non-fiction, and a new children’s title, Bella Likes To Try. She also works as a speaker and a master dance teacher. For more information about her and her work, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Poetic Collaboration by John Levy and Alan Chong Lau

Debbi Lester — Fri, 29 Dec 2023 22:41:02 GMT

stormy weather

and we enter

another world

the dots of rain

between traveling umbrellas

the fractured patterns

of the crimson kimono

the twisted blue

of a strap

on a school girl’s backpack

the wet smack of feet

on a grey sidewalk

Alan Chong Lau

Alan Chong Lau is a poet and visual artist based in Seattle, Washington. He serves as Arts Editor for the International Examiner, a community newspaper. As a visual artist, he is represented by ArtX Contemporary in Seattle, Washington.

John Levy is a poet and photographer. In 2023, Shearsman Books published 54 poems: new & selected, works from 1972 to 2022. He lives in Tucson, Arizona.

Alan Chong Lau and John Levy have published three volumes of a poetry and photography collaboration that can be found by searching online for “eye2word.”

Linda Okazaki: Into the Light

Debbi Lester — Fri, 29 Dec 2023 22:32:03 GMT

Linda Okazaki’s retrospective exhibit at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art is an exploration of painting and life that requires us to look and look again. First we experience the subtle color relationships, the extraordinary handling of watercolor. Then we register on the imagery, and finally a pervasive anxiety and discomfort.

This major exhibition includes many themes, but they are not clustered together; rather curator Greg Robinson, in collaboration with the artist, conducts a symphony of phrases that build on one another, and repeat each with a new variation. Artist Jo Hockenhull, who knew the artist well in Pullman, commented “No one attacks watercolor with such surety and knowledge as Linda Okazaki.” The transparency of watercolor conveys many moods of water, the color relationships evoke emotions. Okazaki immersed herself in a study of Goethe’s color theory and then made her own color charts in order to exactly convey emotions that she wanted to express.

The theme of water is one example: at the outset of the exhibition, we see “Evening Departure” (1980). The sea (Puget Sound) swirls around the boat, as the artist, accompanied by her dog, is held in the arms of a large wolf. The embrace is tender, but the image suggests anxiety. This represents on one level her departure from many years in eastern Washington to live in Port Townsend on the Olympic Peninsula.

But on another level, we can sense her fear of starting over in an entirely new environment through the imaginary—but gentle—embrace of a wolf.

In “River Story Return” (1989), the artist now depicts herself nude in the water, carrying a raven reaching for the shore as a glass vessel seems to fall toward her, and a person in a large red and black striped robe fails to connect to her. Desperation is palpable, expressed through the color, textures, and images. “Crypt Swimmers” (2012) heightens the sense of danger as several figures swim among heavy columns and arches.

Okazaki received two degrees from Washington State University and taught there in the 1970s. She became part of an edgy group of artists who cohered, not into a single style, but into a concentrated group of supportive friends, who, because of the isolation of Pullman, partied together, but had plenty of time for concentrated work. Artist Gaylen Hansen was one of her professors, and near the beginning of the exhibition is “Studio Conversation Vincent and Gaylen”(1985) of Gaylen Hansen and Vincent Van Gogh. We see Hansen’s presence in Okazaki’s benevolent animals and birds that fill her paintings. But her birds multiply and congregate and disperse as in the wonderful recent painting, “Birds Take Flight into Twilight” (2023). We see twenty different species of birds, each carefully observed, fly away in a landscape filled with a rainbow of colors. Another inspiration was the Bay Area artist Joan Brown, who also pursued a personal vocabulary of self portraits, dancing and swimming, in a fantasy world. Also important to her was the anguished imagery of Frida Kahlo, as we see in “Letter to Frida” (1985).

The formative event in Okazaki’s life occurred when she was six. Her mother was murdered by a stalker who then committed suicide. For the first time, the artist is showing several works that refer to this trauma, each more explicit than the last. The earliest is a pencil drawing made while in art school, but later large watercolors confront the subject with a courageous directness. This is the first time she has shown these works.

Not surprisingly then, the overall sensation of the exhibition is one of unease, everything is off kilter, filled with undecipherable metaphors, particularly in the still life paintings of tables set vertically against the picture plane and filled with odd objects. Much of the imagery is from dreams, dreams that suggest struggles to just find a firm footing, particularly in juxtaposition with water.

But I will end where I began, with the dazzling color: Okazaki deeply understands the subtle relationships that she creates to convey exactly the right emotion. So seeing these paintings through color first gives us a feeling of comfort and sometimes joy, even as the paintings themselves take us on a fantastic adventure.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes for local, national, and international publications and her website, www.artandpoliticsnow.com.

“Linda Okazaki: Into the Light” is on view through February 25, 2024 at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, located at 550 Winslow Way East on Bainbridge Island, Washington, and open daily 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. For information, visit www.biartmuseum.org.

Hanako O'Leary: Izanami

Debbi Lester — Fri, 29 Dec 2023 22:16:23 GMT

Archipelago: Contemporary Art of the Salish Sea

Debbi Lester — Wed, 01 Nov 2023 15:11:26 GMT

A salmon peers from the circular opening of a bark net, graceful, silver-eyed shapes of four more on the cedar disc beneath. Carved by a First Nations artist, the piece represents an ancient culture of conservation—an effort not to exhaust the vital resources of the land and sea. Temoseng Chazz Elliott’s carving forms a counterpoint in this cross-border art exhibition, much of which interrogates the contemporary culture of consumption.

“Archipelago—Contemporary Art of the Salish Sea: Southern Gulf Islands Artists,” is the second half of a project by the San Juan Islands Museum of Art (SJIMA) working with British Columbia’s ArtSpring and Salt Spring Arts galleries. SJIMA exhibited six San Juan Island artists this summer and now is showing six artists from Canada’s Southern Gulf Islands, questioning the influence of environment on the art of a region. The current show is beautiful, even profound, although whether a common environment evokes a common artistic response remains unanswered.

Elliott, a Tsawout artist, expresses intimacy with a territory inhabited by his ancestors for millenia. Made with traditional materials and techniques, his elegant, pristine carvings are deeply rooted in the environment. In contrast, Sam Montalbetti, born and raised on Salt Spring Island, creates work that has little to do with the Salish Sea. Concerned with the extinction of analog color photography, he turns his focus from the outside world to paint with light directly on sensitized paper, printing, cutting, layering, re-shooting to build brilliantly-colored abstractions: playful visual jazz. For another series, he tosses water into a night sky to capture motes of dust, tiny orbs suggesting galaxies infinitely larger and smaller than the visible world. This is the environment to which he responds, creating new possibilities from old technology.

John Macdonald’s large-scale paintings are drawn from personal interests and experience; though painterly and abstracted, they maintain an illustrative narrative. In front of a flame-colored truck, a hanging tire quotes Rauschenberg; road signs signal “Caution” and a choice of left or right: there is politics, and a world on fire. Tagged by numbers, deer in maple move through slanting shafts of color, their wildness belied by the artificial system in which they are caught. A figure lost in a snowy forest is painted on salvaged scrap wood, the far-left roof-tar black; high on the right, a single light bulb; on the left, an eagle shape of twigs mounted on scrap metal, the head a cast of white. This is Macdonald’s most personal painting, referencing a palpable loss.

The three women artists use sewing, stitching, weaving in their art. Perhaps a result of long meditative hours of handwork, here we find a complete response to environment of the Salish Sea in both overt and hidden manifestations.

Joanna Rogers stitches leaves, shells, plastic bread ties, small empty bottles, beach glass onto felt forms taken from the shape of Joan of Arc’s armor. Although given European sources, in this show, adorned with Salt Spring Island artifacts, her work seems to refer to First Nations culture: Haida warrior armor; button blankets; dance capes: native resources exploited by colonization; nature supplanted by plastic. Her most ambitious work is an elegant series of naturally-dyed scarfs into which a line from a poem is woven in Morse code. Entirely of texture, each coded message, she explains, is a last cry from a dying species—a lament for remembrance: subtlety decoded only with close attention.

Jane Kidd’s exquisite tapestries also require close attention, though her concern for the environment is overt. A shawl-like garment hangs folded-over: on top, a fish-kill below streaks of rain; obscured beneath, industrial smokestacks spew clouds of pollution. Four tapestries draped as garments maintain a human form, each worked in gorgeous color and pattern, each a site of environmental disaster: tar sand; pit mine; deforestation; desertification. Two small gowns, dyed with rust, represent our children’s inheritance: lichen-like patterns like the regeneration of organic life from barren rock or fallout from environmental apocalypse: hope or decay? These are tapestries as masterworks.

The highlight of the exhibition is an installation by Anna Gustafson: Three birch-bark dories filled with jugs of single-use plastic wrapped in white linen are suspended in the front glassed-in exhibition space. In a small alcove, a seine net suspends another catch of enshrouded plastic over a baby grand piano. What is our cultural legacy? Gustafson’s installation is a direct reply to Elliott’s concern: soulless empty vessels replace depleted salmon runs. On the walls, messages are written in salt-encrusted twine threaded with steel wire like white neon: “Salt. Whale. Oil.”

In the past, she says, salt and whale oil were key to our economy; may our dependence on oil become as obsolete. This is our hope.

Elizabeth Bryant

Elizabeth Bryant is an art writer and English/ESL tutor.

“Archipelago—Contemporary Art of the Salish Sea” is on view Friday through Monday 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. until December 4 at the San Juan Islands Museum of Art, located at 540 Spring Street in Friday Harbor, Washington. Visit www.sjima.org for more information.

Cheryll Leo-Gwin: Larger Than Life

Debbi Lester — Wed, 01 Nov 2023 14:50:08 GMT

"Process" exhibit at the Aurora Loop Gallery in Port Townsend, Washington

Debbi Lester — Wed, 30 Aug 2023 04:31:44 GMT

A year ago, the Aurora Loop Gallery in Port Townsend was just an idea in the mind of artists Mary O’Shaughnessy and Charlie Van Gilder. The couple jumped in with confidence, having owned a successful gallery in Chicago before moving west in 2014. Their new gallery opened this past January, and now jumps into higher gear with its most ambitious show yet. It’s called “Process,” and is guest-curated by sculptor David Eisenhour. He has assembled an all-star line-up of artists, some with national and international reputations, all of whom call the Puget Sound region home.

What stands out is the exhibit’s diversity. Its profusion of form leaps out at a glance: small, quiet monotypes; dramatic abstract acrylics; elegant constructions made with bits of bark; sprawling wire and fabric sculptures; architectural renderings; post-Pop hyperreal paintings; and pairs of ink-stained shoes (we’ll come back to those).

The “Process” show achieves a thematic balance even with its mad-cap variety; intriguing correspondences between pieces and between artists emerge as you take in the work. (How each piece connects to the “Process” framework isn’t always evident—I’m still processing, I guess.)

Works by Aaron McKnight (sculptures) and Wendy Orville (monotype prints) have little in common physically, but a reverence for natural beauty unites them. McKnight meditates on the miniscule—seeds and leaf stems are sometimes the only construction materials he needs. For this show his design elements are birch tree lenticels (the “breathing holes” on a tree). Orville is drawn to the other end of the scale, capturing wide vistas in her monotypes, such as with her sweeping “Big Sky.” Though created by manually wiping ink from a plate and pressing the plate to paper, her monotypes seem to have a camera’s exactitude. Casual viewers assume they are photographs. McKnight and Orville transcend the human element in their work; their spacious and contemplative creations feel good to breathe in.

But now consider two artists mostly focused on the man-made: painter Karen Hackenberg and sculptor Karen Rudd. Their works address the precarity of the natural rather than its splendor. Hackenberg finds ironic ways to make sharp critiques of our throwaway culture. “Baby Squid” presents as a vintage specimen chart—so wholesome, such old-school charm—but its depictions are of spent shotgun shells. These non-biodegradable plastic “wads” get left behind by waterfowl hunters–and we are left to imagine their impact on a fragile habitat.

Karen Rudd contributes “Footprint,” pairs of shoes from a larger project staged last year, “Anthropocene.” That show featured realistic life-sized cedar stumps Rudd made out of sheets of cardboard. (Process that.)

The lumber industry workers and laborers of all kinds fascinate Rudd, who thoroughly researches their histories. She recreates their work clothing and their shoes using kraft paper from the Port Townsend paper mill. She stitches her own research materials—historic texts and photographs—onto the shoes. “Walking in someone else’s shoes” is one association we can make here, and “Carbon footprint” is another. For Rudd as for Hackenberg, the larger purpose is to confront our own exploitative behaviors, and to facethe “demon of extinction” (to borrow a phrase from Eisenhour).

The environment matters to Seattle-based sculptors Marita Dingus and June Sekiguchi, but people and communities are their primary focus. Both are public artists, both mothers, both involve ancestry, identity, and cross-cultural exchange ideas in their work. And yet in terms of process and output their creations differ. The found-object figure sculptures by Dingus delight in spontaneity and zany juxtaposition; by using repurposed materials she connects to African art traditions, where the practice has been embraced for centuries. Sekiguchi’s pieces are engineered and mathematical, celebrations of geometry and repetition. For this show Sekiguchi explores organic forms, perhaps a nod to the Olympic Peninsula setting. “Knothole, Reimagined 2” riffs on the wonder of nurse logs, with hand-carved fungal shapes sprouting to life on the edge of what remains of an ancient old-growth giant.

One last pairing: two artists who work two-dimensionally, and who happen to be at opposite ends of their careers. Albert Fisher first made waves in the 1960s as a disciple of Leo Kenney, and he remains active to this day. He is showing two abstract acrylics from the early 2000s: “Process: Fusion” brings to mind scenes in the film Oppenheimer that visualize subatomic physics. “Process: Finding” shows a circle in the center of the picture, a callback to Kenney-style geometric abstraction, elemental and pure. These are powerful and mysterious canvases.

Compared to many of the artists on the roster, Tacoma-based Blake Carter is a relative new-comer. We are fortunate to have more chances to experience his work. The human figure is Carter’s obsession: he crowds hundreds of figures into a single small piece, thousands of them into larger works. For all the repetition, each figure is individuated, hand-drawn with a loose efficiency. From across the room, the figures don’t register as such but as patterns; the piece as a whole draws you in with its energetic rhythms and rewards close-up attention with its nuance. The overall effect is hypnotic.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

“Process” is on view through October 1 at the Aurora Loop Gallery, located at 971 Aurora Loop in Port Townsend, Washington. The gallery is open Thursday to Sunday from 12-5 p.m. Visit www.auroraloopgallery.com for more information.

Fall Exhibits in the Skagit Valley

Debbi Lester — Wed, 30 Aug 2023 03:39:43 GMT

As summer draws to a close and the days get shorter, both the natural colors and art exhibitions change in the Skagit Valley. This seems an appropriate time to discuss a tour of the valley through its art galleries and venues, many of which feature artists local to the region. These stops include the perennial favorites in Edison (i.e., and Smith & Vallee Gallery) along with new friends in Mount Vernon at Leonard Brothers Fine Art, and a delightful stop at the Bitters Co. barn curated by owners/sisters Amy and Katie Carson. In the end, visitors see excellent art from regional artists while also taking in the bountiful beauty of the valley.

It makes sense to start our day in Edison with visits to i.e. and Smith & Vallee Gallery. In September, i.e. features a memorial exhibition for John Schaefer and sculptures by Michael Clough. In October, the gallery features a solo show of work by Marc Wenet. Schaefer’s color field paintings are intense; strokes of red, black, and gray fill the picture plane and light emanates from his circular forms. The works are meditative, just like Michael Clough’s carved rocks that accompany Schaefer’s paintings in the exhibition. The artist’s hand is evident in all these works. Viewers can see the movement of the oil in Schaefer’s work while Clough hand carves the rocks, which makes the work extremely personal.

In October, i.e. highlights the work of Marc Wenet, a Seattle-based artist who creates assemblages from found materials and who recently began adding his mark on the materials by applying colored pencil and gouache. His sculptures often have humorous elements as the artist brings a humanistic quality to the combination of various found objects. Almost like figures standing in line, Wenet’s objects bring years of history together through the gathered materials.

While the exhibitions at i.e. explore materials and our intimate connection to those objects, the exhibitions at Smith & Vallee Gallery turn to representations of the natural world. Their September exhibition brings together Kim Obbink’s detailed colored pencil drawings of animals, flowers, and other gathered items, with Annie Burke’s ceramic sculptures.

The gallery typically pairs two artists together in their shows, but October brings a solo exhibition of work by Andrew Vallee. Vallee began his career as a furniture and cabinet maker and has used those woodworking skills in his sculpture practice. Recent travels back and forth across the Pacific Ocean from Edison to Hawaii have inspired the artist to venture into two-dimensional work. The resulting paintings and mixed media artworks are gestural and colorful interpretations of the artist’s travel experiences.

Skagit Valley is home to many historic barns, and a visit to Bitters Co. provides a unique opportunity to go inside one of these iconic red barns. Bitters Co. is a design and development company that specializes in houseware, including glassware, bakeware, and other furnishings created by craftspeople in various countries around the world. The barn is open for shopping by appointment, and the Carson sisters sell their wares as wholesale. They also host events and art exhibits in this idyllic location.

From September 16 to October 14, the Bitters Co. barn welcomes the work of Joe Max Emminger to celebrate the harvest season. Emminger is a self-taught painter who paints the world around him constantly, nearly every day according to the artist. The works in the exhibition are acrylic on paper and painted objects that the artist gathers from around his home. Emminger’s paintings are colorful, and his characters are instantly recognizable to those familiar with his work. While his scenes are often quite whimsical and humorous, the viewer can’t help but think that a more sinister message is underneath. In this exhibition, the artist focuses on the theme of “harvest,” and the characters gather as they accumulate bounty from throughout the paintings.

Downtown Mount Vernon is home to a new gallery: Leonard Brothers Fine Art. Visitors to the picturesque downtown area can add this as a stop for their art-viewing pleasure, along with Perry and Carlson Gallery. The new gallery features a newly remodeled interior complete with crisp walls and optimal lighting for artwork. The gallery opened in May 2023, and curator/artist David Kane has taken the opportunity to highlight artists in both solo and group exhibits. Sculpture and two-dimensional work by Peter Belknap occupy the gallery through September, and the gallery hosts the art of beloved Edison artist, chef, and shop owner David Blakesley in October. Art lovers rarely have this great opportunity to appreciate a gallery full of Blakesley’s art, so this is a unique treat.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

Galleries in Edison, Washington:

i.e., located at 5800 Cains Court, is open Friday through Sunday, from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Visit www.ieedison.com for information.

Smith & Vallee Gallery, located at 5742 Gilkey Avenue, is open Thursday through Monday, from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Visit www.smithandvalleegallery.com for information.

Galleries in Mount Vernon, Washington:

Bitters Co., located at 14034 Calhoun Road, is open Thursday through Sunday, from 11 a.m. to 4 p.m. Visit www.bittersco.com for information.

Leonard Brothers Fine Art, located at 511 South 1st Street, is open Friday through Sunday, from 12 to 6 p.m. Visit www.lbfa.us for information.

Perry and Carlson Gallery, located at 504 South 1st Street, is open daily from 11 a.m. to 6 p.m. Visit www.perryandcarlson.com for information.

Native American Modern, Shared Expressions in Northwest Art at Cascadia Art Museum

Debbi Lester — Wed, 30 Aug 2023 03:05:51 GMT

For decades David Martin has been researching Northwest modern art, curating exhibit, and publishing various books. His focus is on mid-20th century Northwest photography and printmaking by artists marginalized because of gender, race, and sexual preference.

But now, as director of the Cascadia Art Museum, Martin has a platform for showing some of the results of that research. The current exhibit “Native American Modern, Shared Expressions in Northwest Art” gives a subtle and fascinating view of intersections and shared ideas between Native and non-Native artists working mainly in the 1930s and 1940s. During this time, the government art projects were acknowledging Native artists and supporting them, an abrupt turnaround from decades of suppression and efforts to “civilize” Native Americans with brutal boarding schools and cultural bans.

One of the leaders in this re-evaluation of Native cultures was Erna Gunther. Gunther studied with Franz Boas, and went on to lead the Anthropology department at the University of Washington. She also became the first director, in 1930, of the Washington State Museum, now the Burke. In the third room of the exhibition are some video clips from a television series she created in 1965-1966. It was called “Western Washington Indians Then and Now.” In it, she explains Native dancing, music, singing, clothing, all with great respect and knowledge. Professor Gunther was a major catalyst for many of the artists in the exhibition both Native and non-Native.

The star artist is Julius “Land Elk” Twohy (1902-1986). The first room of this three-part exhibition is devoted to his work. Julius Twohy created a 72-foot mural “The Flight of the Thunderbird,” as a WPA commission in the Cushman Hospital (Tacoma Indian Hospital). The exhibition includes photographs that document the artist painting the mural, a study, and a detailed explanation. Unfortunately the mural was first painted over and then destroyed when the building was torn down in 2003. Much of Twohy’s work was lost as a result of arson in his studio, but the exhibition brings together a group of WPA lithographs from the Henry Art Gallery and private collections, as well as a few paintings and studies.

We see the exhibit thesis clearly in Twohy’s art. In works such as “Tom Toms and Drum,” his prints combine abstract forms and modernist fragmentation with Native subjects, the drums convey sound, rhythm, and movement.Each lithograph has a different interpretation of abstract form.

In the second room is the Klee Wyk Studio (1951-1961), comprised of Delbert McBride, his brother Albert with his life partner Richard Schneider, as well as painter Oliver Tiedemann. A type of Bloomsbury approach, they created decorative items such as tiles and bowls based on their study of Northwest Coast art and culture. Martin distinguishes their work as inspired by Native motifs, rather than appropriating them, as here again one sees the intermixing of modernism with, for example, Haida designs.

Also in the second room are carpets by Bruce Inverarity (artist/leader of the WPA in Washington State), with abstracted motifs inspired by Native designs. Inverarity is also represented by a few eccentric paintings.

The third room features a selection from Worth Griffin’s series of sixty portraits of Native leaders. Griffin paints in the traditional realist, academic style, but respectfully includes detailed observations and emotional insight into these proud people at a time when they were under enormous stress.

Also in this room is African American/ Indigenous artist Milt Simons who creates abstracted Native related imagery in an expressionist style.

David Martin’s theme is that these artists knew one another through Erna Gunther and the government-funded art programs. As Indigenous artists absorbed modernism and White artists explored Native design, the exchange was respectful and complex. We can hope that the show leads to more research on this fascinating era, when the Northwest art world was small and artists of diverse backgrounds came together.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“American Modern, Shared Expressions in Northwest Art,” is on view Wednesday through Sunday, from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. through October 29 at Cascadia Art Museum, located at 190 Sunset Avenue in Edmonds, Washington. Visit www.cascadiaartmuseum.org for information.

A Toast to Sam Davidson

Debbi Lester — Sat, 24 Jun 2023 05:34:37 GMT

After 50 years as a defining presence in the Seattle arts community, Sam Davidson—owner/director of the Davidson Galleries—is retiring. We can’t let this milestone pass without raising a toast to Sam.

When Art Access launched, we featured the Davidson Galleries on the cover of our first issue. That was over 31 years ago, but Sam already loomed large on the scene even then.

He had started the First Thursday Pioneer Square Art Walk in the early 1980s (with nearby art dealers). And Sam was already gaining international recognition: the Davidson Galleries hosted the first exhibition of contemporary Chinese paintings in the United States.

Similarly, in conjunction with the Goodwill Games in 1990, Sam showed contemporary Russian painters whose work had not been allowed outside their own country. Pretty good for a man who started his arts career by dashing all around the US in an old station wagon, selling antique and modern prints. (Prints were his first love, and eventually became his focus.)

Sam’s dedication to local artists is perhaps his greatest legacy. He gave exposure to sculptures by John Grade, acrylics by cartoonist Lynda Barry, oils by Susan Bennerstrom, etchings by Art Hansen, woodcuts by Lockwood Dennis—the list goes on, with a range and variety as impressive as the depth of talent. All told, Sam and his staff presented over 800 exhibitions, and published over 100 catalogs.

Before relaxing into retirement, Sam must contend with “18,000 pieces of paper” as he refers to the galleries’ holdings. These include works by “old masters” like Dürer, Goya, and Hiroshige; by modernists like M.C. Escher, Leonard Baskin, and Käthe Kollwitz; and by contemporary artists who prove that the printmaking tradition is vividly alive both here and afar.

Sam Davidson knows that tradition as well as anyone in the field. He’d love to find a buyer for the business, but what he won’t find is a true replacement: Sam is an extremely limited edition, a one-off. It has been our great pleasure and honor to be in his orbit all these years, and we can only add our voice to a much larger chorus…

“Printmaking often is challenged to find its place in the contemporary art world. It’s a medium beloved by those who know it and shrouded in misconceptions by those who don’t. Sam Davidson created a place for prints, and contemporary printmakers, that’s influence and significance mean more to artists than he will probably ever know. By dedicating his professional life to printmaking and hosting exhibitions of contemporary printmakers in a grand space, he made a bold statement as to the medium’s significance and surely educated truly countless art goers—some of whom undoubtedly went on to love, understand, and support printmaking.

Without the opportunity Sam gave me as a barely-ink-on-thesis-dry young art professional to take over the contemporary printmaking department in 2013, I would not have come to know some of my dearest friends, started my podcast, nor met my husband. I doubt I will come across another person who has influenced the course of my life more significantly than Sam Davidson. Even though I know him well enough to know that he will resist the compliment of this statement, it is not an exaggeration to say that I would not be who I am today without him. Thank you, Sam.”

—Miranda K. Metcalf, founder and co-host of the Hello, Print Friend podcast

“I am so thankful to Sam Davidson for his longstanding and undivided dedication to historic and contemporary printmaking. I am honored and forever grateful to be among the artists he has supported in his gallery for over twenty years now. Also, as a collector myself, I am thrilled with the amazing prints he has made available to me and the other print lovers out there around the world. I cannot think of anyone who has contributed more to the world of printmaking than Sam. And to top it all off, he is such a wonderful and amazing person, with masterful vision!”

—Michael Barnes, printmaker

It’s been a joy showing with Sam these past 10 years. His opinion is grounded in such a vast knowledge of and passion for the entire history of printmaking. No one knows more than Sam about this medium but he’s never arrogant or condescending. He’s deeply curious—always open to new ideas, new artists, new techniques. I love his deadpan sense of humor—a genuine surprise to me when I brought my tonal monotypes to the gallery for the first time, and he said ‘But where’s the color?’ Silence...and then a slight smile….”

—Wendy Orville, printmaker

“I’ve been married to Sam for 42 years and he is and always has been deeply committed to art, artists, art patrons, and the community. His authority and expertise in original prints is internationally and nationally recognized. He’s earned it. He’s intelligent, honest, ethical, and fair. He’s not afraid to take risks, showing work that is often difficult or controversial. He’s also handsome and a lot of fun. Bravo, Sam, and thank you for your wonderful contribution to the rest of us.”

—Elizabeth Donnally Davidson, ceramicist

“It has meant so much to me to be represented by Davidson Galleries for 30 years! It has been a wonderful connection and source of pride for my prints to be included among so many great artists and in context with the history of the print that Sam has promoted with his knowledge and ‘old world’ gentlemanly charm. As a gallery dealer Sam has consistently presented, preserved, and taught about a full range of wonderful art, an invaluable role. It is impressive that so many of my works are out in the world to art patrons and collectors through the efforts of Sam and the gallery staff, allowing me to feel supported in my art making throughout this time and with encouragement to continue.”

—Karen Kunc, printmaker

“Sam was the first gallery dealer to take a chance on me, when at the time, I was a single-mom who had the wild thought of starting an art publication. Not only has Sam continued to be a valued client for over 31 years, he has also supported me in my personal and civic life—attending my wedding and cheering me on over the years in my elected roles as city council person and now public utility district commissioner. So forever, I will have a soft spot in my heart for Sam because he believed in and cared for me.”

—Debbi Lester, Art Access Publisher

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

Davidson Galleries, located at 313 Occidental Avenue South in Seattle, Washington, is open Friday through Saturday from 11 A.M. to 5:30 P.M. and Tuesday through Thursday by appointment. For more information, email info@davidsongalleries or visit www.davidsongalleries.com.

Summer Exhibits

Debbi Lester — Sat, 24 Jun 2023 05:06:59 GMT

July has become a major month for artists, galleries, and art appreciators in Seattle these past few years. Many regional art galleries share the work of their artists at the Seattle Art Fair, which is returning for its seventh year from July 27-30, and take advantage of the event and general enthusiasm for the local art scene to bring more visitors to their physical gallery space. Through July 15, J. Rinehart Gallery exhibits the work of two artists at the gallery: Anne Hirondelle and Shaun Kardinal. Both artists utilize geometric abstraction in their work, but with different results and tactics.

In contrast, in August, the gallery exhibits Junko Yamamoto’s more organic and interconnected paintings. All three artists have a connection to the Northwest and interestingly play with form and space in truly unique ways. The work of each artist demonstrates the breadth of abstraction and illustrates the various ways that humans interact with each other, the natural world, and the physical structures that make up our daily lives.

Anne Hirondelle started her artistic career as a sculptor, and her mastery of the 3-dimensional form is ever present in her drawings and paper-folded artworks. Hirondelle grew up in Washington State and received her BFA from the University of Washington. Her work has been highlighted in many solo and group exhibitions during her long and celebrated career, including a recent solo exhibition at the Jefferson Museum of Art and History in Port Townsend, Washington in 2020.

The exhibition included artworks from various eras of the artist’s career and detailed the evolution of Hirondelle’s work to its current manifestation: folded tracing paper. The exhibition at J. Rinehart Gallery is the artist’s first at the gallery and features her recent work from 2023. Many of her early folded paper pieces previously had limited color, but the current exhibition is bursting with vibrant orange, red, and teal. The color adds another dimension to work that already feels 3-dimensional on a 2-dimensional plane. One remarkable aspect of Hirondelle’s folded paper constructions is that they are created by the hands and mind of a sculptor; what appears to be on a flat plane really is a deconstructed 3-dimensional object.

While Hirondelle dissects the 3-dimensional form, Shaun Kardinal gives depth to a 2-dimensional landscape using embroidery to bind the scenery elements together. In doing so, Kardinal provides a geometric, structural overlay which organizes the scene for the viewer and draws attention to the flat plane of the paper. They are instantly aware of two key elements: the landscape is an illusion or replica of the original and the paper is being reinforced due to its fragile state. What does it mean to “see” an object? How can we truly understand an object or scene with multiple parts and angles on a 2-dimensional plane? Both Hirondelle and Kardinal address these questions in their work. For both, abstracting the physical is a path toward the answer.

In keeping with the theme of abstraction, J. Rinehart Gallery features an exhibition of paintings by Junko Yamamoto in the month of August. Yamamoto’s artworks provide an in-depth view of the elements that make up our world. The artist articulates the individual buildings blocks of life and reality with layers of paint and shapes. Some forms bare a resemblance to known forms, while others provide energy through color and depth. Like Hirondelle and Kardinal, Yamamoto asks the fundamental questions about our reality. What can we know about our world and how do we connect with it?

Yamamoto’s vibrant and painterly artworks are sure to be a welcome experience during the month of August, and visitors can also visit Deborah Butterfield’s exhibition at Greg Kucera Gallery only a block away during the same trip. This summer is sure to be a busy one for the Seattle art community with many institutions and galleries welcoming excellent exhibitions.

Visitors can enjoy the work of two artists at J. Rinehart Gallery through July 15 and a solo exhibition of energetic paintings by Yamamoto from August 3-26. It is also worth noting that the gallery is also bringing the work of their artists to the Seattle Art Fair along with many other regional galleries. Visitors can delight in considering the various curatorial approaches to displaying art by their favorite local artists while also hopefully discovering new artists and work through the experience. For the exhibitions at J. Rinehart Gallery, summer brings an opportunity to compare and contrast the work of three artists asking big questions about our perception and experience in the world.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

Anne Hirondelle’s “In Layers” and Shaun Kardinal’s “This is How We Learn” exhibits are on view through July 17 and Junko Yamamoto’s “Cosmic Web” exhibition from August 3-26. J. Rinehart Gallery, located at 319 3rd Avenue South in Seattle, Washington, is open Wednesday through Saturday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. For more information, visit www.jrinehartgallery.com.

Film, Time, and Memory: Nathan Vass at Gallery 110

Debbi Lester — Sat, 24 Jun 2023 04:35:39 GMT

In Nathan Vass’ July exhibition at Gallery 110, a black and white image of a couple on a bicycle in Havana stands out among strangely-colored, multi-layered landscape photographs. Framed by the white corner column of a building, the woman balances on handle bars, her arms encircling his shoulders, chin visually joined to his brow. In the split-second captured on 35mm film, the couple is frozen, intimate and joyous, caught between a blurred past and future, time bifurcated by the white of the framing column. Entitled “Eternity,” the photograph captures the essence of this show titled “Present Perfect,” referencing the verb tense used for a past that is not yet gone, which still affects, still is active in, the present.

Vass has become well-known as a writer and speaker following his bestselling 2019 book, The Lines That Make Us: Stories from Nathan’s Bus, on his experiences as Seattle’s friendliest Metro driver. Vass, like “Eternity,” is joyous in conversation, extolling the unique benefit that comes from talking to strangers, chit-chat that creates a singular moment of connection with society as a whole. Here, however, in these photographs, he is leaning into the emotional interface between his public and private self: art making as a processing of subjective reaction to external experience; photography not as a means to reproduce what something looks like, but rather what it feels like. He is leaning into memory.

Most of the images in this show originate in what in other hands would be ersatz tourist postcards, authentications of Kilroy’s presence in a famous place. Vass transforms these into authentications of emotional experience, sometimes layering images in the camera itself (as un-advanced film) — “Dreams of Seoul” looks simultaneously down on the city and up at the clouds above, lights of the city at night burning like constellations in the long slow shot, moving lights tracing worm patterns in the winter sky, out-of-focus overlay splotching the surface like water stains — or by cross-processing the film (developing 35mm slide film in a chemical bath for color negatives) to shift color and intensify contrast, adjusting not for “objective” accuracy but for emotional truth.

Vass took “Le Pont Neuf” in the days following the 2015 terrorist attacks that targeted multiple sites around Paris, killing 137 and injuring over 416. Cross-processed, the color is intense and bilious green, the contrast high. The warm black of the central image absorbs like a black hole: an afterimage burned into a retina. The stillness and shock permeating the city are palpable.

A diptych, “They Are All Equal Now (Parts I & II)” likewise captures the scope of the attacks. Taken facing south and east from an observation tower at Sacré-Coeur overlooking Paris and overlaid with yellow and blue filters, the image documents the uncanny: the stillness of the city laden with the vast commonality of death.

Death and eternity are present too in “By Your Side.” Triple images of a canal in Venice—the canal with a distant bridge overlaid with telephoto close-up of the bridge, combined with an out-of-focus shot of the same scene—create a sense of vertigo, an instability, an unmooring. There is a timelessness here, of immanent change: acute nostalgia for past, present, and uncertain future.

For “Receding Childhood,” Vass photographed L.A. with discontinued Velvia slide film, then cross-processed and mounted the image on wood. Blurry and distant as if viewed through the wrong end of a telescope, rounded by black from a camera too small for the film, the city is dwarfed by the vividly blue desert sky suspended over it like a vast, neon egg.

Photography is an art of memory, the touch of light bouncing from image to transform the surface of the film, then bouncing from image to the eye; as Susan Sontag noted, in beholding a photograph, we are touched by the past itself; as Roland Barthes noted, in looking at a photograph of a person, we are witness to their present existence, as well as their future and present deaths.These are complicated tenses: past, present, and past together. Or this is how we have reflected on photography in the past. In the present, film photography is itself becoming a relic, overwritten by the revolution present in the digital camera in every smartphone.

Vass, graduate of the last University of Washington School of Art class trained in color darkroom processing, is acutely cognizant of working in a disappearing medium. But this is what he is leaning into in these images: into the interface between objective and subjective authenticity; into the practice of memory in a process that is becoming memory itself; into the authenticity of his own present perfect.

Elizabeth Bryant

Elizabeth Bryant is an art writer.

“Present Perfect” is on view Thursday through Saturday from noon to 5 P.M. at Gallery 110, located at 110 Third Avenue South in Seattle, Washington. For more information, visit www.gallery110.com.

Strange Weather

Debbi Lester — Fri, 28 Apr 2023 19:01:49 GMT

Through summer, visitors to the Bellevue Art Museum have the opportunity to see an excellent selection of contemporary art from the collections of both Jordan Schnitzer and the Jordan Schnitzer Family Foundation. The artwork in “Strange Weather: From the Collections of Jordan D. Schnitzer and His Family Foundation” covers five decades (1977-2020) of art history to review and discuss the areas where the body and environment often collide or intersect. Curated by Dr. Rachel Nelson and Professor Jennifer González of University of California Santa Cruz, the exhibition brings together some of the most important contemporary artists working today to discuss important topics such as trauma, capitalism, and our rapidly industrialized world, global intersections, and forced migration. Interestingly, Dr. Nelson also stated that climate change specifically was on the minds of the curators as they selected solely portraiture, landscape, and abstract artworks to convey these ideas to visitors.

“Strange Weather” highlights many influential artists, many of whom create prints or multiples. It is sure to come as no surprise to those familiar with Jordan Schnitzer that the show includes numerous prints, works on paper, and multiples given the collector’s passion for this area. Even with a collection of over 20,000 artworks, prints remain a collecting focus for the collection. Three lithographs by Hung Liu provide an excellent example of the quality of the works on paper in the collection. Liu is primarily known for her powerful portraiture of often overlooked figures impacted by war and displacement, something the artist herself experienced firsthand. The works are made even more poignant due to the sad passing of the artist in 2021, the same year her solo exhibition opened at the National Portrait Gallery.

Nearby Liu’s “Official Portraits” are works by Wendy Red Star and Joe Feddersen. Visitors are sure to be delighted to see works by these two Pacific Northwest artists included in the exhibition alongside their peers from other regions of North America. Similar to Liu’s work, Red Star’s “Four Seasons” brings attention to the erasure and displacement of Indigenous people from their land. The photographs include a figure (the artist) surrounded by fake objects and the illusion of nature, without including the actual land itself. These images are a powerful example of the show’s thesis in action: a body that has been forcibly moved and a landscape that is continuously reaped for commercial benefit. In addition, the photographs reference the visual language utilized by Edward Curtis and his contemporaries to capture images of Indigenous people in inauthentic situations with objects or garments that would not be appropriate for that situation.

Prints and multiples certainly hold a special place in Jordan Schnitzer’s heart, but the exhibition includes many unique works as well. Leonardo Drew’s wall and floor installation comprised of wood, paint, and sand is impossible to ignore. The artwork is situated perpendicular to the title and introductory text wall and is a dynamic visual example of “strange weather.” The artwork has a frantic energy as the hundreds of pieces of wood appear to explode from the central core. The wall label connects the chaotic movement of the wood pieces to the frenzied destruction created by natural phenomena like a tornado or hurricane, but of course each piece is painstakingly created and placed by Drew, who is knownfor his multi-step process of aging materials. The installation reminds the viewer that nothing is forever, and even the structures we confidently build can be destroyed in a moment.

Adjacent to Drew’s installation is a powerful sculpture by Alison Saar that connects numerous themes included in the exhibition in one artwork. “Grow’d” synthesizes the impact of capitalism and industrialism on the human body by referencing the horrific reality of enslavement. But Saar’s figure is also presented as royalty and gazes over her subjects. It is as if the artist is asking, “How can this strong female figure use these tools as an act of defiance in the face of tremendous adversity?”

Saar’s question is just one that is posed by the exhibit, but there are countless others to be considered by the visitor. Guests can also see a selection of work by Glenn Ligon in a nearby gallery, also from the Collections of Jordan D. Schnitzer and his family foundation. In addition, check out the Community Education Gallery on the first floor by the museum store. The current exhibit is titled, “20 Under 20: Daydream” and was coordinated in collaboration with the Teen Arts Council.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Strange Weather” is on view Wednesday through Sunday from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. through August 20 at Bellevue Arts Museum located at 510 Bellevue Way NE in Bellevue, Washington. For more information, visit www.bellevuearts.org.

Indigenous Strength and Wellness

Debbi Lester — Fri, 28 Apr 2023 04:58:30 GMT

In Memory of Steven Charles.

Many famous contemporary Indigenous artists first had major solo exhibitions at the Sacred Circle Gallery curated by Steven Charles from the late 1980s to 2002. His contribution to our awareness and understanding of contemporary Indigenous art in the Northwest cannot be overstated.

To prove that point “Indigenous Strength and Wellness,” curated by Gail Tremblay (Mi’kmaq and Onondaga), Robin Sigo (Suquamish) and Chief Curator Greg Robinson, includes eminent artists like Marvin Oliver (Quinalt/Isleta-Pueblo), Joe Feddersen (Confederated Tribes of the Colville Reservation), John Feodorov (Navajo [Diné] and European), Preston Singletary (Tlingit), and Lillian Pitt (Warm Springs/Wasco/Yakama). But it spans several generations and a wide range of media.

As we approach the museum, male and female “Welcome Figures” by Kate Ahvakana (Suquamish) greet us in a multi-story window. They include symbolism that refers to treaty signing as well as contemporary challenges to save the salmon. Above in “Sunrise Flight,’ a blue jay brings us light and health.

The more than twenty artists in the exhibit transform traditional imagery to address urgent issues of the contemporary world. For example, Alison Bremner (Tlingit) dramatically places an imitation melting ice cream cone inside an historic cedar basket (of no financial value because it was damaged), suggesting our current condition comes from the ignorance and disrespect of historic practices.

Ed Archie NoiseCat (Canim Lake Band of Shuswap Indians and the Stl’atl’imx) deliberately echoes the title of Munch’s well known work in his totem-like “Scream.” A monster-like black oil pipe line grabs an orca above and kills salmon below.

In the context of the theme of strength and wellness, several artists inspire us to re-double our efforts to resist the exploitation of the earth. Joe Feddersen’s “Purple Rain,” includes his familiar symbols of the outlines of electrical towers, but now even those are being assaulted by pollution from the sky, as horses gallop wildly away in the foreground.

John Feodorov addresses pollution on the Navajo reservation with flat yellow squares evoking uranium as an ironic twist on the squares of utopian modernist painting.

Corwin Clairmont (Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes) depicts the devastation associated with the Alberta tar sands in a selection from his multi-paneled installation “Two-Headed Arrow/The Tar Sands Project” Both photography of the destroyed environment, and symbolism, such as the two-headed arrow, point to our current choices between extraction and life.

Humor is, of course, rarely absent from Indigenous art, but humor with a twist. Peg Deam (Suquamish) speaks to perceptions of casino culture with her money vest woven from one dollar bills, George Washington prominently visible; Indigenous casinos profit from white people’s vices. The Sacagawea dollars on the vest suggest another layer of irony.

Masks appear in many guises. Two strong masks by David A. Boxley (Tsimshian)speak to spirit powers and supernatural forces. “Killer Whale Transforming Mask” opens during a performance to reveal the duality of spirits.

On “His X Mark,” by Jennifer Angaiak Wood (Yup’ik), ink drips over an anguished mask/face; a headdress of antique pens and points refers to the pens used to sign treaties of the mid-nineteenth century. The earrings are giant Xs referring to the mark made by leaders on those scandalous agreements.

Linley Logan (Tonawanda, Seneca Nation) makes coyote masks out of recycled bleach bottles! Toma Villa (Yakama) creates looming wall hung masks not intended to be worn.

Be sure to look carefully at the “Teachings of the Tree People” near the end of the show. Small cedar squares designed by artists from over fifty different cultures all over the Pacific Rim created a collaborative project for the House of Welcome — Evergreen Longhouse, Evergreen College.

I will end with “Finding the Way Home,” a wall sculpture by Jennifer Angaiak Wood: a kayak carved from old growth cedar painted on the bottom with the outline of a seal, and a sun-like face wearing a scarf of dried seal intestine at the center. Angaiak Wood’s work suggests peaceful journeys.

The exhibition also includes ribbon shirts and beaded COVID masks by Suquamish artists, included in “Sovereign Style,” the Suquamish Foundation’s annual fashion show. Exhibition-related programs include poetry readings, films, history, and dances.

“Indigenous Strength and Wellness,” with funding from the National Endowment for the Arts, gives fitting tribute to Steven Charles, the pioneering curator of contemporary Indigenous art. We see his legacy expanding in the present and the future, as new generations of Indigenous artists continue to address the urgent concerns of their lives and our planet.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“Indigenous Strength and Wellness” is on view through June 4 at Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, located at 550 Winslow Way East and open daily 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. For information, visit www.biartmuseum.org.

First Impressions: Women Printmakers of Washington

Debbi Lester — Fri, 28 Apr 2023 03:26:14 GMT

Artful Island: Vashon’s Gallery Spaces Brim with Local Art

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Mar 2023 03:41:10 GMT

A short ferry ride away from the mainland, Vashon’s vibrant visual arts scene keeps strutting its stuff in high style.

Vashon has been a haven for artists since the 1960s and 70s, when an influx of young artists changed the cultural landscape of the island.

Many of those people helped establish Vashon Allied Arts (now Vashon Center for the Arts) as the cultural linchpin of the community, as well as led numerous other arts enterprises on the island throughout the years.

Some of them are still doing it.

Case in point: Swiftwater Gallery, a brand-new, 51-member nonprofit arts’ collective, which opened in February in a prime location, 17600 Vashon Hwy. SW, in Vashon’s town center.

The gallery is the former home of Gather Vashon, a gallery that also featured local art, run by a mother-daughter team from 2018 to September of 2022.

Prior to that, the storefront was the longtime home of the Heron’s Nest Gallery, a retail gallery run by Vashon Allied Arts.

Swiftwater Gallery organizers included a number of longtime locals who had shown their work in both of those former venues—and were determined, when they first learned that Gather would close, to find a way to keep the retail space artful.

Their planning came to fruition with Swiftwater Gallery’s recent grand opening

—a packed and celebratory occasion.

Swiftwater Gallery

On a recent afternoon, volunteer gallery manager and photographer, Kim Farrell, and collective member artist, Charlotte Masi, worked the well-lit gallery, which was filled with a variety of art by all the collective’s members.

Swiftwater Gallery opens new rotating exhibits on the First Friday of every month, when Vashon Island holds its monthly Gallery Cruise—a longstanding evening art stroll through shops, galleries and eateries. Find out more at swiftwatergallery.com.

But wait, there’s more…

Vashon’s main street boasts not one but two galleries run by artists’ collectives — VALISE Gallery, Vashon Artists Linked in Social Engagement, has been around since 2009, at 17633 Vashon Hwy. SW.

VALISE Gallery

In February, VALISE pranked islanders by plastering the gallery’s windows with posters advertising a new business: Zamfir’s, a pawn shop/smoke shop. But some islanders with long memories got the joke: when VALISE opened, 14 years ago, the same posters and signage were on display. Zamfir’s is part of the gallery’s origin story, said Jiji Saunders, of VALISE, and throughout the years, the gallery has mounted several exhibitions that touch on its recurring conceptual themes of high and low commerce.

In March, VALISE hosts an invitational of 13 island artists who have never before shown their work at the gallery. In April, the exhibit, “Extra Cheese, Please,” features collective members creating art out of pizza boxes from O Sole Mio — a New York-style pizza joint just down the street from the gallery. Find out more at valisegallery.com.

The Hardware Store Restaurant Gallery

A historic island building, on the corner of Bank Road and Vashon Highway, now houses an Americana restaurant—the food is tasty, but don’t miss the gallery tucked in the back of the restaurant, featuring exhibits of the work of local artists that rotate monthly.

Caffe Vino Olio

A stylish wine, coffee, and bagel shop next to The Hardware Store Restaurant also boasts an art spot, tucked into the back of the space. Works by local artists fill its walls each month.

Starving

Artists Works

Also in downtown Vashon, tucked away in a storefront at 9922 SW Bank Road, you’ll find Starving Artists Works (SAW)—a small shop stuffed with an abundance of work by local artists and artisans. Visit the gallery’s Facebook page, or call (206) 979-4192 to find out hours.

Vashon Farmers Market

A bustling marketplace on Saturdays, from April to October, typically includes work by local artisans. The market is in the town center, at 17519 Vashon Hwy SW. Visit vigavashon.org/market.

Vashon Center for the Arts

Any day trip to Vashon should probably begin and end at Vashon Center for the Arts (VCA)—a gleaming new performing and visual arts space that opened in 2018.Curatorially, the gallery runs the gamut of exhibits by local, regional, and national artists, with themes that range from delightfully decorative to blisteringly political. At times, they’re just dazzling, as was the case last fall, when the gallery was filled with a retrospective of the work of world-renowned cartoonist, Jim Woodring, who happens to be a Vashon resident.

In March, the VCA hosts an invitational juried show, “Choice,” prompted by the shocking reversal of Roe vs. Wade by the Supreme Court last year. The 30 works on view include “Where are you From,” by Fumi Amano—an interactive sculpture of a uterus that gallery-goers can climb inside. In April, VCA celebrates Earth Month with an exhibit of new works by tile artist Clare Dohna, a large curtain installation made of twigs by Terri Fletcher, and printmaking by Vanessa Lanza. Find out more at vashoncenterforthearts.org.

All this, and studio tours…

Visit the website of Vashon Island Visual Artists (ViVA) at vivartists.com, and mark your calendar for the membership organization’s two annual studio tours. The spring tour takes place May 6-7 and 13-14, at approximately 40 artists’ studios and galleries on Vashon Island.

Elizabeth Shepherd

Elizabeth Shepherd is the editor of The Vashon-Maury Island Beachcomber, the town’s newspaper of record.

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Mar 2023 03:39:40 GMT

Looking Back at the Italian Festival

My good friend Dennis invited me to sign copies of my new book at our last Italian Festa and I was thrilled. The invitation gets better: “I can’t find another Italian author this year. You can have the table to yourself.”

Well, an invitation like that doesn’t come along all that often.

Now, at a festival celebrating all things Italian—and by “all things” I mean what 99% of the people come for: the food—I knew most vendors would be selling gelato or cannoli or pasta or pizza. Even so, I accepted the invitation. Courage can be its own sort of blessing.

My first no-sale of the day was a man who picked up my book and read the cover. I tried to summarize what the book is about, which is always hard to do, for others, for myself. He nodded but I could tell from his eyes that I’d lost him. You usually do, going on about your book. The key is finding balance between explanation and too much. You want to say enough to make the book appealing but leave room for imagination. He turned my book over to read the back. He read the cover again. He read the spine. Then he took about twenty minutes telling me about his own writing. He told me about his grown children. He told me about his dog. But this is normal. The world is full of lonely people. If I even begin to imagine how many, I could cry. Still, I thought the whole encounter was funny, but not funny laugh-out-loud-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. I imagined myself waving a wand to make the whole weekend pass quickly.

And then.

A teacher looked through my new children’s book and said, “I’ll take five of these.” Oh. Those. Words. Those generous words. I can’t help it, I thought, I love this. I love selling my books. You’d think I’d love the whole new world of internet connection, but for me, the best experience is all about meeting my readers. Things were starting to look up.

I’ve been selling my creativity my entire life. I know you must be thinking, really, your entire life? But it’s true. Since year four. Painted rocks. Popsicles with pansies frozen within, edible art long before its time. Handmade puppets, clutches, note cards. Drumming up business. Scared to death, but excited. Alive.

A well-dressed man (shirt, tie, dress pants made of whatever it is that fabric with a sheen is made of these days), scolded me when I couldn’t answer his question in Italian. In the Northwest, I often feel like I act too Italian compared to the general population. But today, he is not the first person who has made me feel like I am not Italian enough.

This makes me smile.

By Sunday, I was out of books (out of books!), so I packed up early, and on my way out the door, I turned back to see Dennis watching the band. He’d just pulled off Seattle’s 30th festival with knack and finesse. I wished I could’ve stayed and danced, but I had to go, and I didn’t want to bother Dennis, not even with a personal “ciao e grazie di tutto” which can take a lot of oomph, good oomph, but still oomph, so I’m saying it here.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli is the author of Every Little Thing, a collection of essays that was nominated for a Pacific Northwest Book Award and a Washington State Book Award. Her previous titles include poetry, fiction, and non-fiction. For more information about her and her work, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Katazome Today: Migrations of a Japanese Art at Whatcom Museum in Bellingham, Washington

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Mar 2023 03:15:36 GMT

In the Spring of 2023, the Whatcom Museum presents “Katazome Today: Migrations of a Japanese Art” in the Lightcatcher Building. The exhibition features the work of seven national and international artists who all explore katazome, a Japanese textile dyeing process, in their work. While traditionally used for kimono dyeing, this process continues to be used as an expression of creativity by artists around the world. By tracing the international migration of this historical method, the exhibition offers the guest an opportunity to explore the evolution of a dyeing process as it interacts with various cultures and environments throughout the global artistic community. The exhibition is co-curated by Seiko A. Purdue, Professor in Fibers/Fabrics at Western Washington University and Amy Chaloupka, Curator of Art at the Whatcom Museum.

One of the most exciting aspects of “Katazome Today” is the inclusion of a national and international roster of artists: Akemi Cohn (Illinois), Melinda Heal (Australia), Fumiyo Imafuku (Japan), Cheryl Lawrence (Washington), John Marshall (California), Yuken Teruya (Germany), and Mika Toba (Japan).But before entering the exhibition, guests encounter “Dadai: Generation After Generation,” a display of artworks created by Professor Purdue’s students at Western Washington University. The students all utilize the katazome process in their own unique way as an illustration of the importance of passing key artistic knowledge from the teacher (Professor Purdue) to the next generation. The colorful pieces each highlight a motif created by the artist and lead the museum visitor to the entrance of the exhibit.

Visitors are immediately greeted by a wide range of sizes, colors, and materials upon entering “Katazome Today.” Those unfamiliar with the process may be surprised by the variety of work included in the exhibition, which is excellently evident in the first gallery. Melinda Heal’s “The Cliffs, they are breathing” is one of the first artworks that visitors will experience upon entering the gallery and it includes imagery of the cliffs near the Australian town of Bermagui. The scale of the cliffs is referenced in the sheer scale of the artwork. According to the artwork label, this is the largest work Heal has created using the katazome technique so far in her artistic career.

Heal’s expressive and graceful work is installed adjacent to another large work by Washington-based artist Cheryl Lawrence, titled “Women of the 116th Congress.” Created by a group of twenty women gathered by the artist, this installation documents the 113 women of the 116 th Congress, which was the most women sworn into Congress in a session. Each portrait is detailed with thread, buttons, and other beaded embellishments to create unique and personalized tributes to the 113 women in the installation.

Figurative work is rare in this exhibition, and that makes this artwork even more impressive. Lawrence made an empowering and historically significant decision to bring together a group of women to create this work, and the artwork label connects this act to the tradition of women gathering in groups to create quilts throughout history.

The katazome process includes hand-cut stencils (katagami is the type of paper used) on which a dye-resistant rice paste is applied to then dye the fabric. The exhibition does include a video and photographs of the process to assist the guest in understanding this process in application. Interestingly, some artists in the exhibition utilize only a part or step of the katazome process to make their work.

Yuken Teruya’s “Golden Arch Parkway McDonalds (Red Yellow)” is made up of a McDonald’s paper bag and glue, but Teruya hand-cuts the paper bag to create a tree within the bag by employing his understanding of cutting katagami stencils. The exhibition also includes katagami stencils from the early 1900s as examples of the traditional method.

“Katazome Today: Migrations of a Japanese Art” draws from an international roster of artists who are all using a traditional technique to demonstrate contemporary ideas in a unique way. Whether they use the process in its entirety or select elements of the historical method, each artwork and installation brings the viewer to a closer understanding and appreciation for an artform that was carefully preserved for generations. The artworks range greatly in size, material, and form, which makes for an interesting and unexpected viewing experience for those new to katazome and guests already knowledgeable about the process. The exhibition is open until June 11, so there is still plenty of time to experience it for yourself and learn something new about this important Japanese artform.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Katazome Today: Migrations of a Japanese Art” is on view Wednesday through Sunday from noon to 5 P.M. through June 11 at Whatcom Museum located at 250 Flora Street in Bellingham, Washington. For more information, visit www.whatcommuseum.org.

Tricia Gilmore and Gretchen Siegrist at Spark&Thread Gallery in Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Wed, 01 Mar 2023 16:59:09 GMT

Spark&Thread is a women-owned art boutique in the Capitol Hill/Stevens neighborhood. Established in late 2021, the shop features locally-made creations for the home, and it showcases the work of the owners/artists Juli Hudson and Solia Hermes.

Central to Hudson’s and Hermes’ vision for Spark&Thread is to represent other local artists and craftspeople, and to connect to the surrounding arts community — Hermes calls the shop itself “a living arts space.”

March 8 through April 30, Spark&Thread is spotlighting the work of painter Trisha Gilmore and ceramist Gretchen Siegrist.

Trisha Gilmore is a Seattle-based artist who has taught art in and out of the classroom with Pratt, Powerful Schools, Seattle Public Schools, The Community School, and other venues. She works most frequently with acrylic paint on a square or close-to-square canvas. Gilmore likes to complement her acrylics with traces of ink or graphite, and she applies swatches of vintage paper or other material to the paintings. The collage material is directly on the surface in some pieces, but subtly so, while in other works the collage material is painted over, and left to make its presence known only as a ghostly shape or a faint texture just below the surface.

Gilmore is drawn to natural forms —f lowers and plants, in particular. Frequently she depicts the flowers arranged in vases set on tables or countertops that anchor the composition. You might be thinking still-life, but visually there’s little stillness — in fact the work hums with happy activity. The colors are sometimes muted, but the organic shapes are plentiful and rendered loosely and playfully. Freeform marks, drips and smears, and the vague trace of forms painted over contribute to this mood of contented restlessness.

Even as Gilmore plays with floral themes and designs she strongly embraces abstraction; she paints and draws intuitively and imaginatively. Figure and ground are in a dervish dance in many of her pieces, and things that are solid seem to melt into air. In “Mending Wall” the vertical stripes of the tablecloth make an assertive and colorful foreground, but the neutrally-colored flowers and bulbs that are the painting’s focus tend to blend or incorporate into the background — the wall itself.

Although even here we face ambiguity — a solid mass of color in the background on one side of the canvas is balanced against
the other side’s depiction of airy lattice-work (a support for plants to cling to as they climb up from the ground). Perhaps inspired by Robert Frost’s famous poem of the same name, “Mending Wall” seems to reflect on the nature of walls, and “What I was walling in or walling out.”

The botanical theme in Gilmore’s work is echoed in the clay creations of Gretchen Siegrist, a Resident Artist at Seward Park Clay Studio. Her painted clay surfaces often depict sprigs and leafs and flower petals. The pieces in her delightful “Houses” series you can think of as birdhouses or simply tiny houses (but really tiny, many standing tall at 10 inches at the most) but in each dwelling fun overrules function – the house shapes themselves are skewed, fanciful rather than practical, and not many creatures could get in through their sliver-thin door openings.

In Siegrist’s cups and in her other containers (planters, bowls, birdbaths), we see a shift towards actual function (as you would expect) and a shift in tone within their visual vocabulary—less whimsical than the houses, more considered and closely observed. Rather than the simplified and isolated flower outlines or line drawings, we find intricate imagery and more “scenes” — birds and ferns, pine cones and seed pods, a stand of fir trees. One piece illustrates new growth sprouting from a nurse-log, an image that reflects the artist’s interest in natural decomposition — Siegrist even builds pieces from clay remnants, a way of embodying the life-cycle concept within her materials and processes.

It’s not only color glazes on the surface that paint pictures.

Siegrist also shapes the clay to create her small organic forms. She’ll make birds that perch on the lip of a cup, or a fig branch with detailed fig fruit. The thick rim of a birdbath is incised and shaped so that it looks convincingly like rugged bark, complete with wormholes and other signs of life and decomposition.

But not every piece is a celebration of nature. On occasion, her work bears handwritten expressions, and playful shapes—swoops and swirls—are always a possibility. In one piece she impresses the shape of musical notes into the clay, where they dance around impressions of Spanish-style guitars.

Nor does Siegrist limit herself strictly to clay. Many of the sculptural pieces involve wood, rope, string, and wire, either for decorative or functional purpose, or a bit of both at once.

Siegrist seems to share that community-based vision that inspires the co-owners of Spark&Thread. She puts effort toward supply drives for her unhoused neighbors, for example.

Her work may be light in spirit but in her art-making and in her life she is pushing back against “an upside-down, industrialized world” (to quote from Siegrist’s website).

Tom McDonald
Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

Artwork by Trisha Gilmore and ceramist Gretchen Siegrist is on view March 8th through April 30th, Wednesday through Saturday from 11 A.M. to 6 P.M. and Sunday from noon to 5 P.M. at Spark&Thread, located at 1909 E. Aloha Street in Seattle, Washington. All are welcome to come to the Artists’ Reception on Friday, March 17, 5-9 P.M. For information, visit www.sparkandthread.store.

Elemental Gestures: Caryn Friedlander and Alan Lau at ArtXchange Gallery

Debbi Lester — Wed, 01 Mar 2023 16:07:10 GMT

If you want to escape the winter blues, this exhibition is the best place to start.

Caryn Friedlander and Alan Lau both offer us abstractions that celebrate the natural world. They share a deep love of Japanese calligraphy and sumi-e painting: Sumi-e painting is affiliated with Tai Chi, in exploring opposites of Yin and Yang: “The Philosophy of Sumi-e is contrast and harmony, expressing simple beauty and elegance…The art of brush painting, aims to depict the spirit, rather than the semblance of the object.”

Both artists have spent time studying calligraphy and sumi painting in Japan. But each takes these principles and develop them in entirely different ways.

The exhibition is accompanied by Lau’s detailed statement on some of the many styles and masters of Japanese painting that have inspired him even as he states: “Though I loved the process of brushing ink on paper, I knew eventually that I would have to find my own way of working with these materials if I were to forge my own path in art.” We can see that in the freedom of his calligraphic forms.

Lau grew up in the small town of Paradise (recently devastated by fire), as part of the only Chinese family. His father wanted to open a Chinese restaurant where there wouldn’t be any competition. Lau’s first contact with calligraphy and Chinese culture came through his grandmother who lived with them. But by serendipity, he ended up going to Japan instead of China in the 1960s and began a life long connection to Japanese painting and calligraphy.

In this exhibition we see an incredible range of imagery demonstrating Lau’s willingness to experiment in every work. “Where the Stars Fall” created with several media as well as sumi ink, has a layer of soft pinkish white textures overlaid with dancing energetic yellow and black lines. We can see the calligraphy in the lines as a point of departure, even as we recognize that Lau’s own gestural lines. The tiny marks and shapes of “November Steps” in black and white suggests microbial life slowly moving in the midst of the dark days of early winter. It is dedicated to the avant-garde musician Tōru Takemitsu, so we can also read this in terms of the large sounds of percussion billowing out amongst tiny light sounds of woodwinds.

Friedlander is a transplant from New York City where she grew up. That experience (which I share), makes us hungry for nature. Friedlander has lived in the Northwest since the late 1960s. She studied calligraphy as an apprentice in Japan for four years in the 1980s and had two exhibitions at museums in Kyoto.

Calligraphy, like sumi-e painting emphasizes a Zen approach in order to achieve balance and harmony.

The large triptych “Sargasso Sea” honors both the deep blue of this sea without land borders off of North Carolina, as well as the golden brown of the Sargasso seaweed that nourishes aquatic life there. She draws us in with saturated colors inmany layers.

“Helios” a bright yellow painting honors the sun, but we also clearly see the artist’s study of calligraphy. Since Friedlander works in oil, her work is less delicate than Lau’s, but dense with brilliant color. The artist has declared that her process is intuitive: “I make marks and respond to them with more marks, building and deconstructing layers. I get into trouble and work my way through it. At some point things start to make sense. The alchemy that happens when line, color, and space coalesce into a meaningful whole is deeply compelling.”

The exhibition includes works of many sizes, including some that are very small such as the delicate whisper of Lau’s “Plum” and Friedlander’s more gestural “Duo,” “Dip,” and “Forest” in sumi ink and encaustics on panel.

In spite of a common interest in Japanese calligraphy and sumi-e painting, as well as nature, Friedlander’s oil painting and Lau’s mixed media drawing create entirely different moods.

Lau’s “The Secret of Stones I & II,” suggest a meditation on stones in water.

Friedlander’s small “Wading Among the Lilies” feels as though the artist is enmeshed in the flowers.

Be sure to visit this exhibition and immerse yourself in the deep reverence for both painting and nature that these artists explore. You may also achieve some balance and harmony in the midst of these chaotic times.

Susan Noyes Platt
Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“Elemental Gestures” is on view Tuesday through Saturday from 11 A.M. to 5:30 P.M. until March 25 at the ArtXchange Gallery, located at 512 First Avenue South in Seattle, Washington. For information, visit www.artxchange.org

Editoon by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Wed, 01 Mar 2023 15:42:59 GMT

Patti Warashina at Bainbridge Arts & Crafts

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 Jan 2023 04:32:18 GMT

Before Bainbridge Island had a bridge to the Kitsap peninsula, it established its first non-profit arts organization. Bainbridge Arts and Crafts, as it came to be called, is still going strong. This mainstay of the island’s arts scene celebrates its 75th anniversary this year, and it greets the milestone with a real splash: a showing of artwork by visionary ceramic sculptor Patti Warashina.

The term “visionary” gets tossed around casually, but surely it applies to Warashina: in 2020 she received the Smithsonian’s Visionary Artist award. The occasion honored the Seattle artist for her five decades of ground-breaking work in ceramics, and for being “a defining figure in the West Coast Funk Art movement.”

Warashina’s influences include Rene Margritte, Hieronymous Bosch, and Louise Nevelson; she credits “the era of the Beatles” as another influence. What do those artists have in common and share with Warashina? The pursuit of a personal and often dream-like expression that frequently critiqued the broader culture or ignored its strictures entirely.

As a Japanese-American raised in Spokane during WWII, and as a single mother navigating the male-minated art world in the 1960s and ’70s, Warashina saw much to resent and to resist. Yet a humorous, whimsical, absurdist take on reality characterizes her work. It is as if she takes too much delight in clay and paint to strike an overtly angry tone in the work itself. This dynamic shifted after the 2016 U.S. presidential election and the rise of hateful bigotry in its wake. Warashina’s outrage is undisguised in polemical pieces like “Democracy on the Run.”

Now in her eighties, the Seattle artist remains productive, engaged, and relevant. Consider her “Gossipmongers” tableau: figures in a circle gossip via tin-can telephones (you know, where the cans are connected by a piece of string). But at the figure’s feet those same cans have been elongated to become sticks of dynamite, each with its string snipped short to form a fuse. Warashina is telling us about social media without telling us about social media.

In addition to tableaux, BAC has plenty of smaller ceramic pieces on display: tiny birds, a fantastical cat or two, painted plates, and cups that overflow with ridiculousness and obscure purpose. Two-dimensional works — lithographic prints and drypoint monoprints — round out the show.

With an internationally-renowned artistin the house, Bainbridge Arts & Crafts is stepping it up in its 75th year rather than resting on past laurels. Come out to celebrate, and learn more about Bainbridge Arts & Crafts’s rich history and its plans for a bright future.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

Patti Warashina’s art is on view at Bainbridge Arts & Crafts, located at 151 Winslow Way East on Bainbridge Island, Washington, Monday through Saturday from 10 A.M. to 6 P.M. and Sunday from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. For information, visit www.bacart.org.

Ginny Ruffner: What If?

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 Jan 2023 04:08:42 GMT

How can we describe Ginny Ruffner’s work, life, and creativity in words? The “Flowering Tornado” seems an apt description of this prolific and experimental artist. It is also the title of her first pop-up book, “Creativity: The Flowering Tornado,” and the title of an essay by curator Tina Oldknow.

Ruffner is a flurry of creativity and imagination, never afraid to expand the bounds of materials or processes. In this context, a tornado is not used as a negative action. On the contrary, it blends, mixes, and breathes collaboration and curiosity. What is so extraordinary about this exhibition, “Ginny Ruffner: What If?,” at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, is that it functions as a think-tank for Ruffner’s work. It is not organized chronologically, like many traditional retrospectives, but instead co-curators Greg Robinson and Amy Sawyer bring work from every decade of Ruffner’s career to the gallery as a visual garden for the viewer’s exploration. From lampworked glass, to paintings, to large-scale aluminum sculptures, the exhibition highlights two foundational elements of Ruffner’s career: curiosity and creativity.

Ginny Ruffner, who celebrated her 70th birthday last summer, is never afraid to push the boundaries of her chosen mediums in unexpected ways. She often dismantles and reuses materials from older work to make new ones, which creates a constant revolution in her artwork as one piece flows into another. Even lampworking provides her the opportunity to make “mistakes” and go in a different direction. The earliest work in the exhibition is a prime example of the artist’s interest in expanding her artistic horizons. “Morning Parallel Universe” from 1984 is lampworked glass and mixed media, and is an early attempt for Ruffner to utilize paint on her glass artworks. In this instance, the viewer can distinctly see the marks of the applied paint materials. The juxtaposition of these early strokes of paint on glass with examples of Ruffner’s interest in realism through oil on canvas paintings is a fascinating visual exercise.

A short distance from “Morning Parallel Universe” is “Self Portrait with Lampworking Dictionary.” Created only 6 years later, this sculpture not only illustrates Ruffner’s impressive mastery of both lampworking and paint but is also a rich foundation for her narrative mastery. Ruffner chooses to represent herself as a swan in this self-portrait. Swans are a common subject for lampworking, including at booths in malls and other venues that produce small sculptures of swans, wishing wells, unicorns, etc. According to BIMA Chief Curator Greg Robinson, Ruffner did not permit her students to create swans for this reason and her choice to portray herself as a swan has layers of depth. Female artists face many obstacles, especially in male-dominated mediums such as glass. By using the swan, perhaps Ruffner is considering her own position within the glass community and her identity as an artist. In addition to the swan, she includes many examples of her visual language in the artwork. Wings, feathers, fruit, and a mirror all appear in the artwork and are again referenced in others in the exhibition. This language and use of whimsical narrative can be traced back to Ruffner’s earliest work, and makes her sculpture instantly recognizable.

While Ruffner is perhaps best known for her glass artwork, her painting and work in Augmented Reality (AR) are significant aspects of the exhibition. The paintings provide additional context for Ruffner’s interest in narrative elements and visual code. Her ventures in AR reiterate her dedication to providing a story for her audiences and commitment to curiosity. The retrospective book outlines this area of her work in greater detail, and is worth reading for this additional context. Visitors can also experience the AR first-hand through an app, which is a welcome element for the show.

Ginny Ruffner has been a fixture in the Seattle art scene for decades, and her influence on scores of glass artists is evident throughout her teaching career that carries far outside of the Pacific Northwest.

The exhibition and accompanying book provide visitors with a glimpse into the life and career of this important artist, while also paying her the respect earned through decades of creative output, teaching, and exhibitions. Visitors will be pleased to see the wide range of work included in the show; carefully selected and placed by the curators which must have been a challenging task when choosing from hundreds of options. In the end, the show provides artwork favorites, a few surprises, and endless possibilities for adventure, collaboration, and curiosity. Ruffner keeps creating work and we are fortunate to have a front row seat in Seattle to her ever-expanding artistic repertoire.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Ginny Ruffner: What If?” is on view daily from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. through February 28 at Bainbridge Island Museum of Art located at 550 Winslow Way on Bainbridge Island, Washington. For more information, visit www.biartmuseum.org.

Mygration: Tomas Colbengtson and Stina Folkebrant

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 Jan 2023 03:28:09 GMT

In March 1898, Woodland Park visitors would have seen a surprising sight: Sámi reindeer herders and their reindeer. They came from what was then called Lapland, in Scandinavia, on a contract to teach reindeer herding to Alaskan natives! The expedition had the dramatic title of the “Lapland-Yukon Relief Expedition.”

The expedition was the idea of Sheldon Jackson, General Agent for Education in Alaska. He spread the myth that Alaskan Natives were starving, for an earlier expedition. In 1898, it was supposedly the Gold Miners who were starving, both ploys to raise money. But his agenda was actually part of the late 19th century efforts to “civilize” and assimilate Native peoples-in this case the Alaskan natives, who had not been touched by boarding school policies in the lower 48 states.

Initially the expedition included 87 Lapps (now called Sámi), some Finns and Swedes and 530 reindeer. The Sámi were touted as “model” Indigenous people as they travelled across the sea and across the country. By the time they reached Seattle many of the reindeer died of starvation because their diet of lichen was not available.

A group photo by Anders Beer

Wilse in the introductory gallery of “Mygration,” documents about twenty herders (it isn’t clear if that was all that survived), along with their families, including very young children. The herders stand out in their distinctive crown-like hats and clothing made of reindeer hide.

Sámi artist Tomas Colbengtson transfers and transforms these historic Sámi photos onto small ceramic works that are displayed under the photographs. Colbengtson is South Sámi and grew up in a tiny village in central Sweden. Another ceramic work depicts the reindeer, and a rendering of a figure perhaps based on a ritual drum (one of which you can also see elsewhere at the Nordic Museum).

In the second gallery, there is a dramatic shift in scale: Stina Folkebrant’s life size paintings of reindeer in subtle shades of gray surround us. Although she works in acrylic,the artist was inspired by Chinese ink painting. Folkebrant emphasizes the relationships of animals and humans and here, indeed, we feel that we are wandering in a field of reindeer. Each large painting presents one of the eight seasons of the Sámi.

Hanging in the center of the gallery are transparent plexiglass panels as well as a panel with a mirror in the center, all suspended from the ceiling and in constant motion. Here Colbengtson transferred Sámi photographs onto plexiglass (one panel is Dr. Shelton Jackson). Herders seem to move among the life size reindeer in the paintings as the panels move. We are also reflected in the mirror in the center and become part of the movement.

The artists state that they are evoking the Sámi concept of circular time and herd mentality “Reindeer are herd animals and being together offers protection from danger. The whole herd becomes a single organism with a thousand eyes that can detect danger; if one turns around, the others follow. People are also herd animals; they want a sense of belonging.”

The story of the Sámi and the reindeer in Alaska follows many twists and turns. After decades of various powerplays (such as a Gold Rush family taking over reindeer herding and profiting from reindeer products), eventually, the Alaska Natives were given the herds to own, and they let them go to join their caribou cousins. In other words instead of assimilation to white man’s ways, they assimilated the reindeer to their own habitat.

Some Sámi stayed in Alaska and inter-married with the Indigenous people. They are still very much part of Alaska today as evidenced in a recent exhibit in Juneau.

“Mygration” is a celebration of reindeer and the traditional relationship of Sámi as herders to these animals. As the moving plexiglass images of the Sámi intersect with the reindeer the installation perfectly conveys the magic of nomadic herders of reindeer.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“Mygration” is on view Tuesday through Sunday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. until March 5 at the National Nordic Museum, located at 2655 Market Street in Seattle, Washington. For information, visit www.nordicmuseum.org.

Roby King Gallery | JGO Galleries

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 Jan 2023 02:59:50 GMT

Cue the David Bowie song one more time: “Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!”

The much-loved Roby King Gallery on Bainbridge Island is no longer with us, or at least not in the form we’re used to. Owners Andrea Roby-King and Wes King, who established the gallery in 1990, have turned over the keys to a new owner, and have turned the page on this chapter of their lives.

Wes and Andrea have time now to reflect back on earlier chapters, like the day they met at the University of Illinois circa 1972, and how that day blossomed into a lasting partnership in love, in art-making, and in business. Or they’ll look back on that chapter with the plot-twist, where they moved to Seattle, created a pottery line, and began selling their wares up and down the West Coast. And then found an island to move to. Or was that a whole separate book? Can’t remember.

What we are sure to remember is Wes and Andrea’s warm and wise presence on the scene, the excellence of the artists they represented and nurtured, and their gracious ways with their customers. They engaged with the broader community, supported worthwhile causes. You wanted to be at Roby King on a First Friday Art Walk, with Wes and Andrea scurrying about in their convivial element. You’d chat with the artists, talk with random friends and neighbors taking in the new work; you’d sit beside a stranger on the big red couch by the window and learn their opinions about art, and on other matters great and small.

The gallery space itself is now guided by Jude Grenney, an experienced gallerist based in Park City, Utah. She owns the JGO Gallery there, and now she owns the JGO Galleries on Bainbridge Island too. It’s been a graceful, well-planned —you’ll find some continuity—same as with any new chapter.

Grenney has some stories of her own, of course. The more recent ones involve working in Park City galleries during the ‘90s, and opening a gallery of her own in 2002. The gallery moved to a larger setting in 2018, an event space with wine-tastings, parties, and live music. Live music is one of Grenney’s passions, along with skiing. Good thing the Puget Sound region has a lot to offer in those regards.

January is the time for welcoming in the new. Come say hello to Jude and her team on First Friday, and help get a new chapter off to a great start.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

JGO Galleries, located at 176 Winslow Way East on Bainbridge Island, is open Wednesday through Sunday from 12 to 5 P.M. Visit www.jgogalleries.com.

Dodi Fredericks | Christian Carlson at Perry Carlson in Mount Vernon, Washington

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 Nov 2022 03:12:12 GMT

Perry and Carlson in Mount Vernon, Washington has quickly established itself as a must-do in the city’s downtown. Owners Trina Perry and Christian Carlson had long dreamed of a space to foster creativity and explore their own artistic endeavors, and they found the perfect location for their storefront in the historic 1924 Brunet Building. Christian, an artist and architect, and Trina, an artist and retail designer, were the perfect people to renovate the treasured historic location and bring it new life. The resulting storefront is not only a carefully curated shop with goods from around the world but is also beloved for its thoughtful art exhibitions which feature artists from all geographic regions. Exhibitions range from installations to sculpture to printmaking, but the next two exhibitions highlight a beloved genre in the Pacific Northwest: landscape paintings by Dodi Fredericks and Christian Carlson.

In November, Perry and Carlson Gallery shows landscape and abstract watercolors by Dodi Fredericks in an exhibit titled, “Mind’s Eye.” Her interest in art started early; she was an art major in school and worked in a pottery studio in Virginia for nearly a decade before moving to the Pacific Northwest. While attending the University of Washington, Fredericks attended a landscape architecture class which launched her 30-year career as a landscape architect. It may come as no surprise that this interest in the landscape carries through in her watercolors today.

Interestingly, Fredericks connects her early career as a potter to the paintings she creates today. When asked about the connection, the artist said watercolors and glazing have similar characteristics and that she felt drawn to watercolor because of her previous experience. Both materials are fluid and allow for creative accidents, a process attractive to her. This balance of control and freedom is key to her paintings, just as it was to her pottery. The artist recalls the complexities of pottery; the glaze, fire, temperature, material components, and more. Watercolor is almost like a dance with a push and pull between the control of the artist and the ability to allow the materials to flow freely.

Both the November and December exhibits at Perry and Carlson Gallery feature landscape painting and both artists reiterate the importance of connecting with the natural environment to truly understand the atmosphere around them. The light in the Pacific Northwest is transformed as it filters through the mist and air, creating a quality of light that continues to draw artists and creatives to the region. For Fredericks, a connection to the landscape is crucial to her work as she seeks to create a serene atmosphere. Trips to Eastern Washington with its expansive qualities and to Norway with the water-filled fjords encouraged the artist to think about space, time, and how it feels to be in these locations. Christian Carlson, an artist, architect, and co-owner of Perry and Carlson, is also showing his paintings at the gallery in December. Entitled “At Sea Level,” his paintings are reflections of his experience observing the land while out at sea in his kayak. Originally painting in the style of abstract expressionists, Carlson turned his attention more to the natural world after moving to the Skagit Valley. Now his work is influenced by the impression of the landscape, rather than his exact observations of the world. While the images made by Carlson are not exact locations, all his works capture the essence of his subjects with incredible perception and feeling. The works have multiple layers of paint all working together to create gradations of color and incredible depth in a 2-dimensional surface. All of the paintings consistently have a strong horizon line, perhaps to give the viewer a sense of their place in the work, but subtle vertical lines emerge at close viewing. These lines, cracks, or scratches give the impression that maybe something is amiss in the painted world before us. In the end, each visitor will determine their own feeling or impression during the viewing experience.

During the colder months of November and December the shows at Perry and Carlson Gallery provides a welcome escape from the dark winter views. When the fields turn brown, and the trees lose their leaves, Fredericks and Carlson’s blues and greens appear even brighter. Only the filtered light through the mist connects the frozen landscape to the painted ones. From fluid and expansive vistas by Fredericks to Carlson’s imagined landscape impressions, visitors to downtown Mount Vernon will experience landscape painting in a new and personal way.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

Perry and Carlson, located at 504 South 1st Street in Mount Vernon, Washington, is open Wednesday through Monday from 11 A.M. to 6 P.M. They are closed on Tuesdays. For more information, visit www.perryandcarlson.com.

"Gallery Onyx Midtown Square" by Susan Noye Platt

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 Nov 2022 02:43:10 GMT

Gallery Onyx, the phenomenal showcase for artists of African descent in Seattle, has just opened a second venue in the chic Arte Noir space at 23rd and Union in Seattle, Washington!

The only gallery in Seattle with two venues, Gallery Onyx started with only seven artists in a small space in Belltown in 2015. Now it includes over 400 artists in its collective. You can currently see 33 artists in their ongoing “Members Exhibit” at Gallery Onyx Pacific Place. Gallery Onyx Midtown Square is showing 46 artists in the exhibition “Truth B Told II” selected from their portfolio of the same name. The new space is larger than the original gallery with movable walls that create a dynamic presence.

When you enter Gallery Onyx, it is obvious that it follows a unique path: rather than a homogenous look, with just one or two artists, it juxtaposes dozens of artists of all styles and media, from abstract to realistic, from expressionist, to surreal, from mosaics to digital prints. Earnest Thomas, President and Co Founder of Gallery Onyx focuses on inclusiveness, rather than a marketable style from an artist. He encourages young artists, bashful artists, artists who have never show their work before. Gallery Onyx mission is to “educate, inspire, cultivate, and showcase the artwork of artists of African descent from our Pacific Northwest communities.”

This mission is meeting with great success. As you read the biographies of the artists in the Gallery Onyx portfolio “Truth B Told II,” that includes 276 artworks by 74 artists, formal art training does not dominate the narrative. The Onyx artists came to art while pursuing full time jobs, professional careers, and/or military service. Some took up art after a medical condition prevented them from working. Some began to draw as two year olds, but never went to art school, others took it up as elders. The range of experiences that these artists bring to their work inspires us, telling us that creativity can blossom no matter what stage or age in life.

Both of the Onyx galleries are welcoming, comfortable places where artists can interact with customers and each other. The movable walls can easily be reconfigured. Thomas, like Vivian Phillips, Arte Noir Executive Director, deeply believes in the power of community. Earnest Thomas seeks to “uplift the soul to soul communication that art brings.” Arte Noir’s vision is to create “space, stability, opportunity, and training to serve the needs of the Black creative community with a permanent location at Midtown Square.”

Arte Noir’s boutique sales gallery features artist-designed products by some of the same artists, as well as those shown in the spectacular murals in Midtown Center’s courtyard and on the outside walls of Midtown Center.

Highlighting a few works in “Truth B Told II” is difficult! “Hello My Friend,” by Vincent Keele, is a portrait of Earnest Thomas that depicts the interior of Thomas’s house with his painting in the background. Next to it in the gallery is that same painting “Planar Views I and II,” two adjacent canvases with the same structure of rectangles and squares, but on the right the open frames in single colors intersect to suggest an unsolvable puzzle, while on the left opaque planes, with many of the same colors, create a different dynamic entirely.

The portrait of John Lewis “Our Hero” in acrylic and ceramic by Brenda Ezell pays intimate homage to a great leader suggesting his intense life of commitment to Civil Rights.

Michael Madden’s “Street Corner” includes collage, oil paint, and drawing, as well as embedded photographs. Its multiple complex levels suggests the experience in Seattle these days, from proud histories to desperation.

“Amboseli” by Jackie Nichols, with beads, leather, and metal sewn into the surface honors a Masai warrior that she met in the Amboseli National Park in East Africa. It is one of several works with an African theme.

Bryan Stewart’s “Presence,” a tall narrow half portrait of a black man looks down on us with serene dignity.

The new Gallery Onyx Midtown Square paired with the Gallery Onyx at Pacific Place allows these artists to reach a wide audience. Throughout the entire Midtown Complex with its extensive art program, we can experience the flowering of contemporary artists of color in the Central District and the versatility of artists of African descent.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

Gallery Onyx, located at Pacific Place, 600 Pine Street, in Seattle, Washington, is open from Friday through Sunday, from 12 to 6 P.M.

Gallery Onyx Midtown Square, located inside Arte Noir, 2301 E. Union, St Suite H, in Seattle, Washington, is open Tuesday through Saturday from 10 A.M. to 6 P.M.

"Fluid in Nature" by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 Nov 2022 02:24:47 GMT

Calvin Ma’s “Blend In: Between the Lines”

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Sep 2022 00:41:44 GMT

The intricate and fanciful sculptures of Calvin Ma are on view at Foster/White Gallery in Seattle, in a show that runs the month of September. New pieces from the San Francisco-based sculptor Calvin Ma are extensions of the “Blend In” series that has absorbed him in recent years. This on-going project centers on bird-human figures in varied settings and poses; these figures are provocative, though not all viewers will be provoked in the same way, as Ma himself has observed with some amusement.

Ma’s craftsmanship is on display, his mastery of color and form, but it’s not just a question of technique: the work attains a psychological richness with its enigmatic imagery. The precision of the craft enhances the aura of intimacy or vulnerability that Ma’s work brings about. Ma keeps things light-hearted with his geekery, and with his vivid celebrations of color, shape, and pattern.

The foremost feature in the “Blend In” series is the merger of bird and human form. Where does one stop and the other begin? Is one a mask for the other? Are the two beings companions, or in opposition?

Avian/humanoid fusion is of course ancient material, and deeply archetypal. We think of falcon-headed Horus in ancient Egypt, or the winged figures in Greek mythology. But Ma seems less interested in historical echoes than in contemporary fixations: his inspirations are comic book superheroes (with their wing-like capes draped about them) and the action-figures of his boyhood—the

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were a particularly strong formative influence on Ma.

This is an artist whose geek game is a strong. An early boost to Ma’s career came in 2014 when his work appeared in the “Geek-Art” anthology published by Chronicle Books. Ma still gives a bulbous look to the leg joints of his “Blend In” figures—you’d think the joints are articulated in standard action-figure style. But these limbs are in no way pliable or posable (not that I touched the artwork to find out!).

When Ma deploys a bulbous form where the legs don’t bend, we can suppose it simply looks and feels right to him; as a child he escaped with his action figures into flights of imagination, and went on to dream of working for the Mattel or Hasbro toy companies. Ma underscores that these early activities were highly tactile experiences; this may explain another characteristic of his work, that each facet of each pattern in his designs is finely textured and (often) complexly colored. Look closely. The amount of carving and incising and brushing that go into any one piece is astounding to consider.

The theme of disguise has always been present in Ma’s work, just as it is in the Ninja Turtles and the superheroes of his boyhood. What Ma wants to disguise or defend against is his social anxieties, the awkward shyness he’s struggled with since childhood, and which he feels hindered by to this day. “Being shy, timid, and a bit socially awkward is something that will always be a part of me,” Ma stated in 2020. “The goal is to come to terms with it and grow from it.” He draws a connection between the stiffness he feels within himself during social encounters and the stiffness of his ceramic figures—they are inarticulate.

As for the avian element, birds appear to be more than just a convenient vessel for Ma’s investigations but a personal passion. Diverse breeds have migrated into the “Blend In” series—owls, ravens, even tropical birds. They add visual variety to the menagerie, prompting Ma to explore delightful new shapes and color schemes. Ma remains faithful to natural coloration and yet he’s inventive in his arrangement of those colors; when it comes to orchestrating color harmonies within each piece, he’s a maestro.

Depictions of habitat are an important dimension in Ma’s world, and a relatively recent one. In earlier projects like “Homebodies,” his figures stood alone, isolated from surroundings. More recently his figures appear within a larger composition, the bounds of which are defined by an array of smaller ceramic pieces—sometimes dozens of them. These nature elements sit below or above, behind or around the figure, as in a diorama. We see the abstracted branches a bird might perch on or nest in (“Between the Lines”) or spacious displays of protective leaves or nourishing flowers (as in “Leave No Trace” and “New Growth”). Each leaf, branch, and blossom is hand-built and individuated. Ma presents more than a character, but a setting and a scene, a drama of sorts. The story taking place is yours to imagine; for Ma they likely are to do with a stressful social engagement. By strewing flowers and leaves and other presences in this way, Ma opens out both spatially and emotionally; as visuals, the habitat arrangements express spontaneity, fluidity, and openness, in contrast to the tightness that defines and confines the figure. These scenes breathe and achieve balance. With these qualities activated it seems that Ma is making progress along an arduous path.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

Calvin Ma’s exhibit “Blend In: Between the Lines” is on view at Foster/White Gallery, located at 220 Third Avenue South in Seattle, Washington, Tuesday through Saturday from 10 A.M. to 6 P.M. For information, visit www.fosterwhite.com.

Editoon by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Sep 2022 00:37:08 GMT

Alfredo Arreguín

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Sep 2022 00:01:42 GMT

“Art isn’t a way to be famous and rich, but it is a way to connect on a spiritual level with your paintings, people, and good friends.” This quote by Alfredo Arreguín from the DreamPath Podcast, Episode 8 perhaps best describes the acclaimed artist’s goal for his work. Arreguín’s unique combination of complex, geometric patterns with portraiture and landscape elements blend to create for the viewer either a spiritual moment or opportunity for introspection. The exhibit, “Arreguín: Painter from the New World,” brings together two key elements of the artist’s style: abstraction and formative cultural elements. Both characteristics of the artist’s aesthetic exemplify a style that is instantly recognizable in the Pacific Northwest and beyond.

Alfredo Arreguín’s artworks are included in many key art collections around the world, including significant paintings at the Smithsonian Museum of American Art, the U.S. Department of State’s Art in Embassies program, and the Seattle Art Museum. This writer is often delighted by recognizing one of his familiar scenes from across the gallery in numerous art museums around the country. Western Washington has enjoyed several major solo exhibitions of the artist’s work, including most recently an exhibition at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art. The exhibit at the Museum of Northwest Art adds an additional art historical element for the viewer to consider when experiencing Arreguín’s work: European Modernism. This formal analysis references several of the artist’s instructors from his time at the University of Washington, many of whom have work on display in the second-floor galleries.

One such instructor was Francis Celentano, a professor of painting at the University of Washington and key figure in the Op Art movement in the United States in the 1960s. A quote by Arreguín explains the relationship between the two artists: “I was getting good at figurative art so in his class he had a set-up with white geometric shapes. He asked me to join his class. All that light and subtlety and shapes—it was very inspiring. These were things I could do in my own compositions.” The exhibition includes several new and older paintings that highlight the artist’s stated interest in both geometric shapes and the influence of light on those forms. “Emerald Island” from 1970 is at the entrance of the exhibition, a location of prominence since it was the first of the artist’s pattern paintings. A grid defines the composition and squares are filled with gradient colors that evoke shadows amongst the confident lines. Inside the boxes are seemingly unrecognizable characters that retain the artist’s hand in their calligraphic style. As the root of Arreguín’s signature style, “Emerald Island” illustrates the juxtapositions in his work: geometry combined with organic and naturalistic elements.

The exhibition is loosely organized based on several themes. The first paintings lay the groundwork for a consideration of the artist’s interest in geometric abstraction and other modernist artistic movements in the 20th century. The artworks that follow are excellent examples of the other main characters in the artist’s oeuvre: the figure and nature. Arreguín includes many beloved Northwest animals, such as salmon and orca whales, in his recent work. The artist has long featured the jungle in his work, often drawing from his experience as a child growing up in Morelia. The jungle provides the artist with a lush, natural backdrop, which he then often organizes with intricate pattern designs. Some of his work appears to comment on the delicate balance of these scenes. This is best illustrated in “Kodiak II,” which features a solitary moose standing over the shrinking glaciers in Alaska.

Arreguín’s paintings of almost otherworldly landscapes are as recognizable as his portraits. Some include prominent historical figures like Frida Kahlo, while others feature other artists and writers that the artist knows personally. Many of his subjects endured great adversity. Whether the challenges they faced were physical, such as Kahlo, or in the fight for rights, Arreguín pays homage to their courage and determination. The gallery guide created for the exhibition is an excellent resource for visitors to learn more about the artist’s interest in portraiture, in addition to the range of cultural influences that inform and inspire the artist’s work. The guide provides a lens for understanding his imagination, memories, and vision.

As a compliment to Arreguín’s exhibition, the museum features “In Pursuit of Abstraction: Instructors at the University of Washington School of Art in the 1960s”. Several artists mentioned in Arreguín’s exhibition have artworks on display in the second-floor galleries and there is another informative gallery guide available that describes the various art historical “isms” in the show.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Arreguín: Painter from the New World,” guest curated by Matthew Kangas, is on view through October 9, Monday through Sunday, 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. at Museum of Northwest Art, located at 121 South First Street in La Conner, Washington. For more information, visit www.monamuseum.org.

Words for a Wedding by Paul Hunter

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Sep 2022 00:00:21 GMT

For Phoebe & Scott, June 11, 2022

A marriage is a waiting and an arrival, an endless joining and parting, a balance of needs and desires, of work and play. It is both the urge and the reason, the plan and its delay, the measure of everything we chance, win or lose, in the night-to-night and day-by-day.

I once had a terrible class of eighth graders. The trouble was mostly the girls, who had started to blossom out beyond the boys, who were the usual dolts and delinquents, but still quiet and polite. The girls felt their dawning rivalry, and were merciless with each other. They drew blood any way they could. All I could do was break up the fistfights and threaten them with the cops.

And then one chilly day, hopeless, at an utter loss, I saw it was Valentine’s Day. And I asked the kids to take out paper and pencil and describe something someone did for them, that convinced them they were loved. Anything. Some kids wrote about their parents, sisters and brothers. Some told long stories. Some kids made stuff up. When they were done, they wanted me to read them all outloud, without saying whose was whose. So I shuffled them up and did. This one girl had written “He gives me flowers without picking them.” That was it. “He gives me flowers without picking them.” How do you even do that? But there it was, and it cut deep, and got to the heart of the matter. Honoring the transitory beauty in the moment, appreciating that a cut flower will have no offspring. That all it has is this moment. Stunning, irresistible, maybe a heartbeat too early or too late.

That is why we are here. That is the kind of creatures we are. Because someone can touch someone else in a way no one else can even see. And that everyone should be treated that well, in that secret invisible way. “That flower over there, by the fence? That one, the brightest one, is yours.”

When it works, we stand together against the unfeeling world. Somebody’s got our back. Yet even when it works, it sometimes comes and goes. We have to reconnect, we have to not forget to reconnect. Even in our momentary joys. Even when we let go a minute, we need to recall our promises, and double back, and hold on like we still mean it. And reconnect with all our heart.

Paul Hunter

Paul Hunter is the author and poet living in Seattle. His most recent book is a second cowboy novel set in Texas, Mr. Brick & the Boys, out from Davila Books in January. A third cowboy book is nearing completion, Untaming the Valley, set in a fictional spot in Southwestern Montana. He has several poetry collections, including Stubble Field (Silverfish Review Press), Ripening (Silverfish Review Press), and Breaking Ground (Silverfish Review Press), which received the 2005 Washington State Book Award.

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Wed, 31 Aug 2022 23:57:54 GMT

Word by Word

That I dream in sentences may seem a bit odd.

Except it isn’t, really.

How the sentences began is a story in itself, intertwined with my love of reading, prompted by whatever book I’m immersed in or, more likely, by my opinion of whatever book I’m immersed in. I hear the words. Then, slowly, they emerge. Words that want nothing more than to make my mind a truer place in which to live.

They are not always successful.

Nor are they new to my dream cycles. When I was a kid, Highlights was my favorite read, and mine alone, though I was supposed to share the magazines with my sisters. I didn’t share them with my sisters. In winter, I hid them under my bed. In summer, in my tree fort.

No one ever found me in my fort and that’s what I wanted. Without interruption, I was eager to know myself in the world outside of my family, my school, my street.

My fort was neat, airy, and when the afternoon sun hit the paper birch, the white bark illuminated every insect hovering in the air between the lowest branches and the ground. It was about this time that I started dreaming in sentences.

My father said, “don’t let the neighbor kids climb up,” which didn’t bother me, I didn’t want the neighbor kids to climb up. But I couldn’t imagine what he meant by “dangerous.” To me, the weather-beaten boards weren’t a hazard, but safety. I thought the lopsidedness of my three walls (it was more of a lean-to) was its most endearing quality. To this day, a well-kept cottage can fill me with house-envy. But it’s not like that when I see lavish reflections of wealth. It’s as if I can feel certain tensions seeping out and then, there they are, gathering in a sleepy sentence inside of my head.

I’m not saying every gigantic house is chaos waiting to happen. I’m just saying that’s how I internalize them. Listening to my parents’ marriage implode within the sturdy split-level my father built, my fort became, not all at once but as their fights intensified, a requirement for the rest of my life. I felt more at home in my fort than anywhere else. I think I’ve been searching for that same feeling ever since.

A few of my homes have come close. Sometimes I feel as if my true place is still out there.

I write terribly in the dark and most mornings I have no memory of the sentences. But when I re-read the scribble, I see how the words want to matter just as much as I do, they want to try. They bomb just as often. But they try.

This morning, the exclamation points ran off the pad. It looks as though I was upset.

And I remember with absolute clarity why I was so upset: Earlier, I ate red meat for the first time since I was seventeen. I didn’t know I was eating it. It was in the sauce. I was fine. My stomach didn’t even seem to notice. My mind, however—clearly more sensitive to the thought of beef than my stomach—rebelled, leaving exclamation points in its wake.

“In my tree fort I began to see how my life would always be about small losses, small wins.” Half an hour ago, this sentence surfaced during the nap I tried to take. The words made their way in, they made mistakes (for instance: I don’t like the word “wins”), they made me listen. To everything.

Even the memory of that fort makes me smile. I manage to forget the world’s harms and come back to my nest in the woods, and that’s the closest thing to happiness I know.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli, author, speaker, and master dance teacher, is the author of Every Little Thing, a collection of essays nominated for a 2022 Washington State Book Award. Her novel, The Star Struck Dance Studio of Yucca Springs, was released in 2020 and her first children’s book, Bella Likes To Try, is to be published in the fall of 2022. For more information, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Poetic Collaboration by Alan Chong Lau and John Levy

Debbi Lester — Mon, 04 Jul 2022 15:57:38 GMT

exile

oh daughter of mine

there will come

a day when you

must make

that fateful journey

away from home

after the night of broken glass

your parents will vanish

the world will shatter

and you must flee

go then

to find the iris

of a dragon’s eye

you’ll find

a garden

under the churn

of blue water

where the stars

of a lost constellation

lie in slumber

mountains of clouds

black columns

of shimmering stone

hover around

the scales

of this sleeping giant

you will feel

the movement

of waves in air

and water

quietly bob along

until you find

the oldest star

let it carry you

to the farthest shore

where the light

is never extinguished

and birds sing

in the tallest trees

Alan Chong Lau

Alan Chong Lau is a poet and visual artist based in Seattle, Washington. He serves as Arts Editor for the International Examiner, a community newspaper. As a visual artist, he is represented by ArtXchange Gallery in Seattle, Washington.

John Levy is a poet and photographer. His most recent book of poetry, “Silence Like Another Name,” was published by Otata’s Bookshelf. He lives in Tucson, Arizona.

Alan Chong Lau and John Levy have published three volumes of a poetry and photography collaboration that can be found by searching online for “eye2word.”

George Tsutakawa: Language of Nature at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art

Debbi Lester — Mon, 04 Jul 2022 15:39:05 GMT

This summer and into the fall, Bainbridge Island Museum of Art is putting on a retrospective of works by the celebrated Northwest visionary, George Tsutakawa (1910-1997). Maybe “Northwest visionary” doesn’t quite do the artist justice: Tsutakawa attained international stature in his time, rivaling that of his friends Mark Tobey and Morris Graves. With over seventy artworks on hand—paintings, drawings, sculptures, hand-crafted furniture—as well as a gorgeous exhibition catalogue, the retrospective is a real occasion.

People often asked George Tsutakawa if he was Japanese or American, and he liked to answer “both.” His commitment to both, his ability to unify them, is part of what makes the artist loom large in the post-WWII arts scene. Born in Seattle in 1910, Tsutakawa was sent to Japan in early childhood, receiving a rich education in traditional Japanese arts and culture. His well-off family charted out his educational future, but Tsutakawa rejected it, particularly its militarist aspect. Disowned, Tsutakawa came back to Seattle. At University of Washington, he studied art and philosophy while working in fish canneries and produce stands to support himself.

The horrors of WWII and a climate of racial hatred caused many Japanese Americans living in the U.S. to distance themselves from their Japanese heritage, and this was true of Tsutakawa. He poured himself into European and American culture and embraced modernism in all its forms. But a cultural shift was going around him. Local painters like Morris Graves and Mark Tobey, writers like Gary Snyder, musicians like John Cage (then teaching at Cornish), had all been moving in an opposite direction: they disdained many aspects of “Western” culture and found artistic and spiritual inspiration in Zen and other “Eastern’’ practices. Tsutakawa was well-suited to flourish in those cultural cross-currents.

The retrospective concentrates on his work from the 1950s forward. One of the earliest pieces on view is “Beach Pattern No. 11” (1950). Tsutakawa’s reverence for water is already present in the work. While the watercolor reveals traces of his later style, what leaps out more strongly is the influence of Cubism and Expressionism.

Encouraged by Mark Tobey, Tsutakawa began to revive his connection to the Japanese aesthetics he’d once renounced. You can see this evolution in works from the 1960s and beyond. One highlight of the show is “Cracked Lake” from 1974. The large painting in sumi and gansai (Japanese watercolor) plays a game of making ink and paper look like clay. It’s the clay of a dried-up lake-bed that Tsutakawa represents, but this image echoes the ceramic style most prized in Japan during Tsutakawa’s childhood: Hagi ware. Rawness and simplicity characterizes the style, as does the unpredictable web of cracks in the glaze.

What is also striking about “Cracked Lake” is what’s absent from it: water and life. Other paintings from the same period teem with living creatures. It’s as if “Cracked Lake” invites a meditation on impermanence.

As fine as the paintings may be, Tsutakawa made his greatest marks with wood and bronze sculptures. One major inspiration for Tsutakawa’s new directions in sculpture came from reading the 1952 travelog, “Beyond the High Himalayas.” Its author, Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas described obos, stacked rock formations erected by pilgrims traversing mountain passes, each traveler adding their own stone or flat boulder to the monument. Whatever import the artist found here, obos entranced him enough that they began turning up in his paintings (“Flying Obos”). In ‘57 he set out to explore these humble forms in a series of wooden sculptures. For these works Tsutakawa chose teak, a wood that is native to India and Southern Asia. This show includes several pieces from the series, some in wood, some in bronze.

Tsutakawa made his breakthrough bronze fountain sculpture in 1960; “Fountain of Wisdom” was based on the obos concept. The piece was commissioned for the entrance to the Seattle Public Library—the artist’s first major public art commission (two more commissions came before the first was even unveiled). This exhibition includes select proposal drawings and models (maquettes) depicting several of his towering fountains; the exhibition catalog includes several photographs of the actual works installed at sites all over the world.

The obsession with the obos didn’t end there for Tsutakawa, however. At the age of 67 he climbed to the 15,000-foot level in the Himalayas to see obos with his own eyes. This story comes up in the exhibition catalog, and it speaks volumes about Tsutakawa’s life.

Maybe it is that larger-than-life quality that inspired Bainbridge Island Museum to install a tribute to the artist in the museum’s two-story window gallery. For this effort, the curatorial and installation teams collaborated with artist June Sekiguchi and artist/engineer Charles Faddis. It’s a fitting gesture for a towering figure like Tsutakawa.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

“George Tsutakawa: Language the Nature” is on view at Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, located at 550 Winslow Way on Bainbridge Island, Washington, and open daily from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. For more information, visit www.biartmuseum.org.

Patte Loper | Joey Veltkamp at the Bellevue Arts Museum

Debbi Lester — Mon, 04 Jul 2022 15:10:25 GMT

“There is another world, but

Before visiting Loper and Veltkamp’s exhibitions, the guest first passes through a series of installations that are worth mentioning. Ko Kirk Yamahira’s suspended installation hangs above the viewer while they also experience Tricia Stackle’s Color Spectrum Collection; sculptures that are designed specifically for human interaction. The objects were arranged in a circle and their undulating forms invite people to sit, lie down, climb, and otherwise experience them. Stackle is based in Mount Vernon, Washington, a city about 60 miles north of the museum, and this is part of an ongoing relationship between the artist and BAM. From their first art interaction in the museum, visitors are aware of their role and presence in and around the work. it is in this one.” The words of Surrealist poet Paul Éluard reverberate from the gallery walls of the Bellevue Arts Museum (BAM). Even though the quote is included in Patte Loper’s exhibition, it is possible that the general viewer can utilize questions raised by the phrase for multiple art exhibitions and artistic expressions. Empathy, creativity, perspective, and communication are all attributes that aid the inquisitive viewer, and all these characteristics come into play with the artworks currently in the museum. From Loper’s scientific labyrinth drawings to Joey Veltkamp’s vibrant reminders rooted in nostalgia, the exhibitions provoke the viewer to consider their role in the natural world, relationships with neighbors (human and natural), and humankind’s position in this world.

Patte Loper and Joey Veltkamp’s exhibits are both in the third-floor galleries of the museum. The interpretive text details that Loper’s exhibit began as a study in how the foundational theories of early museum collections and scientific explorations appeared to support a destructive relationship with the natural world, as opposed to promoting humankinds’ interconnectedness to that world. Later, the COVID-19 pandemic continued to push the artist to consider perspectives that were not human at all. What does a world look like if humans are not at the center? Further exploration in a cemetery led the artist to review our connectivity with the natural and spiritual world, and how all these elements relate and communicate to each other.

Loper examines these relationships in a series of drawings called “Tapestry Maps.” The interpretive museum texts connect these drawings to Hieronymus Bosch’s artwork, “The Garden of Earthly Delights,” which some scholars have interpreted as scenes of Heaven, Earth, and Hell. However, one interesting comparison is between Loper’s “Tapestry Maps” and the “Creation” scene by Bosch, which is visible when the triptych is closed. Visually, both works are devoid of color and reference a globe. Bosch’s “Creation” is perfect; empty of humans and occupied by thriving plant life. In contrast, Loper’s maps outline the movement of reality as our existence progresses from heaven to earth to hell, a result of the living and conscious creatures becoming more disconnected. In addition to these incredibly detailed drawings, Loper includes an installation and sculpture. The work is conceptual, and the subject matter is challenging, so it is helpful that the artist also includes a station for viewer participation and reflection.

Across the hallway, the viewer is immediately drawn to the playful and colorful work of Joey Veltkamp. Titled “SPIRIT!,” the exhibition includes many of the artist’s quilts, several drawings, banners, an exterior installation, and one rug. While the objects are numerous, the subject matter and mood is remarkably consistent. Veltkamp is interested in what makes his home unique: the food, people, beauty, and history of the Pacific Northwest.

The exhibition is not lacking in Veltkamp’s whimsical sense of humor as he highlights some of the stranger elements of the Northwest. Twilight, Twin Peaks, serial killers, and Subarus are all mentioned in the colorful quilts on display.

Veltkamp’s exhibition is rooted in his lived experience as a queer folk artist living in the Pacific Northwest, and the show is filled with very personal references from his life and childhood. His dreams, hopes, and fears are all on display. Two quilts are presented on physical beds in a gallery, and above the beds hang beads and crystals on wire that are suspended from the ceiling. The materials catch the eye as they glisten and refract colorful light on the walls and people around them. The artist encourages guests to “walk around and feel the full experience of queerness: the joy, the sorry, the loss, the gifts, the experience.” The exhibition is an invitation to see the world with Veltkamp as your guide.

The exhibitions could not be more visually different, but it seems that some of the core messages and questions are related. How do we connect with ourselves? How can we be better neighbors? How can we work together to make this world a better place? Take a trip to Bellevue Arts Museum and maybe consider these questions yourself with the artists as your guide.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Laboratory for Other Worlds” by Patte Loper and “SPIRIT!” by Joey Veltkamp exhibits are on view through October 23 from Wednesday through Sunday 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. at Bellevue Arts Museum, located at 510 Bellevue Way NE in Bellevue Washington. For more information, visit www.bellevuearts.org.

Still Hung Up | BONFIRE Gallery in Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Mon, 04 Jul 2022 14:58:05 GMT

Hats off to BONFIRE Gallery for another cutting-edge exhibit with two of the most outrageous artists in Seattle. Deborah Faye Lawrence and Nancy Kiefer both push the boundaries of what is acceptable, but in strikingly different ways. The title, “Still Hung Up,” refers to a phrase that used to refer to passionate affairs gone wrong. But now it means the artists’ obsession with creativity.

Nancy Kiefer has a long career of creating insanely confrontational, close up images of women. They are sassy, angry, beautiful, naughty, and recently tragic in her mothers of the disappeared from her “Fierce Woman” series. These are not easy to look at, the colors are harsh, highly saturated and discordant. Kiefer’s use of black line is aggressive. But what immediately almost overwhelms us is the power of all of these women, whether they undulate like a flame as in “Eye Rise,” offer protection with a flip of a long nailed hand in “Gorgon (Protector),” or hold a terrifying witch mask in “Puppet.”

Kiefer is a storyteller as well as a painter, and we see stories in these faces. She exposes the grotesque in our public world with these private women. Kiefer boldly strips away the outside and gives us only the inside and it is, of course, also her own intense emotional experiences that inform these works.

Deborah Faye Lawrence disrupts us with collaged images that create unexpected juxtapositions paired with an intense choice of words and references. She frequently uses tin TV trays as the ground for her complex collages. Like Kiefer, her women are strong and naughty. In “Hen Party,” four rooster headed acrobats perch on others only partially seen. They triumphantly hold at bay an intense onslaught of pointed streamers from every direction, each with a different barbed expletive for women.

In “Fluid Self-Portrait,” another collage on a tray, a 1950s woman with pearls and heavy glasses balances spherical wooden tops on two fingers of each hand. Her body is an unstable stack of plates balanced on another top, in a landscape of tops. The whole suggests an impossible situation even as the woman beams a huge cheerful smile. The message is clear.

Lawrence has been making powerful collage for decades. She addresses specific political events, feminism, and personal history, as she undermines cliches and takes on causes. Her sardonic humor wakes us up.

BONFIRE explodes with feminist energy with “Still Hung Up.” These intense artworks show us how to resist the multiple abuses of women’ rights world-wide. Here in our country, of course, we have the imminent loss of the right to an abortion.

These artists tell us we are already angry and outrageous, now we need to act on it!

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“Still Hung Up” is on view July 20 through August 20, Thursday through Saturday 12 to 5 P.M., at BONFIRE Gallery, located at 603 South Main Street in Seattle, Washington. Opening Reception: Wednesday, July 20, 6-8P.M. First Thursday Reception: August 4, 6-8 P.M. For more information, visit www.thisisbonfire.com.

"Our Blue Planet: Global Visions of Water" at Seattle Art Museum…Susan Noyes Platt

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 May 2022 18:52:29 GMT

At the entrance of “Our Blue Planet,” Ken Workman, the direct descendant of Chief Seattle, welcomes us from the shores of the Duwamish River, the historic homeland of his people, now a superfund site.

That pairing of history, water, and the present condition of the planet is one theme of “Our Blue Planet.” We next see above our heads, a long banner by Carolina Caycedo that documents the changes in a river as it goes from clean (blue) to polluted (mud colored). Nearby in Caycedo’s video, we learn from the people living on the Paranà River in Brazil, about their traditional ways, the impact of a huge dam on their lives, and their brave resistance.

This landmark exhibition has ten themes and almost one hundred art works, all drawn from the museum’s own collections and local loans. Three curators collaborated on its organization, mostly remotely, during the pandemic. Pamela McClusky, Curator of African and Oceanic Art; Barbara Brotherton, Curator of Native American Art; and Natalia Di Pietrantonio, newly appointed as Assistant Curator of South Asian Art, created themes that refer to water as necessary to life, as pleasure, as law, as mythic, and as desecrated. They encompass celebration, poetry, ritual, and catastrophe. The exhibition is truly global spanning every continent.

At the outset, the revival of Indigenous Canoe Journeys is honored with regalia by Danielle Morsette for the ceremonial greetings during stops on the way to the host tribe. These elegant garments are part of the theme “Rivers and Canoes that Sustain Life” which also includes striking videos of actual journeys by Tracey Rector.

The theme “Rains that Flood and Hypnotize” naturally includes a compelling photograph of a monsoon in India by Raghubir Singh of four women huddled together. In contrast, Amrita Das vividly depicts the overwhelming destruction of the 2004 Tsunami in Sri Lanka in the linear patterns of the indigenous Mithila Style.

One of my favorite themes was “Future Waters through the eyes of Women and Children.” The seemingly science fiction landscape of Dallol in Northern Ethiopia, one of the hottest and driest places on Earth, is the setting for the work of Ethiopian artist Aïda Muluneh, who reenacts the almost impossible process of getting water there. Tuan Andrew Nguyen’s video “The Boat People” imagines a future world in which children collect the detritus of what we have left behind and create rituals with them.

One of the strengths of Seattle Art Museum is Australian indigenous art, and as we hear daily about climate disasters there, the work by those artists takes on all the more significance. They appear throughout the exhibition culminating in the gallery “Where Water is Law in Northern Australia” with newly created works incised on found aluminum next to the more traditional bark paintings.

Reinstalling works from other galleries in new contexts is another surprise of the exhibition as we greet “The Mask of Ḱumugwe’(Chief of the Sea)” from the Kwakwaka’waka who presides over “Sea Creatures Who are Honored and Endangered.” Not far away is a promised gift, a dramatic bronze turtle. It is an homage to a ritual tradition as well as a reference to efforts today to preserve these turtles and other marine creatures through collaborations between scientists and Indigenous elders.

We see with new eyes in the reinstallation of Marita Dingus’s stark statement about the slave trade and Claire Partington’s surprising porcelain ensemble that goes way beyond decorative arts in “Tragic Memories of Global Trade.”

“Mythic Vision from Water’s Creation to Regulation” includes Raqib Shaw’s colorful fantasy of underwater life “Garden of Earthly Delights V” as well as references to the dangers and mysteries of the sea from ancient China to the present.

Finally “Desecration of our Troubled Waters,” speaks to our deeply troubled planet. “Desecration #2” by John Feodorov brings together the sacred and the profane in his depiction of pipelines spilling pollution into the ground of an Indigenous reservation, painted on a sacred white carpet.

Be sure to download the QR codes to listen to the artists own dramatic commentaries. I was particularly mesmerized by the video from the Torres Straits (an archipelago of 300 islands north of Australia), and La Toya Ruby Frazier, who spoke eloquently about her project on the pollution of water in Flint, Michigan.

This not to-be-missed exhibition immerses, enchants, warns, and finally, hopes to inspire us to action. A video at the end “Water Protectors,” asks artists, activists, leaders, and scientists, to answer the question “What can people do to honor and protect water?” We must all ask ourselves that question.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“Our Blue Planet: Global Visions of Water” is on view until May 30, Wednesday through Sunday 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. at Seattle Art Museum, located at 1300 First Avenue in Seattle, Washington. Visit www.SeattleArtMuseum.org for more information.

"Wood" at the Jefferson Museum of Art & History…Tom McDonald

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 May 2022 18:14:12 GMT

You enter most museum exhibits a minute or two after you step through the museum’s front door. For the “Wood” exhibit at the Jefferson Museum of Art & History in Port Townsend, it’s different: this show starts with the front doors—they are part of the exhibit.

The museum is rebuilding the structure’s original cedar doors after 130 years of service. A video in the lobby documents the crafting of the new construction. The experience puts you immediately in the right frame of mind to appreciate the world of “Wood.” The rebuild also hints at the broader changes underway at the museum, as its leadership reimagines the way it frames and presents local history.

“Wood” offers a cross-section of the region’s woodworking talents. It showcases furniture, sculpture, and tools, along with pieces that are more difficult to classify. With its focus on five artisans, the exhibition is balanced and admirably diversified. One of the featured artists is just starting out on her path, while some are in their mature master phase. Some of the artisans are well known and well shown in the region, while others keep a lower profile.

The range of the work on display is similarly diverse. Several pieces are all about function and utility—a rocking chair, a sheet music stand, a milking stool—while some works are fine art objects. All of them achieve beauty, and visitors may struggle with the standard museum admonition, “Do not touch.” But on that point, the curators have set out blocks of various woods for visitors to pick up, smell, and otherwise inspect, with descriptions of each wood’s characteristics from a woodworker’s perspective. These are especially worthwhile if the only wood you can reliably identify is particle board.

We begin with the pairing of Annalise Rubida, an emerging talent, and her mentor Steve Habersetzer, a traditional master craftsman. Both are affiliated with the Port Townsend School of Woodworking (PTSW). Both have a mind for the practical—their contributions are pieces of furniture, and tools or objects meant to do work. Rubida’s Windsor rocking chair is an impressive and ambitious piece. But her more modest creations are charming as well, such as her pair of hand-carved brooms (a long-handled push broom, and a whisk-broom). Tool users tend to be toolmakers—you get the sense that Rubida would never clean up wood shavings and sawdust with a Shop-Vac.

Habersetzer brings decades of experience with wood—he worked as a logger at one point, a ship-builder at another. He is something of a purist these days: he uses only hand-tools, and he works with locally sourced and sustainably harvested wood. Most of Habersetzer’s work in the show—such as the buckets made of cedar staves—embody simplicity and practicality. These values he now passes on to the next generation of craftspeople coming through PTSW.

Like Rubida and Habersetzer, Seth Rolland is a furniture-maker, but in his creations we see more emphasis on imagination and decoration. Scandinavian design aesthetics influence some of his work, and he likes to bring in materials such as stone and glass into his explorations of organic form. Several pieces by Rolland are entirely sculptural, such as “Ghost Tree,” with its display of wood bending. Note that he crafted “Ghost Tree” from a single piece of wood.

Next comes Brian Perry of the Port Gamble S’Klallam Tribe, a prominent wood carver. Some of his creations are in Seattle’s Burke Museum and in various public spaces on tribal land. He often works at large scale: story poles, totem poles, wall facades, canoes. “Wood” features Perry at a more intimate scale, including his powerful “Salish Weavers Spirit,” a carving that honors the art and craft of weaving. In Coastal Salish tradition, women do the weaving, men do the wood-carving. The women use non-representational design elements in their textiles; the men depict animal and human figures in their carvings. Perry’s “Salish Weavers Spirit” includes a geometric motif drawn from the weaving vocabulary, and its shape suggests the whorls that weavers use for the spinning process. One take on Perry’s carving (perhaps a naive take) is that it sees beyond divisions between art practices, between genders, between the human and the spiritual.

The exhibition continues into and concludes below the main level in a room that was once the women’s jail. In this captivating context we find turned-wood objects by Helga Winter. The irony is that Winter is the freest of the five artisans in “Wood”—her elegantly imperfect and asymmetric vessels are free from functional considerations, and are unconstrained by age-old tradition. Even the wood she favors—Pacific madrone—reflects her free-spirit: the hardwood is notoriously unpredictable in response to cutting. It is prone to warping and even cracking, but Winter embraces that waywardness. She often decorates her surfaces with color and abstract design—sometimes using busy marks and dotted patterns, other times using thin washes of solid color that keep the wood grain visible while glowing with a presence of their own.

Rounding things out, “Wood” includes photographer Jeremy Johnson’s large format black-and-white portraits of the show’s five artists, and a display of the hand tools used by 19th century home-builder A. Horace Tucker. Tucker constructed some of Port Townsend’s most iconic homes, including the Pink House, Captain Fowler’s House, and the 1868 Rothschild House. His work literally looms large over the town, and may even have something to do with the vitality of the woodworking scene that “Wood” celebrates.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

Jefferson Museum of Art & History (540 Water Street in Port Townsend, Washington) is open Thursday to Sunday from 11 A.M. to 4 P.M. “Wood”is on view through May. Visit www.jchsmuseum.com for information.

"Super Natural, A Northwest Tradition" at Museum of Northwest Art…Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 May 2022 18:10:07 GMT

In Comfort of Chaos at Kirkland Arts Center…Chloé Dye Sherpe

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 May 2022 17:18:50 GMT

Chaos can be defined as a feeling or state of constant confusion, which has essentially been the general mood over the past few years. But do you ever feel numb to the chaos? Maybe it is a way for human beings to survive challenging times, but sometimes our initial reaction to sadness or challenges is to shut down emotionally. Maybe these times will hurt less if we feel nothing at all. These are the questions and considerations exposed in the exhibition, “In Comfort of Chaos,” at the Kirkland Arts Center. Hanako O’Leary, the juror for the show who is also an incredible artist, states in the exhibition statement that she selected artworks that evoked emotion for her. She writes, “Chaos can be numbing. Art helps us return to our feelings.” This exhibition is both a personal exercise in reflection, but also a way for the viewer to connect with the artist through a visual dialogue. Hopefully, the viewer leaves the exhibition feeling comforted in our ever-changing and tumultuous world.

The importance of personal connections and emotion are shared amongst the organizers of the exhibition. Kirkland Arts Center gallery curator J. Gordon reiterated O’Leary’s comments about how chaos is experienced in a personal way, so the work in the exhibition needed to connect on an emotional level. Gordon is also the exhibition designer for Kirkland Arts Center, and each artwork placement is carefully considered to ensure that there is both synergy and thoughtfully considered juxtapositions. A dialogue between artworks is important, especially in exhibitions like this one where conversation and reflection is considered.

The exhibition includes many wall-mounted artworks, but there are several key sculptures included to ground the show. Nancy Bocek’s ceramic artwork, “Captive,” stood out. The artwork is black with reddish-brown outlines that are reminiscent of cracks. The viewer can make out a figure, or possibly two, wrapped up in arms and legs. Unlike Michelangelo’s “The Four Captives” who battle with the stone to free themselves, Bocek’s figure seems to be an internal captive. The sculpture evoked similar emotions with this writer as when they saw those by Käthe Kollwitz for the first time. The figure is fiercely embracing another or themselves in this raw example of physical connection.

It is worth mentioning that O’Leary selected an impressive variety of artistic styles and mediums. In addition to the sculpture, there are prints, paintings, watercolors, embroidery, performance videos, and many mixed media artworks. Naoko Morisawa’s oil stained wood and paper mosaic entitled, “Target Forever VIII: Happy Dreamer, Bonzai,” is a meticulous arrangement of textures and geometric elements. Two similarly impressive mezzotints by E. Valentine DeWald II, an artist with a decades long relationship with Kirkland Arts Center, are also included in the exhibition. Both prints by DeWald II include the face of a central figure, their wrinkled expression exudes a mix of astonishment, anguish, and pain. The exhibition also includes an incredible selection of photographs, including several by Puerto Rican artist Jo Cosme. In her artist statement for the exhibition, Cosme writes that she seeks to encourage conversation through her work about the challenges Puerto Ricans face as a result of colonialism, lack of resources and economic support, and the destruction caused by natural disasters. The photographs are compositionally complex with layers of meaning tied to the political history of Puerto Rico and the United States, and the effect of that history on the present-day situation.

Upon entering the exhibition, the viewer is immediately faced with a wide range of materials, perspectives, and artistic visions. The artists come from across the United States and all bring a unique reaction to the events over the past few years. This aspect of the show is an important part of the exhibition program at Kirkland Arts Center, and the exhibition is arranged to reflect the diverse voices and to make connections across the country. The artist’s own words are captured in their artist statements, available in a binder placed in the gallery. Jeanette Jones, the artist who received the Juror’s Choice award, summarized the exhibition well in her statement when she writes that the work, “tackles topics of anxiety and futility, tempered with the driest of humor.” Jones’ paintings are installed side-by-side in a corner of the gallery. The large oil on canvas artwork titled, “Stigma and the Tale of How I Lost Two Years,” is likely a painting that many visitors can relate to on some level. The two roses in the painting are losing the petals, but the vibrant green leaves of the rose bush still exude life and energy. Yes, the exhibition is about both shared and personal experiences of pain, confusion, and anxiety. But maybe it is also an exercise in growing the new, too.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“In Comfort of Chaos” is on view through May 21, Wednesday through Friday from noon to 6 P.M. and Saturday from noon to 4 P.M. at Kirkland Arts Center, located at 620 Market Street in Kirkland, Washington. For more information, visit www.KirklandArtsCenter.org.

Gail Grinnell, Helen O’Toole, Tom Gormally at San Juan Islands Museum of Art

Debbi Lester — Tue, 26 Apr 2022 04:03:49 GMT

If you’re looking for an excuse for a lovely weekend ferry ride to the San Juans, here’s a great one. The San Juan Islands Museum of Art in Friday Harbor is offering a terrific exhibition of the mature work of three master Seattle artists: Gail Grinnell, Helen O’Toole, and Tom Gormally.

Gail Grinnell’s installation, “Fiat Lux,” takes up the tall-ceilinged atrium of the museum. It’s enormous, a tree-like structure of translucent drawn and cut interfacing that branches out to fill the entire space. The monumentality of the installation belies the fragility of material and construction: a dressmaker’s fabric, the delicate interfacing pinned into place; a traditional woman’s material; a traditional woman’s technique. Grinnell’s work with this material has evolved over the past three decades from flat, wall-hung forms to monumental, site-specific, free-hanging installations. Her images, inked and cut on tea-stained fabric—lace-like, curtain-like—began as dress patterns and ruffles, then evolved to vines and flowers—and to bones, bones. Her work references memory and family: her mother fitting dress patterns to her body, then fitting children—and parents—to that same body. (Life, itself, is interfaced and interwoven, patterns overlapped and repeated, seen through one another, linked and broken.)

Here, ruffles and chain-links predominate, images that reference domesticity and homelessness. In the museum’s atrium, the tree-like form also echoes a heart—the heart of the space, of the community. Shrouded translucent layers of chain-link fence form an outer chamber from which ruffles branch like arteries into the periphery of the space. As a tree, it offers shelter, but if a tree, this one has been lightning struck. The pale trunk opens to reveal a burnt core: a blackened column like a burnt wick at the center of a lantern…and this is the metaphor Grinnell settles on in her artist’s statement. Fiat Lux: Let there be light. A tree, a shelter, a heart, a lantern. Let there be light in this heart of ours, in this tree of life.

Grinnell’s work opens onto Helen O’Toole’s masterful exhibit, “What Was: unmarked,” in the adjoining room. O’Toole’s paintings are also monumental, vast canvases of color and shade that dominate the walls on which they are hung with color and atmosphere like Monet’s “Waterlilies,” but with Rembrandt’s emotional lighting (think “The Night Watch”) and the power of Anselm Kiefer’s overwhelming, broken landscapes. O’Toole talks about her work as an excavation of Irish history: the trauma, the buried secrets, the suppurating wounds and scars of historical oppression seeped into the land. Her work is non-figurative, but tells a story using every element of scale, brushstroke, composition, color, and shade of traditional painting with all overt references removed.

You can find them in her written commentary: the buried bodies; the vanished children; the hunger; the resistance; the oppression. Can you find them without the narrative? Perhaps not, but you can feel them.

Born in County Mayo, Ireland, O’Toole talks about its “soggy scraps of bog land, dark soil, and dank smells wrapped in mystery, intrigue, and changing light.”

She could be talking about “Lay of the Land,” an 88 x 192 inches triptych that storms and swirls across the long wall of the gallery, golden northern light scumbled across what could be a darkening sky; shaft of light cascading down on an edifice not given; unspecified epiphany gathering force around an unseen actor; unnamed event of shattering significance. Rembrandt’s golden child, his gathering militia, is missing, but the feel of mustering forces, growing momentum, homegrown resistance, remains.

Breeding power from the earth, this is no dead land. “Trace,” a towering painting perhaps 192 inches high, speaks of entombment: broken light swirls high above a deep shaft like light glimpsed from the bottom of a well. Red forms curl at the bottom like buried bodies, shadowy blue ascending like spirits. The tropes are biblical: an apotheosis, a rising from the dead. A buried past that will not rest in peace. The gathering skies. A reckoning.

O’Toole’s “Pirate Queen” breaks into vivid color, pink swaths flashing flamboyantly across a landscape. She writes that this references a mythic 16th century woman, bringing a sense of flesh to the ravished landscape, the land as “brutalized,” as raped.

Her colors are as lush as Monet, but the feel is of Kiefer’s war-broken landscapes minus the straw—think “Margarethe” and “Nuremberg”—executed with paint alone. O’Toole’s painting is powerful and poignant; forcible colonization made tragically relevant with news from Ukraine.

In his exhibition, “Into the Breach,” Tom Gormally also references cultural events, but if Grinnell and O’Toole do so with overlaid images and analogous forms or with the abstract tools of painting itself, Gormally uses concrete metaphoric imagery in his trenchant, whimsical sculpture. Totemic sculptures of fox and owl mix with political maps in red and blue, fox melding the Native American trickster figure of the coyote with a certain notable media giant.

Religion inveigles its way in, a sleeping fox complacently balancing an explanation of the apocalypse in each hand in “Sun Setting on the Apocalypse with Sleeping Fox”; arrangements of owl and ax set in stasis on a wooden altar form, the forest remaining only as the drilled silhouette of a tree through which green light glow. “Ghost Owl” the wall reads; it’s titled “Clear Cut with Ax, Owl, and Tree”—a holy trinity. In Gormally’s immaculate sculptures of wood, cast resin, porcelain, and gold leaf, our patchwork quilt of red and blues states is under strain, wrenched together or apart, stabbed through the heart, hung on logging tongs like the remains of a toppled forest. But it’s not just the forest that’s endangered—it’s truth itself. It’s a grim message delivered with a side of fries, and goes down easy.

The work is up through May 30. You owe it to yourself to go.

Elizabeth Bryant

Elizabeth Bryant is an ESL/English tutor.

San Juan Islands Museum of Art, located at 540 Spring Street in Friday Harbor, Washington is open Friday through Monday from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. For more information visit www.sjima.org.

Michelle Kumata | Regeneration at BONFIRE Gallery • Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Wed, 02 Mar 2022 06:01:26 GMT

We are compelled to enter “Regeneration,” Michelle Kumata’s exhibition at the BONFIRE Gallery by the banners in the gallery windows. Kumata is addressing the difficult subject of the long term legacies of the illegal incarceration of Japanese Americans during World War II. On the left of the entrance hangs “American Tragedy,” banners depicting barely referenced facial features against a vague gray background behind real barbed wire. One has the face split between two banners, much as the experience of incarceration split the lives of those who were sent to those remote camps for up to four years.

In the facing window, the banner “Regeneration” in brilliant color, suggests flying through the air. Nearby paper butterflies, made by a young Gosei (fifth generation) artist flutter toward the ceiling. Inside the gallery “Shine,” features a face that rises up between butterfly wings. Other banners also suggest soaring and healing. “What We Carry” requires a close look: inside the wings of these flying faces are bare outlines of luggage, the weight of the past trying to pull them down.

Michelle Kumata, a three and a half generation Japanese American artist, explores the long term effects for her parents, the Sansei generation, who were born in incarceration during World War II as a result of Franklin Roosevelt’s Executive Order 9066. This generation is the last to have a direct connection to that brutal violation of their human and civil rights. It is a cautionary tale that points directly to contemporary racism and its ongoing violent manifestations.

Michelle Kumata offers a multimedia approach to recovering memory and experiencing loss after decades of suppression.

The largest expression of that, at the back of the gallery, is the lower section of the artist’s trademark work “Song for Generations.”

The entire banner represents a dignified husband and wife at the top, with their lush fields behind them, cleared from forest; in the next panel, strawberries fall to the ground and a house is burning. The bottom section, in the BONFIRE exhibition, dramatically represents the ongoing pain of the incarceration with barbed wire in the open mouths of two Nikkei and flames around their heads. The strawberries become children, those born in the camps amidst barbed wire, but at the very bottom, a girl lets fly away a paper crane. You can see the whole mural in a small print nearby.

The next section of the exhibition features photographs of the artist’s maternal and paternal grandparents that document their lives before, during and after incarceration. These touching images speak to the real family stories of immigrants who had businesses and lives destroyed in 1942.

A similar feeling comes from paintings based on formally posed portrait photographs from the Takano Studio Collection from the late 1930s to early 1940s, called here “Nihonmachi portraits.” Nihonmachi is the name of the Japanese business area of the International District before the incarceration destroyed it.

Facing these is a creative expression of memory: handkerchiefs with inscriptions such as “Generations were taught to keep your head down, study hard, and not be in front.” Nearby are “furoshiki” traditional Japanese wrappings for packages, here holding unspoken memories. Over generations as the artist states “the knots slowly loosen, releasing the pain, shame and anger. And we allow ourselves room to carve and define our own unique identities, to transform and fly.”

In addition to all of these thoughtful approaches, a slide show of photographs alternates with quotes from a broad selection of members of our contemporary Japanese American community. The destruction of the heart of the Japanese community, Nihonmachi, and the unwillingness of survivors to speak of it are two major themes.

Michelle Kumata has a second major installation at the Bellevue Museum of Art “Emerging Radiance, Honoring the Nikkei Farmers of Bellevue.”

It features an immersive mural that uses augmented reality that enables us to actually hear three Nissei farmers of Bellevue tell their stories. The stories are based on interviews recorded in the Densho Digital Archive an incredible online resource that expands our understanding of the lives of those who were incarcerated.

Michelle Kumata boldly experiments with representing the ongoing psychological damage of the original historical event of Japanese incarceration. She creatively makes audible what has been unspoken and makes visible what has been buried.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“Michelle Kumata: Regeneration” is on view until March 26, Thursday through Saturday noon to 5 P.M. at BONFIRE Gallery, located at 603 S. Main Street in Seattle, Washington. For further information, visit www.thisisbonfire.com.

“Emerging Radiance, Honoring the Nikkei Farmers of Bellevue” is on view until March 13, Wednesday through Sunday from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. at Bellevue Arts Museum, located at 510 Bellevue Way NE, in Bellevue, Washington.

From Snow Caps to Bottle Caps: Max Grover and Loran Scruggs at Bainbridge Arts & Crafts • Bainbridge Island, Washington

Debbi Lester — Wed, 02 Mar 2022 05:38:21 GMT

The more familiar you are with the arty charms of Port Townsend, the more you appreciate its unofficial motto: “We’re All Here Because We’re Not All There.” The quirky logic captures the spirit of the place. Two artists that embody Port Townsend’s whimsical nature are Max Grover and Loran Scruggs. They are showing their work together this month, but it won’t be all there in Port Townsend. Instead you’ll find it all here at Bainbridge Arts & Crafts (BAC), the non-profit art gallery on Bainbridge Island. The show opens on March 4, and runs through March 27. There are toys.

BAC’s choice to pair these artists is an inspired one. Both artists revel in bold colors that border on loud; they favor direct statements and are A-OK with child-like simplicity. Grover and Scruggs work in different media, giving the show a built-in contrast. Grover produces oil and acrylic paintings on canvas; Scruggs works three-dimensionally, often repurposing tin cans, or bottle caps, to make her light-hearted creations. In BAC’s Sally Robison gallery, some zany call and response is bound to take place between Grover’s paintings and Scruggs’ tin constructions.

Max Grover is no stranger to galleries and museums around the Pacific Northwest. His popular children’s books also place him into libraries and living rooms. A painter who delights in a flat picture plane and simplified forms, Grover makes witty color choices, and arranges basic shapes into rhythmic patterns that swing and groove. Grover’s whole world is animated, and through his curious looking glass things appear out-sized and outlandish. In his cityscapes, cars resemble board-game pieces, and apartment buildings have a chucklesome aspect, as if leaning in to gossip about their inhabitants. In his seascapes, the ferry boats look like 1950s toasters, except their colors are so cheerful, and they have smokestacks shaped like giant tubas. He’ll paint a still-life now and then, but its objects won’t sit still.

Not everything is jocular. The mood of Grover’s “Dreadnought” stands in contrast to his usual lightness: the painting depicts a Navy ship that aims its absurd gun barrels in every direction. The somber palette here—all gun-metal blues and grays—and the inert composition (the ship sits in the dead center of the canvas) reveals a side of Grover not often in view. Port Townsend sits across the bay from a major US Navy munitions depot, after all. Maybe Grover can see it from his studio.

If in Grover’s work there’s some nostalgia for a more innocent time in our national past, for Loran Scruggs the hint of nostalgia may attach to her own childhood, the timelessness of child’s play. She loves to toy with toys, that’s for sure. In fact, Scruggs often seems to be playing games with the distinction between play-toy and art-work. In one series, Scruggs takes on preschool building blocks (“Q is for Quail,” and “T is for Turtle”) though these wood-and-tin cubes are not the right size or the right materials for a small child’s hands. Or consider her fully-functional tin whistles: each one is a shiny thoughtful visual feast, one that also provides a pleasing sound, a tactile experience, and use value. Several of her other pieces are similarly hand-crafted hybrids of play-thing and fine art object. “King of Hearts” is an eight-inch-tall rodent assembled from the tin shards of the iconic Hershey bar package design: does the piece qualify as a sculpture or a pull-toy? The answer may be “yes,” even if no toddler has the fine motor skills or patience required to pull the “King of Hearts” pleasantly along without it toppling over.

It’s the bottle cap creations that may steal the show. A bottle cap folded in on itself forms a sort of bivalve shape, a mouth, a seed pod, a flower petal, a chile pepper (if the color is right). Scruggs repeats that shape a few dozen times with more caps, or she’ll group three or more folded caps into yet another more ornate shape which she then repeats. Chaining the caps together is another strategy Scruggs deploys. This artist’s game is to find yet another fresh way to express beauty and evoke wonder with a simple bottle cap collection. Top that.

Hot Tip: The show’s opening reception on March 4, from 6 to 8 P.M. doubles as a release party for Tideland, a new quarterly magazine covering Bainbridge Island and other Kitsap communities. Led by veteran journalists Alorie Gilbert and Leif Utne (whose family founded the much beloved Utne Reader), Tideland aims to “celebrate the vibrant communities, creativity, and natural beauty that define our region.” Feel the need for “in-depth regional journalism on social and environmental issues like housing, equity, inclusion, and conservation”? Come out to connect with the folks who not only feel that way too but are doing something about it.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

The Max Grover and Loran Scruggs exhibit is on view through March 27 at Bainbridge Arts & Crafts, located at 151 Winslow Way East on Bainbridge Island, Monday through Saturday from 10 A.M. to 6 P.M., and Sunday from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. For more information, visit www.bacart.org.

Katy Stone | Force Field at J. Rinehart Gallery • Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Wed, 02 Mar 2022 05:21:41 GMT

Katy Stone’s recent body of work on display at J. Rinehart Gallery harkens back to the artist’s earliest work as an undergraduate. The exhibition is entitled, “Force Field,” and it brings together decades of her artistic explorations in both the small and large artworks. Viewers are immediately transported into the atmosphere: an otherworldly realm created by the artist that billows with artistic expression. The work is full of juxtaposition, but the expert hand of Stone guides the materials through each thoughtful step.

Stone reflects on how this group of artworks is a return to acrylic and Duralar; two materials that the artist is known for utilizing. The artist’s stainless-steel installations are instantly recognizable, but this exhibition features a softer, more ethereal side of Stone’s oeuvre. Tall strips of Duralar are attached to the wall with nearly invisible pins and appear to float on their own against the white wall of the gallery. Swells of blues and pinks evoke the sun as it sets behind the clouds, a quality that the artist describes as “atmospheric.” Stone is a master of color and layers, and the installations in this exhibition are no exception. The colors build upon one another, and the subtle movement of the material evokes clouds moving across the sky.

While Stone discusses returning to acrylic and Duralar, she also reflects on the importance of geometric abstraction in her work. This aspect is perhaps best seen in the smaller works in the exhibition. Their bold colors and structured compositions allow them to stand on their own in confident contrast to the installations. But even within these small, structured works, Stone manages to evoke movement and expression. The shapes contain flowing paint, and it is as if the artist has captured bubbling liquid within the picture plane. Each of these framed artworks is a world of their own. Glowing yellows are contrasted with a grounded landscape. The viewer is drawn into these dreamlike scenes by the force of Stone’s use of color and technique.

Katy Stone’s exhibition is a welcome burst of spring that also creates a moment for reflection, which is a welcome respite as the Pacific Northwest emerges from winter. As this writer reflected on the exhibition, the setting sun created blues and pinks in the sky above Lake Union. It forces you to take a moment to breathe and builds up excitement for the next moment of awe.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Force Field” is on view through March 26, Wednesday through Saturday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. at J. Rinehart Gallery, located at 319 - 3rd Avenue South in Seattle, Washington. For more information, visit www.jrinehartgallery.com.

Kenjiro Nomura: An Astonishing Career. . .Susan Noyes Platt

Debbi Lester — Tue, 28 Dec 2021 04:00:41 GMT

Kenjiro Nomura (1896-1956) came to the United States from Japan at the age of ten and was left to fend for himself in Tacoma at the age of 16 when his family returned to Japan in 1913. Two years later, he moved to Seattle and began to formally study art in 1915 in the studio of Fokko Tadama. He immediately attracted attention as an artist. At the same time he supported himself with his own sign painting business.

“Kenjiro Nomura American Modernist; An Issei Artist’s Journey” finally gives a major exhibition to an extraordinary artist. Last given a solo show in 1960 at the Seattle Art Museum, his wartime drawings created during incarceration at Puyallup and Minidoka were all hidden away at that time.

Curator of the Cascadia Art Museum, David Martin selected a small group of the over 100 wartime drawings and paintings now in the Tacoma Art Museum as a gift from the Nomura family. (I would like to see a book of all of them!) The exhibition also includes early figurative work, important urban work of the 1930s, and abstractions of the 1950s. The range of the work through incredible challenges is extraordinary.

Barbara Johns’ invaluable book accompanies the exhibit. She eloquently expands on the artist’s career. Both art historians are experts on the Issei and Nissei artists in the Northwest, a unique chapter in American art history. Johns and Martin have published other books. We are so fortunate to have their important work on this subject.

One of the earliest works in the exhibition is an accomplished “Self-Portrait” from 1925. It clearly demonstrates Nomura’s understanding of brushwork and subtle tonalities, but it is not just surface effects. It also suggests an intense inner vitality.

In the 1930s the artist created complex urban landscapes, such as a view of the intersection of Yesler Way and Fourth Avenue, with a sharp eye for planes, angles, and the presence of nature. He layers different tonalities of browns and reds, building a geometric composition with an unusual intricacy of perspectives. I will never see this intersection in the same way again.

Nomura’s work was widely recognized in Seattle and nationally, and even shown at the Museum of Modern Art.

On February 19, 1942, U.S. president Franklin D. Roosevelt signed executive order 9066 authorizing the relocation of all persons considered a threat to national defense from the west coast of the United States inland. This year marks the 80th anniversary of one of the most brutal executive orders.

Kenjiro Nomura and his family, along with 120,000 people of Japanese ancestry were abruptly uprooted and sent to internment camps, first at the State Fairgrounds in Puyallup and then the remote camp at Minidoka, near Hunt, Idaho where he remained until the end of World War II. But, incredibly, he never stopped painting, making a unique record in watercolor of both camps.

These factual and haunting images record the ordinary lives of the camps, a barber shop, a mess hall, an outhouse, barracks and a water tower. But the scenes always include nature. Nomura even painted pure landscapes. As Johns recounts in her book, the internees at Minidoka were expected to take the sagebrush-filled land and turn it into rich agricultural farms with irrigation ditches dug by hand. They produced millions of pounds of produce, and Nomura records this transformation in several watercolors. But I found his tiny sunsets, views of the sky through a barrack window, the sun bursting through from the sky above the barracks, a sign that he never stopped looking beyond his situation. The persistence he had developed as a teenager when left alone in this country served him well.

After the internment, Nomura returned with his family to Seattle in 1945. He once again overcame incredible misfortune after his wife committed suicide and his second wife died. But with the encouragement of fellow artists, particularly Paul Horiuchi, he resumed painting. In the 1950s, he turned to highly original abstraction. Each painting demonstrates a new experiment, with media, composition, and color. There are understated gestures that point to his early lessons in calligraphy, but these are works that suggest a willingness to try something new in every work.

It is an amazing story.

Kenjiro Nomura belongs on all of our lists of major artists. Thanks to David Martin and Barbara Johns, we can now see his paintings and learn his history. Kenjiro Nomura’s art work demonstrates his incredible ability as an artist and his perseverance as a human being.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“Kenjiro Nomura American Modernist; An Issei Artist’s Journey” is on view through February 20 from Thursday through Sunday from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. at Cascadia Art Museum, located at 190 Sunset Avenue South in Edmonds, Washington. For further information, visit www.cascadiaartmuseum.org.

Up Close & Personal: The Body in Contemporary Art. . .Chloé Dye Sherpe

Debbi Lester — Tue, 28 Dec 2021 03:47:00 GMT

How has your perception of your sense of “self” changed over the past two years? Has this time been a pivotal period of image-making or remaking? We all seem to have gained a new awareness of our body and how we can impact the bodies of others during this pandemic. As people start to physically gather again, how will these lessons impact our future interactions? In the exhibition, “Up Close & Personal: The Body in Contemporary Art,” visual representations of the human body take on renewed significance. How artists and their subjects see themselves and choose to portray the physical, and emotional, self is on display in the museum. The exhibition is from the collection of Driek and Michael Zirinsky, which adds a layer of interest to the selections. What can we learn about ourselves by the artworks that resonate with us, but also why did the collectors select these specific artworks for their collection? All these questions circle around a central figure: the ever complex and analyzed human body.

To say that this exhibition simply showcases portraiture is a mistake. There are contemporary portraits in the exhibition that demonstrate the more traditional aspects of portraiture: the artist creates a visual representation of a subject and there are clues about the person’s identity or values included in the artwork. But these are contemporary images that are also evoking ideas about identity, race, sexuality, politics, and more. Many of these images are intimate and personal, like Titus Kaphar’s “Womb,” a tar on paper portrait of a pregnant Black woman. The artist includes aspects of her clothing to give the viewer clues about the time period (likely 19th century), but her breasts and unborn child are on full display as if the viewer has x-ray vision. They are let into this private moment as the subject looks off into the distance. We are left to consider what she may be feeling as the birth approaches. Is she fearful? Hopeful? It is difficult to tell.

As the viewer continues through the exhibition, there is a text panel to remind us that artists use the figure to tell narratives. Not all figurative art is portraiture, but the figure is a powerful tool in storytelling because they can connect people. If viewers can see themselves in an artwork, maybe that will help them connect to each other in deeper way. One method used to create this connection is by obscuring the figure so that the individual is not recognizable. They become a shell for the viewer to inhabit. Noah Davis erases the identity of the person in his painting, “I Wonder as I Wander.” A figure leans against a pedestal and cradles a sculpture in their arm. The background is black, and the artist has allowed the paint to drip and spread across the canvas, which gives the impression of deterioration. The face of the individual is overcome by dark background and is completely hidden. Who is this person? Their identity has disappeared, allowing the viewer to insert themselves into the work. What can we learn about figures in society who are erased? Whose futures are being extinguished? The artist pushes the viewer to think about these questions.

It is disconcerting to see important physical elements of a figure obscured from view, and it can be disturbing or visually alarming when the body appears to be dissected in an image. There is an entire part of the exhibition devoted to “figure fragments” which analyzes artworks that focus on certain elements of the body. The element may carry historical or social significance, such as the raised fist in Samantha Wall’s “Fists” from her “31 Days” series. While Wall highlights one body part to focus our attention on it, Mark Calderon hides a child’s face in “Regalis (red)” while also exposing their nakedness. The figure’s legs are crossed as they appear to float alone against a white background. The arms are drawn into the body and the face is cut off to bring the body flush against the wall. The child is completely physically vulnerable, and their existence is puzzling.

The exhibition provokes intriguing questions about our physical existence, how meaning is applied to the physical, and the various historical and social implications interwoven with body representations. There are these layers of questions on top of the fact that these works are all from the same private collection. Not only do Driek and Michael Zirinsky collect important contemporary artists, but there is a through line in their collecting that deserves further attention. What is it about figurative work that interests them? What is it about figurative work that interests you?

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Up Close & Personal: The Body in Contemporary Art” is on view Thursday to Sunday from 12-5 P.M. through February 27, at Whatcom Museum’s Lightcatcher Building, located at 250 Flora Street, in Bellingham, Washington. For more information, visit www.whatcommuseum.org.

M(other) Tongues | National Nordic Museum. . .Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Tue, 28 Dec 2021 03:33:48 GMT

Transformation!

Debbi Lester — Wed, 03 Nov 2021 02:59:34 GMT

“Packaged Black” amusingly begins with works in the four niches of the gallery foyer: two tall wire mannequin torsos dressed in skirts of cut out Tyvek by Barbara Earl Thomas and two wig stands with ornate hair by Derrick Adams.

The next galleries left and right follow directly on the theme of the foyer. Barbara Thomas features a group of portraits of elegant Black men created with black cut outs against hand printed backgrounds in shades of green highlighted with orange. The men are named by a characteristic, such as “sonorous” or “divine.” A poem on the wall suggests the role of clothing and fashion “Dress up, dress down, dress to kill, dress to chill, dress for success, dress to challenge—it’s a vision, a meditation on the real and the ideal our one chance to magnify or suppress the perceived imperfection of our bodies.” Thomas comments on the crucial importance of dress for African Americans as they step out into the public eye: “ I see fashion as armor, talisman, the magic-cloak, bigger than life.”

In the opposite gallery is Derrick Adams’ video “On,” a send up of late night TV advertising. Against a background of the color bars of old fashioned televisions, performers sell something with no value, such as a box labeled “more for us” “new and improved” promising the “next level” or “extra.” Their cacophony as well as their individual hypes give us hilarious nonsense at the same time that “On” comments on the role of media and branding in colonizing our public personas.

These two rooms set the stage for the fabulous main gallery and the transformation of the white fairy tale of Cinderella into a glorious African American ensemble. As Thomas states “Cinderella is my gateway dream, the every-person’s story I’ve fashioned black.” First we see a huge, headless Cinderella dressed in a luscious gown of cut out pink Tyvek. Her train fills the center of the gallery. Her royal court includes more of Thomas’s elegant portraits of creative stars and Adams’ homage to black women based on their extraordinary hairstyles. Adams made photographs of mannequins in beauty shops in Brooklyn to which he adds intricate hair styles and mask like faces. Their intriguing individuality contradicts generic media hype.

Adjacent to the main gallery, Thomas lined an entire small gallery with cut out Tyvek floor to ceiling in what she calls “The Transformation Room.” The artist painted the room peach, immersing us in a glow of lacey cut-outs on the walls and even the ceiling. In a shrine-like niche a black and white cut out portrait suggests a young woman transforming herself at a dressing table.

On the other side of the Cinderella gallery Derrick Adams “Changing Rooms” are also about transformation. They feature an homage to Patrick Kelly (1954-1990), the brilliant Black designer who rose to eminence in Paris. Kelly’s fashions based on the vernacular clothes he observed around him going to church as he grew up. He featured patterns, and materials, especially buttons, that transformed couture fashion. In Adams’ homage, the artist creates a series of “Runway” works: mixed media collages with clothing patterns, and painted polka dots and stripes, to evoke Kelly’s transformations.

In the back room of the exhibit, the two artists collaborated on “Rotating Lantern,” a ceiling light (evoking the mirror ball of a nightclub) that projects alternate cut outs from each of their work. It suggests a party for all of these transformed people, and we are the people having fun.

Just before the entrance to “Packaged Black” is “Viewpoints: Queer Visibility,” two starkly contrasting paintings. “Boyz of the Wild” by Anthony White is a lusciously detailed expression of male desire painted with a sensuous surface created by polylactide (a thermoplastic made from renewable resources). Facing it is Dean Sameshima’s “Torso (Black on Silver)” a seemingly reductive black and white flow chart until you look more closely! The exhibition includes several poetic responses by members of the community including Jasmine Fetterman’s “A Letter Written in Queer Longing” a beautiful evocation of desire.

On the lower level of the Henry, Syrian-born artist Diana Al-Hadid’s “Archive of Longing” exhibit presents extraordinary sculptures that evoke the destruction of culture. The artist created “Blind Busts” blindfolded. The face is generic, the figure sits on a bizarre pedestal that suggests dripping mud (it is bronze). Another work, “Smoke and Mirrors” leans dangerously as it seems to disintegrate before our eyes.

At the moment the entrance is pay what you wish!

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“Packaged Black: Barbara Earl Thomas and Derrick Adams” is on view through May 1, at the Henry Art Gallery from Thursday, 10 A.M. to 7 P.M., and Friday through Sunday, 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. Visit www.henryart.org for more information.

Jansen Art Center • Lynden, Washington

Debbi Lester — Wed, 03 Nov 2021 02:34:26 GMT

In 2012, a new arts organization opened on Front Street in Lynden. Entitled the Jansen Art Center in tribute to the Eleanor and Henry Jansen Foundation, this non-profit is part art school, part exhibition space, and also recognizes the historic buildings in which it is housed. With quarterly rotations of classes, programs, and exhibitions, the organization seeks to bring to life its mission: “The Jansen Art Center creates opportunities for the community to engage in the arts.” With several exhibitions ending in November to make way for new shows, this is a busy winter for the staff of the Jansen who serve not only Lynden, but all of Whatcom County and beyond. Classes are filling up again after the challenging past years and guests are returning to the admission-free exhibitions that celebrate and highlight artists of all backgrounds.

Susan Bennerstrom’s architectural and light focused paintings are displayed in the Fine Arts Gallery on the main floor. In her statement for the show, Bennerstrom reiterates her renewed focus on light and shadow as a method for grappling with the changing world. Her paintings are like a metaphor for what many people felt and continue to feel during these times. Bennerstrom’s interiors are intimate and can be visually restricted. However, she masterfully directs light across the picture plane as if to encourage the viewer that there is something better on the other side of the door. Her paintings are a visual guide through a very real place and can recede far into the distance. In this writer’s opinion, the interiors that lead into exteriors are particularly fascinating. “Passage,” for example, illustrates not only an interesting composition, but how the artist is able to push the boundaries of a 2-dimensional space to create depth and movement. These paintings are representational, but still utilize geometry and abstraction to bring these spaces to life.

After experiencing Bennerstrom’s paintings, the guest continues through the historic space. Along the way, dozens of artworks from the Whatcom Artist Studio Tour remind the viewer of the organization’s mission. A short journey to the next floor leads to the Library Workshop, another exhibition space. In November, paintings by Antonio Gonzalez are on display. Bennestrom’s paintings are focused on light and shadow, while Gonzalez highlights the figures in his work. But the paintings are more personal and intimate than simple figures, and Gonzales wrote that his identity as a Chicano artist continues to be affected by the people and culture of the Lower Yakima Valley. The artist treats everyone with reverence, even including a nimbus, or halo, around their heads. These art historical references are continued with “Sacred Heart Guitar Man,” which draws from centuries of paintings of musicians. But unlike Pablo Picasso’s “The Old Guitarist,” Gonzalez included rays of energy and light emanating from the guitarist. These subjects are active, direct, and represented with attention. Antonio Gonzalez worked with a non-profit that assisted farm workers and their families, and he cared deeply about these individuals. Sadly, Gonzales passed away several weeks before his exhibition opened.

December brings three new Washington state-based artists to the Jansen Art Center: John Keppelman, Maxine Martell, and Chris Beaven. Keppelman and Beaven bring an almost hyper-realism to their work. Each human subject is represented in detail with confident brushstrokes and an intimate look into the scene. Both artists utilize an internal tension to their work, and it is as if the viewer has happened upon a moment before action. Maxine Martell’s recent paintings explore her identity and heritage couched in the visuals of vintage photographs. Her portraits are also a moment in time, with the subjects staring at the screen as if Martell herself is painting them directly.

The Jansen Art Center is filled with art. Display cases exhibit ceramics by students and teachers, paintings are displayed at the entry to the building, and all available wall space is used to highlight artworks by local artists. It is work exploring the building during a visit. The historic buildings were once the City Hall and Fire Hall, complete with a jail and morgue. The buildings are surprisingly sprawling and the organization appears to utilizes every square foot. There is a music practice room, ceramics, and jewelry studios, a large textile studio with windows onto Front Street, and a room for dancers to practice. This relatively young organization truly holds a wonderful resource in trust for the public. In speaking with their staff, it appears that the community is eager to visit the exhibitions, participate in classes, and attend music performances once again.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

On view through November 26, are exhibits by Susan Bennerstrom and Antonio Gonzalez. The winter shows featuring John Keppelman, Maxine Martell, and Chris Beaven, are on view from December 2 through February 25. Jansen Art Center, located at 321 Front Street in Lynden, Washington, is open Tuesday through Thursday from 11 A.M. to 7 P.M.and Saturday from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. For more information, visit www.jansenartcenter.org.

C.T. Chew's "Non Sequitur" at BONFIRE in Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Wed, 03 Nov 2021 02:27:33 GMT

Sister Mary Corita Kent's "Speak Out" Exhibit at Davidson Galleries in Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Wed, 03 Nov 2021 01:49:56 GMT

It’s not surprising that there’s a revival of interest in the life and work of Sister Mary Corita Kent (1918-1986). The only surprise is that she fell off the radar in the first place, and remains relatively unknown.

It’s not like Kent labored in obscurity. She was named woman of the year by the L.A. Times in 1966, and featured on the cover of Newsweek in 1967 (“The Nun: Going Modern”). In 1984, one of her designs sold more than 700 million copies (it was a popular, even iconic, U.S. postage “LOVE” $22 cent stamp)—but that was a special case, and anyway we are getting ahead of ourselves.

Why the revival? For one thing, a favorable zeitgeist: social justice movements like BLM and #MeToo, the resurgence of progressive and activist voices in media and politics—all these resonate with Kent’s vision and convictions. She instigated happenings and be-ins before any of these things were a thing. Her work addressed world hunger, poverty, and the war in Vietnam, but all in a spirit of playfulness and hope. She titled one of her final prints “Yes we can.” It’s hard to imagine a more inspiring model—but we don’t have to imagine her, we just have to remember her.

To this end, you can visit an exhibition at the Davidson Galleries, “Sister Mary Corita Kent: Speak Out.” This exhibit presents pieces from all phases of Kent’s varied career. Its focus is on the artist’s serigraphy, but the show also includes books she authored, and other surprises.

The artist was born Frances Kent in 1918. After high school she entered a Roman Catholic order, the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. She took the name Sister Mary Corita Kent and taught art at the Immaculate Heart College in L.A. The college was a hotbed of liberalism and the avant-garde, and Kent its liveliest live-wire. It was her teaching methods, not her artwork, that drew visits from Charles and Ray Eames, Buckminster Fuller, and John Cage. (Her classroom rules still circulate on social media, though they are sometimes attributed to Cage, not Corita Kent.)

At IMC, Kent made art communally, democratically, allowing students and peers to decide colors, to contribute passages of text she might then draw into her creations. Art making as collaboration, as connectedness. Her tool of choice, screen-printing, was not only DIY, it was all about mass production: she meant her images to spread outward, to make impressions on as many minds as possible.

The “Speak Out” show includes several of Kent’s early pictorial works from the ‘50s—she made her mark with these, but it is not the work she is most known for. Muted in color, these prints deal with medieval religious iconography. They stand in contrast to the vibrant colors and free-flowing gestures that came later, but they are remarkable statements on their own terms.

In 1961, Kent saw the first solo show of an unknown commercial artist from New York, Andy Warhol (thirty-two Campbell soup can labels at L.A.’s Ferus Gallery). Pop Art energized the art world, but for Sister Mary Corita Kent it had deeper ramifications. It seemed to fit with the radical changes rippling through her faith: the reforms of Vatican II. Suddenly the Roman Catholic mass would not be in Latin but in the vernacular. Kent was already ahead of all these upheavals and she embraced them with gusto.

Kent began to include imagery from consumer culture. She appropriated Wonder Bread’s brand elements—those colored dots—but not as a nod to Warhol and his soup cans. She was riffing on the Catholic ritual of the Eucharist, the sacramental bread. And perhaps commenting on world hunger, a pressing problem of that time. Audacious moves like these, she felt, were aligned with Vatican II directives. (Her Archbishop came to see it differently; under pressure, Kent eventually left the sisterhood and moved to Boston.)

Text became central to Kent’s work. At first, excerpts from the psalms. Soon pop lyrics of the moment appeared. “Don’t you need somebody to love?” “Let the sunshine in.” “Help!” These she juxtaposed with longer passages from weightier sources—secular writers with a strong spiritual game were favorites (Whitman, Camus, Arendt). She quoted her renegade contemporaries, like Martin Luther King Jr., and the Jesuit priest Dan Berrigan, an anti-war activist who brought some disorder to his religious order.

With her distinctive (and barely legible) handwriting, she set her texts within or between freeform shapes and brushstrokes, or scrawled within commercial letterforms ripped from billboards. (She dearly loved a good billboard.) A highlight of the “Speak Out” show is “American Sampler,” an almost purely typographic piece. The slab-serif letters in red, white, and blue ink have a menacing presence. Variations in color reveal shorter words within the larger words—“I CAN,” “SIN,” “NATION.” (Did she set the M, I, and A together as a reference to missing soldiers, or some other absence?)

Her later work took on an airier and more peaceful tone, as if a storm had passed. An example at the show is “The Common Dandelion” with its bit of Emerson “The invariable mark of wisdom Is to see the miraculous in the common.”

Kent did not confine herself to screen printing. She authored and illustrated books, and “Speak Out” includes some of these titles, including two from her “Believe” trilogy. The books may seem dated to you, unlike her prints, which appear to be ageless.

The show also includes some prominent commissions, including one of Kent’s most popular pieces, a US postage stamp, now iconic, with its six rainbow-colored strokes and the word “LOVE.” At Davidson Gallery, the stamps appear on a set of addressed envelopes—it is charming to see not just the design but the actual stamp itself in use, as designed, in all its commonplace ordinariness. Or do you see something extraordinary there, too?

The postage stamp may be Kent’s most recognizable image—the USPS issued more than 700 million of them—and it is certainly her smallest. But another contender for that “most recognizable” claim is the mural on the Boston Gas Company’s liquified natural gas storage tank, a 140-foot-tall container near downtown Boston. It is the largest copyrighted work of art on the planet, and yet it’s simplicity itself: six rainbow-colored strokes. (In this regard, the Boston Gas Company liquified natural gas storage tank and the tiny US Postal Service stamp are unified—talk about designs that scale well!) It is regrettable but understandable that the Boston Gas Company’s liquified natural gas storage tank will not be on display at the Davidson Gallery for this show. But you’ll be content to see the stamps, the books, and above all the marvelous prints of Corita Kent.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

The “Speak Out” exhibition featuring art by Sister Mary Corita Kent, is on view November 5 through December 24, Tuesday through Saturday from 11 A.M. to 5:30 P.M. at Davidson Galleries in Seattle, Washington. For more information, visit www.davidsongalleries.com.

Poetic Collaboration

Debbi Lester — Wed, 03 Nov 2021 01:31:41 GMT

in a morning conversation

at a fork

in the road

beside weeds

a large pothole

impersonating a lake

invites my eyes

to skate over

the mirror

of its reflection

a bowl of clouds

in a morning conversation

about where this day

might be heading

and later that evening

a gibbous moon

stoops down

to drink from this water

admiring its complexion

and wondering

what to do

with this silence

Alan Chong Lau

Alan Chong Lau is a poet and visual artist based in Seattle, Washington. He serves as Arts Editor for the International Examiner, a community newspaper. As a visual artist, he is represented by ArtXchange Gallery in Seattle, Washington.

John Levy is a poet and photographer. His most recent book of poetry, “Silence Like Another Name,” was published by Otata’s Bookshelf. He lives in Tucson, Arizona.

Alan Chong Lau and John Levy have published three volumes of a poetry and photography collaboration online that can be found by searching online for “eye2word.”

Estrellas del Norte al Sur (Stars from North to the South)

Debbi Lester — Tue, 31 Aug 2021 19:05:13 GMT

Fulgencio Lazo at ArtXchange Gallery • Seattle, Washington

“To be a painter is to have a responsibility to others.

Our work must have a purpose. It must give life and hope.”

—Fulgencio Lazo

In the Seattle art community, Fulgencio Lazo stands out for both his dazzling paintings and his commitment to community. Based in both Oaxaca, Mexico, where he was born, and Seattle, where he came to study art as a young man, he connects the two regions in many different ways.

Fulgencio Lazo’s new exhibition at ArtXchange Gallery, “Estrellas del Norte al Sur” (Stars from North to the South), sings from the walls. His layered imagery builds from geometric shapes and lush color that gradually emerge as specific references. Fulgencio combines the magnificent color and energy of his native Oaxaca, with abstract modernist structures and his personal iconography. Within his paintings and sculptures, he also embeds the social issues facing Mexicans today. In this exhibition, he focuses on the migration of children. The artist is honoring the challenges that children face as they emigrate at the same time that he celebrates them.

In “La Máscara de los Inocentes” (The Mask of the Innocents), we see a single figure that may be riding a scooter. The child is caught up in a swirl of circles, spheres, and spirals that both constrain the child and provide energy. The rich reds, and yellows evoke Oaxacan colors, while the blues at the bottom and top suggest the North and its cooler palette.

“Travesía con los Juguetes” (Crossing with Toys) speaks to the touching images of children grasping a single toy as they travel for hundreds of miles toward the U.S. border. In this painting we see a more somber group of three children, more gray suggests less joy. They seem to each be trapped in a separate sphere. Their movement is arrested, although the wheels and hats at the bottom suggest leftovers from a carnival.

“La Sombra de los Niños” (Shadow of Children), has a lonely leafless tree at its center. One child appears behind it, but the composition is dominated by repeated circular forms that look like curled up birds. Are these birds suggesting the ghosts of children who have died trying to cross the border? The center of the composition is dominated by blues, while the top and bottom are orange, as though the glow of Mexico is a memory.

The exhibition also features several striking sculptures suggesting the challenges of migration. In “Equilibrio Infantil” (Childhood Balance), entirely in shades of blue, a single child balances on a semi circle; around its head are circles within circles that provide the counter weight to prevent the child from falling. In the “Poder de las Manos” (The Power of Hands), we see a child with multiple small hands reaching out as it balances within a semi wheel. Lazo has frequently used wheels to suggest movement, freedom, mobility. Here the surrounding wheel in the yellows of Mexico holds the figure, but we see it is stopped by a wall like image of blue parallel bars. The child is balanced precariously between the wall and the wheel. The figure is in shades of blue, while the golden wheel of Mexico provides a foundation.

In addition to his artwork, he also has been a prime activist in our Seattle community. He helped to create Casa Latina, that excellent worker’s organization; he initiated Day of the Dead festivals at the Seattle Art Museum and elsewhere. In addition Lazo curates shows of other Latinx artists, opens his studio space to community celebrations and brings Oaxacan artists to Seattle. Lazo co-founded the annual Oaxacan celebration Guelaguetza as well as International Children’s Day.

Even in our present challenging times, Fulgencio Lazo continues to believe in the possibilities for change through art. He says, “My world, like all of humanity’s, has been upended by the global pandemic, humanitarian crises exacerbated by climate change, and massive movements for racial and social justice. This trifecta requires that we transform ourselves and our institutions. As an artist I must visually show what transformation looks like.”

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

Fulgencio Lazo’s exhibit “Estrellas del Norte al Sur” is on view through September 25, Tuesday to Saturday from 11 A.M. to 5:30 P.M., at ArtXchange Gallery, located at 512 First Avenue South in Seattle, Washington. ArtXchange Gallery is planning two community events: “Indigenous Connections” on Friday, September 10, from 5 to 7 P.M.—a multi-disciplinary evening of poetry and music exploring the themes of Fulgencio Lazo’s solo exhibition. Then, an afternoon with National Poet Laureate Juan Felipe Herrera on Saturday, September 18, from 1 to 3 P.M. Visit www.artxchange.org for more information.

Luminosity | Dan Friday, Preston Singletary, & Raven Skyriver

Debbi Lester — Tue, 31 Aug 2021 18:15:13 GMT

During the month of October, Stonington Gallery brings together three glass artists in the aptly titled show, “Luminosity”. In a region known for its remarkable glass artists, viewers are sure to recognize the work of Dan Friday (Lummi), Preston Singletary (Tlingit), and Raven Skyriver (Tlingit) through their unique artistic perspectives on the world around us and how we interact with that world. Each artist has exhibited widely and is known for key aspects of their work, and this is a special opportunity to see that work in one location.

All three artists speak about the importance of their community, and Dan Friday is no exception. Friday’s great-grandfather was Joe Hillaire, a carver who created a totem pole for the 1962 World’s Fair that eventually traveled to Japan. Friday also draws on the impact of his Aunt Fran James, a talented and revered weaver. Several of his glass baskets reference her importance and influence through the artwork titles. The brilliance of Friday’s artistic style is in his use of simplified shapes to visually translate the object’s key elements into glass. “Woven Bear” is an excellent example of this visual code. One of Friday’s most identifiable works are his mosaic baskets that mimic woven baskets. The undulating blocks of color give the feeling of vibrations, and it’s as if the basket is moving when the sun hits the glass. In addition to his work at Stonington, those interested in Friday’s work can see a wonderful selection at the Museum of Northwest Art in the exhibition, “Future Artifacts.” This exhibition also includes the works of Coast Salish weavers and celebrates their work alongside Friday’s glass sculptures.

Dan Friday gained much experience working with master glass artists, including renowned artist Preston Singletary, who in turn trained with Italian master glass artists in the European glass blowing tradition. Singletary is celebrated for how he utilizes both traditional glass blowing techniques and formline design to tell Tlingit stories and connect ideas from his cultural heritage for viewers. Singletary’s work is instantly recognizable: his expertise with formline design in combination with blown and sand-carved techniques enable the sculptures to glow from within. His traveling exhibition, “Raven and the Box of Daylight,” is due to open at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian in early 2022 and tells the story of Raven bringing light to humankind. Locally, viewers are soon to have the opportunity to see a sculpture by Singletary and David Franklin at the Climate Pledge Arena in Seattle. Singletary’s work can be found in many major museums, including the Museum of Fine Art in Boston, the Denver Art Museum, and the Seattle Art Museum. He continues to be inspired to engage the medium with new ideas, which can be seen most recently in collaborations with fellow glass artist, Raven Skyriver.

Raven Skyriver’s inspiration is rooted in marine life that he then transforms into glass through both observation and his dedication to learning about these creatures. Growing up on Lopez Island, Skyriver felt connected to aquatic ecosystems from an early age. He also trained in the Venetian glass techniques and spent time working in William Morris’ studio. Skyriver’s work is exact, and yet filled with emotion. Skyriver spends time researching the physical attributes of each animal and the ecosystems in which they live. In addition, he is also able to capture their living qualities as if they are alive and in motion. The skin of the salmon is translucent and shimmers in the light, while the diving seal tilts its head to look up at the viewer and the walrus’ rolls fold onto one another as it seems to props itself up to peer across the room. Skyriver’s collaborations with Singletary are a blend of two distinct and strong artistic visions. While Skyriver focuses on the interconnectedness of the fragile ecosystem. Singletary expertly shares Tlingit stories through his use of formline design. “Coastal,” a grey whale, is a recent example of this collaboration.

“Luminosity” is on display through October at Stonington Gallery in Pioneer Square. It is a very special opportunity to learn about glass, cultural heritage, marine ecosystems, and more. Each artist continues to push the boundaries of glass in exciting ways to communicate their artistic vision and share information to their viewers. Glass is a beloved medium, especially in the Pacific Northwest, and “Luminosity” provides an opportunity to see how three artists expertly form the material to communicate both ancestral themes and contemporary ideas.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

Through October, “Luminosity” is o view Wednesday through Saturday, from 11 A.M. to 3 P.M. at Stonington Gallery, located at 125 South Jackson Street in Seattle, Washington. For more information, visit www.stoningtongallery.com .

2 Gather @ studio e

Debbi Lester — Tue, 31 Aug 2021 18:12:53 GMT

Kurt Solmssen | The Yellow Boat

Debbi Lester — Tue, 31 Aug 2021 18:01:14 GMT

How rare it is to feel that a show of contemporary paintings can delight the most discerning art lovers you know, and please those who’d rather clean an oven than enter an art gallery. The retrospective of work by Kurt Solmssen, “The Yellow Boat” exhibit, now running through September 22 at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, inspires this unique sensation.

Stylistically, Solmssen works mostly in the plein air landscape tradition. With his commitment to realism, a strong sense of place, and a fondness for domesticity, his work brings to mind Fairfield Porter, or at times Edward Hopper minus the sadness. In a departure from this tradition, Solmssen works in large format—no easel could hold these canvases. But Solmssen also embraces abstraction and even minimalism—he cites Richard Deibenkorn and Morris Graves as influences.

In terms of place, there’s a difficulty again: Solmssen is clearly rooted in the Pacific Northwest, living and working in the southern reaches of Puget Sound, on land that’s long been in the family. But Solmssen was born and raised near Philadelphia, and he studied at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. It shows: he embodies the spirit of that region and its traditions just as much as he lets the Salish Sea inform his work.

Solmssen’s paintings seem unmoored from historical time. In the world they depict, it might be 2021 or 1921. The canvases simply don’t care about the age they are painted in. What they care about is the hour of the day, the particular day of the year, and what the weather is doing or about to do at that moment. You don’t see power lines in his landscapes, or shiny devices or appliances in his interiors. It’s an unhurried world of rowboats, cut flowers, and well-loved books. And bodies of water, of course, since Solmssen’s home is in Vaughn, Washington, which sits along a protected bay near the end of the long and secluded Case Inlet. Solmssen covers the waterfront, but from a hammock.

Bainbridge Island Museum of Art is an ideal venue for the retrospective. A typical Solmssen painting is large-scale—some diptychs measure ten feet wide—and the museum has the space these canvases need. Most of Solmssen’s work is genial and recognizably of the region, qualities that pair well with museum’s own personality and values. The museum looks out onto Eagle Harbor and its boats, not quite a Solmssenian view, but not so far off either.

BIMA Chief Curator Greg Robinson and Associate Curator Amy Sawyer have three decades of work to highlight, and they have arranged their selections artfully. Two bright canvases greet you at the ground floor reception lobby, where they establish a warm and accessible tone. The retrospective begins in earnest on the second floor, with small format paintings of the titular yellow boat on display in the Beacon gallery. The show then heads into the Rachel Feferman gallery, where you immediately encounter “Summer Bonfire.” In this picture, friends gather around a beach bonfire on a summer evening; the sunset’s faded glow is caught in a low bank of clouds to the east, and up at the darkened house a porch light is on—Solmssen deals with multiple light sources, but captures one mood.

At the spatial center of the gallery you find Solmssen’s interiors. These are peaceful scenes of family members reading or sleeping. Here the palette is subdued and the sunlight softened. (These folks love books: if they aren’t reading one, they are posing beside or below a substantial bookshelf.) The hygge is strong in these scenes, and yet the paint and the brushwork is restless and unresolved.

Next comes paintings centered on the yellow boat. It’s the star of the show, or at least its anchoring motif. You may have spotted the boat in the background of other paintings; here the boat is ready for its close up. (Some of the paintings can’t include the boat, because they are scenes viewed from the boat.) One thing about this vessel: it is always empty, and you might wonder why that is. But in a sense the boat is occupied after all—by its oars. They function like limbs that give the boat a kind of body language. Solmssen is also playful with the boat’s reflection, and with its shadow (which falls sometimes on the bottom of the bay).

The rowboat may or may not be the highlight of the show for you, but the show is not over. Continue on to the deepest part of the gallery where you find Solmssen’s most abstract pieces. Here are chilly scenes of winter, of mornings so dense with fog that the world is formless and sunless; the paint dissolves distinctions between land and water, figure and ground. The rain and snow in which they were painted are likely mixed in with the pigments. The contrast with the preceding work is startling, an unexpected coda in a minor key. These monochromatic works may prompt you to circle back through everything you’ve already seen with renewed appreciation for the blessings of color and light.

It was on a densely foggy morning 60 years ago or more that Solmssen’s grandfather lost his rowboat, his prized possession. Or at least lost sight of it for a long time, until the weather cleared. When the rowboat turned up again, he hit upon a creative solution: paint the boat a bright yellow. Make it brightly visible.

See how well the plan worked out, how visible the boat has become, and how well seen. The Solmssen family has long had a way with color.

Tom McDonald

Tom McDonald is a writer and musician living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.

“The Yellow Boat” exhibit is on view daily from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. at Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, located at 550 Winslow Way East on Bainbridge Island, Washington. For more information, visit www.biartmuseum.org.

Black Refractions at the Frye Art Museum

Debbi Lester — Fri, 02 Jul 2021 18:02:39 GMT

We are so fortunate to have “Black Refractions: Highlights from The Studio Museum in Harlem” at the Frye Art Museum (until August 15). Delayed for a year by the pandemic, we can now enjoy this selection of world-class artworks from The Studio Museum in Harlem’s outstanding collection. Founded in the watershed year of 1968 by artists, activists, and philanthropists, The Studio Museum’s mission is to provide a place for “artists of African descent locally, nationally, and internationally.” It has long been an anchor of culture of the African diaspora, led by a succession of dynamic curators and directors.

In the first gallery a selection of work by the Founders of the museum introduces the range of approaches seen in “Black Refractions:” realism in Jacob Lawrence, figurative collage by Romare Bearden, and abstraction by Norman Lewis. His Blue and Boogie, named after a famous jazz piece by Dizzie Gillepsie and Frank Paparelli, also points to another theme that permeates the exhibition—music.

In the next gallery, Benny Andrews’ “Composition (Study for Trash)” immerses us in a strange sight: the Statue of Liberty, flaming torch aloft, crosses her legs sitting atop a globe held up by headless white man wearing only boots. In a United States shaped gap below her, men are hauling on a load we can’t see. One of many studies for the mural Trash, one panel of Andrews’ twelve-part iconic and sardonic “Bicentennial Series” of the early 1970s, it immediately tells us of both the radical attitudes of the artist, and the activist roots of The Studio Museum itself. Benny Andrews co-founded the Black Emergency Cultural Coalition in response to the Metropolitan Museum exhibition “Harlem on My Mind,” of 1968 which, astoundingly, completely excluded Black artists.

Not far away Elizabeth Catlett’s life size mahogany Mother and Child, instills immense tenderness into this familiar subject. In stark contrast, Melvin Edwards welded steel “Cotton Hangup” menacingly hangs from the ceiling nearby.

The next section, “Abstraction,“ highlights that the museum’s early years included the peak years of abstraction in the arts, and Black artists made it their own. Such well known artists as the sculptor Richard Hunt, and painters William T. Williams, Charles Alston, Sam Gilliam, and Jack Whitten dazzle us with their complexity and subtlety.

“Framing Blackness,” opens with a vivid painting by Henry Taylor of the 1948 Olympic gold medal high jumper Alice Coachman leaping over a high bar (she broke the record at five feet six and a half inches. The painting also subtly refers to overcoming barriers for all Blacks. Among other well-known artists here are Kerry James Marshall, Lorna Simpson, Carrie Mae Weems, Barkley Hendricks and Fred Wilson.

“Their Own Harlems” includes heavy hitters like Lorraine O’Grady, Chris Ofili, Willie Cole, Betye Saar, and Faith Ringgold. Ringgold’s early quilt, a final collaboration with her mother, celebrates the diversity of Harlem. Dawoud Bey’s small 1970s photographs of ordinary people in Harlem build on the work of the famous Harlem photographer James Van Der Zee (also included here), and lead directly to his major works today (He just had a one person exhibition at the Whitney Museum).

The next gallery honors a series of Studio Museum shows known as the “F” shows “Freestyle” (2001), “Frequency” (2005–06), “Flow” (2008),” Fore” (2012–13), and “Fictions” (2017–18).” Their purpose was to reach out to young artists of African and Latin American descent. The inclusion of diaspora artists emphasizes the museum’s commitment to reach into the world, even as it is embedded in its own geography. Nigerian Otobong Nkanga’s small watercolor “House Boy” of a headless child with multiple arms each pursuing a mundane chore, contains a world of references.

The last gallery “Artist in Residence,” features artists who have worked at the Studio Museum from the early 1970s up to the present, a concept pioneered by the abstract artist William T. Williams. The museum’s physical location in the heart of Harlem, the epicenter of Black culture for decades, led artists to simply look out the window or walk the streets for material for their paintings. One of my favorites is Jordan Casteel’s “Kevin the Kiteman.”

Many current superstars held residences at the Museum including Kehinde Wiley, Titus Kaphar and Mickalene Thomas (All of these artists have shown at the Seattle Art Museum). Chakaia Booker’s extraordinary sculpture of rubber tires evokes black hair with the double take title “Repugnant Rapunzel (Let Down Your Hair).”

The fascinatingly complex Kenyan Wangechi Mutu has a small bronze sculpture of a “nguava,” a mythical creature, and a large intricate watercolor/collage, “Magnificent Monkey-Ass Lies.”

Take a side trip to see her life-size bronze sculpture, “The NewOnes, will free Us: The Seated IV” at the University of Washington on West Stevens Way just east of 15th Avenue NE.

African American and diaspora artists have come a long way since the protests of “Harlem on My Mind.” This exhibition demonstrates the breadth, variety, and brilliance of some of those artists from The Studio Museum’s collection.

Don’t miss it!

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“Black Refractions” is on view Thursday through Sunday from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. until August 15 at the Frye Art Museum located at 704 Terry Avenue in Seattle, Washington. For more information and to reserve a timed ticket, visit www.fryemuseum.org.

Michael Spafford & Spike Mafford: Collaborations 2001-2021

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Jul 2021 18:02:58 GMT

What does a successful collaboration require? How can an epic and ancient tale be combined with a moment captured in the present? The upcoming exhibition at Perry and Carlson in Mount Vernon addresses these questions and more. The show provides guests with an opportunity to experience a collaboration by two well-known Northwest artists working in drastically different media: Michael Spafford and Spike Mafford. From 2000 to 2021, these artists went on an adventure of collaboration. To many, photography and painting have almost no attributes in common, and yet these artists decided to combine their talents to connect Spafford’s epic masterpieces with Mafford’s ability to capture the moment.

Michael Spafford’s work is iconic and instantly recognizable, especially in the Northwest. Rooted in Greco-Roman epics and mythology, his work utilizes ancient themes to comment on issues in our contemporary society. Often the fundamental theme is masculinity, or perhaps how our idea of masculinity has influenced popular thought about war, sex, and the concept of achievement through herculean effort. But Spafford describes himself first and foremost a formalist, meaning that the formal qualities of his work are his focus. Spafford achieves his aesthetic goals through line, composition, color, shape, and balance, not through the content of his work. This is one reason this collaboration is so interesting.

In contrast to Spafford, Spike Mafford’s photography focuses on the real and the physical. In fact, the differences between their chosen mediums are a topic of conversation between the father and son pair. The methodology of painting is inherently different than photography. The evidence left by the artist’s hand and how each medium communicates ideas are also different. But like Spafford, Mafford focuses on the compositions in his photographs. He can capture a specific moment in time while also alluding to the unknown outside the borders of the picture plane. The dynamic and mysterious images often comment on the passage of time and nostalgia; two fascinating themes in connection with mythology.

In 2000, the two artists were awarded a grant from the Behnke Foundation which provided them the opportunity to collaborate. The pair and their families went on an adventure to Greece to find the sites of the labors of Hercules, an ancient epic that is also one of Spafford’s main subjects. In essence, Hercules must undertake twelve labors that are seemingly impossible, including kidnapping Cerberus and defeating the Lernaean Hydra. Finding the sites was not easy. According to Mafford, the artists used both ancient and contemporary maps to identify possible locations. After asking a few locals, they finally found the site of each labor, which Mafford then photographed to capture the landscape as a background for Spafford. Back at the studio, Spafford painting the characters on the large photographs.

It is interesting to note that the act of finding the locations, photographing them, and then painting over the photographs is epic. Like a work of performance art, the artists journeyed to each site and then had the monumental task of blending their two mediums to convey an ancient story. After taking the time to identify the physical locations, Spafford then painted on the photographs, a challenging task. The resulting artworks are gestural yet removed, timeless but also a moment in an ever-changing landscape. One aspect that this viewer finds very fascinating is the juxtaposition of perspective in the work. Spafford’s compositions are composed of minimal and direct shapes and lines, while Mafford’s photographs portray a vast landscape that the viewer imagines extends far beyond the frame. This tension makes the collaborations even more dynamic, as there is an inherent push and pull occurring throughout.

In addition to the labors of Hercules, the pair also revisited another Spafford series: “The Swimmers.” Like Hercules, Olympic swimmers vanquish natural elements to obtain victory and then are celebrated for their achievements. Photographs of water are overlayed with black paint that must have been challenging to channel on the slippery surface. All these artworks provide a unique opportunity for the viewer to gain insight into various artistic practices. There is something compelling about reducing an epic to its visual, formal qualities and then placing that composition on top of a photograph of the physical backdrop. This artistic test raises numerous questions about abstraction, realism, the visual passage of time, and how concepts are communicated in art. It is certainly a collaboration that should not be missed.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Michael Spafford & Michael Spafford: Collaborations 2001-2021” opens Saturday, August 7, 2-5 P.M. at Perry and Carlson located at 504 South 1st Street in Mount Vernon, Washington. Visit www.perryandcarlson.com for more information.

Salty Dog Studios | Modern Glaze by Edie Everett

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Jul 2021 18:00:04 GMT

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Jul 2021 17:43:36 GMT

Where I Am. Now.

Even if I consider picking dead leaves off potted succulents “gardening” these days, I have a friend who does not. “Succulents hardly qualify,” she says. “They need no maintenance whatsoever.”

To which I reply, “Exactly.”

She is one of my friends, and I have a few, who has sizeable grounds and likes to tease me about calling my tiny balcony a garden. To her, a huge house and garden means she has arrived. But I am lost in all that space.

“Like plants,” I say, “we tend to gravitate toward people who don’t give us a hard time.” She frowns, but her eyes smile.

She came by to drive me, along with three others, up to Skagit Valley. Just the thought of traveling to farm country cancels every guilty thought I have about playing hooky on a weekday. Sometimes I wonder how such guilt is even possible.

I love the idea of walking without a mask through fields far from anyone, not to mention how five of us will fit into a Mazda. “You’re riding shotgun,” she says, and off we go.

No sooner are we on the freeway when one of us lights up a little, as she put it, “non-habit-forming inducement.”

“But you smoke that stuff every day,” I say.

“Your point being?”

“No point.”

“It’s not like I’m addicted.”

Fortunately, we all laugh. None of us really wants to be reminded of ourselves, we simply want to be ourselves. We are middle-aged women and thank goodness we have middle-aged acceptance of our vices.

Of which there are a few.

Farmland, now on both sides of the freeway, makes me remember a time, early into my marriage, when I planted a container of Night Blooming Jasmine against my husband’s advice. I thought that if I placed it close enough to the house it would absorb the reflected heat and eventually trellis over the doorway. “There are pictures,” I said, handing him a magazine. “Look.” He thumbed through the pages, shaking his head.

The next day I bought what he called my “potted pipe dream.” It lasted right up till our first freeze. Undaunted, I bought more and more plants, more and more seeds. I scattered them everywhere because this is how I like to spread seeds, a little recklessly.

I think of that haphazard garden often. Really, the memory of living in that house is nothing without that garden.

I recall something else my husband said, how some women are turned on by strong abs, others by wealth and power, and others by seeds sold in small packets. It will never be even remotely possible that I don’t remember him saying that.

I suppose I thought of my garden in the same way I thought of my marriage at the time: in its possibility, I’d find protection. That garden was a metaphor for a lot of of my hopes, discoveries, and disappointments. But I hardly saw it like that. I was still so blasé about what nature has to teach us.

One last thought: Gardening taught me a lot about possibilities.

Possibilities.

There it is again. That word.

And why, in La Conner, I buy a succulent called Moon Glow. The sign says the plant is well-suited for small spaces in that it likes to spread out but is not aggressive.

I read that sign again.

I had been swept back in time for the last forty minutes. I thought the best choice would be to choose the present. Where I am. Now.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli, author, speaker, and master dance teacher, published her first novel, The Star Struck Dance Studio of Yucca Springs, in 2019. Her newest collection of essays, Every Little Thing, has been nominated for a Northwest Book Award and is to be released in September. This column is an excerpt from this collection. For more information about her and her work, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

"W(h)ither The Garden" Exhibit by Sarah Jones at Bitter Co. in Mount Vernon, Washington

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Jul 2021 17:22:02 GMT

As art venues open and restrictions are lifted, there are many exciting art events in the area visit. If you live in Western Washington and want to take a road trip in the beautiful Pacific Northwest summer, please consider making Skagit County that destination. There are several art events that deserve your time and attention. One such art experience is a quick drive across the river from downtown Mount Vernon. Here you find the Bitters Co. barn where Sarah Jones’ installation, “W(h)ither The Garden” is being exhibited. The title of the show is inspired by an essay about gardening during times of war by English author Vita Sakville-West and is meant to evoke both sense of loss and hope during times of deterioration. A historic barn in the pastoral Skagit Valley creates the perfect setting for Jones’ installation.

Bitters Co. is a design and product development company based in Skagit Valley. Amy and Katie Carson are sisters who founded the company to share their appreciation of craft from around the world. In their words, “Located in rural Skagit Valley the spacious, unobstructed hay loft of our 1900’s barn is a welcoming space for art in its many forms; installation, two dimensional, culinary, musical, performance, and literary. We call it a flex space for promotion of the arts.” And from July 17-August 14, “W(h)ither The Garden,” an installation by artist Sarah Jones, is on display in the loft. The installation includes two key components: mixed media and plant parts on paper and silk banners that stretch from ceiling to floor. Both aspects of the installation feature three main themes of the artist’s body of work: botanicals, the documentation of loss that is often seen or referenced through memento mori imagery, and the invisible. These ideas come together to create a powerful statement about climate change and how people can emotionally move through the loss.

The works on paper are reminiscent of early botanical drawings. An attempt to document newly discovered plants and animals, these drawings blended scientific observation with artistic expression. However, Jones’ works take on a different meaning. A mix of dried and pressed plant specimens, cut-outs of plants in paper, drawings, and pieces of tape used to adhere the materials, these works take on a more documentational quality than some early botanical images. In a conversation with the artist, Jones described these as archival and a way for her to detail loss. There is beauty in this work; the materials are dissected and then rearranged in various scenes and compositions. But there is also something uncomfortable or unsettling about how these once living things were plucked from the land. The viewer is reminded that these beautiful objects are now dead. Once living and flourishing, they are now used to archive a species or type of plant. Maybe this is a way for Jones to help the viewer mourn the loss that is already occurring.

The suspended banners are made of white silk with white botanical appliqués and pair nicely with the works on paper. This combination results in a show that is quite experiential and immersive. Imagine walking up the stairs to a loft in a barn: your vision is the first to enter the space, which is filled with white, flowing banners. The interior space becomes a white meadow moving with the wind blowing in from the outside. The scene is intended to be comforting and familiar, like curtains on a windy summer day. However, there is still an undercurrent of loss in the work. The banners are suspended to occupy a liminal space in the loft. Not quite grounded, they aren’t on the same plane as the viewer. At the same time, the scene is both sad and comforting as if Jones is assisting the viewer through the process of grief.

According to Jones, we can create meaning out of loss. In her statement for the show, she writes about the importance of the Skagit Valley and how the act of traveling to such a serene and nostalgic place helps guide the viewer through this experience. The pastoral, the nostalgic, the closeness of the water, all these factors create an atmosphere for the viewer to encounter this challenging message. The relics created by Jones are a contemporary memento mori, a soothing reminder that the meadow is withering. Wither to the garden to experience both its beauty and its loss. This play on words poetically summarizes the artist’s thesis and bids the viewers to enter the meadow.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“W(h)ither The Garden” opens Saturday, July 17, from 12-3 P.M. at Bitters Co. Barn located at 14034 Calhoun Road in Mount Vernon, Washington. The exhibit is on view Thursday through Monday from 12-4 P.M. For more information call (360) 466-3550 or email studio@bittersco.com.

Seattle Deconstructed Art Fair

Debbi Lester — Wed, 30 Jun 2021 19:32:22 GMT

Back by popular demand, the Seattle Deconstructed Art Fair returns this summer! In August, come celebrate the resilience of visual arts in Seattle with over 40 galleries, non-profit organizations and art institutions participating in this month-long event.

Through the collaborative efforts of the gallery community, the Seattle Deconstructed Art Fair aims to raise awareness of the existing vibrant arts and culture available in the area, celebrate the re-opening and recovery of our neighborhoods, and invigorate the cultural capital of our city in this important time. Participants include members of the Seattle Art Dealers Association: Davidson Galleries, Foster/White Gallery, Patricia Rovzar Gallery, Greg Kucera Gallery, Traver Gallery, Harris/Harvey Gallery, Gallery IMA, and Linda Hodges Gallery, along with J. Rinehart Gallery, Zinc Contemporary, Gray Sky Gallery, Columbia City Gallery, Wa Na Wari, Method Gallery, Roq La Rue, i.e. gallery, Smith & Vallee Gallery, and many more.

Art enthusiasts and collectors are invited to view all Seattle Deconstructed Art Fair exhibitions online at www.seattledeconstructedartfair.com and in person at individual gallery locations. Check out the consolidated calendar of activities—featuring in person exhibition openings, artist meet & greets, and other events throughout the whole month.

Viewers are invited to use the website portal to see the online map of participating galleries, explore venue websites, plan visits, and learn more about this vibrant arts community.

Though COVID restrictions may be lifted, individual art venues might still have requirements for wearing masks and may still have other protocols in place. Visitors are asked to respect these requirements as we all work to get our community fully vaccinated.

The Seattle Deconstructed Art Fair is made possible through the support of the Seattle Art Dealers Association.

Jacob Lawrence and Barbara Earl Thomas Exhibits at the Seattle Art Museum

Debbi Lester — Tue, 04 May 2021 16:30:04 GMT

We are so fortunate in Seattle to have the only West Coast showing of Jacob Lawrence’s “The American Struggle,” a series of 30 panels created in the mid 1950s that re-think American history and American struggle. What could be more timely as we face so many struggles today.

Although Lawrence includes some familiar figures, such as Paul Revere, or well-known events, such as the Boston Tea Party, his interpretation is so original, that we understand these events entirely differently. In the case of Paul Revere he is shown almost in the dark, with a black cloak, suggesting the secret nature of his ride, a stark contrast to the famous moonlight aerial view by Grant Wood. The insurgents at the Boston Tea Party are dressed as Mohawk Indians, factually true, but not much emphasized. In other words, if they are caught the Indians get blamed. We see Sacajawea, the famous Native who was the only woman on the Lewis and Clark expedition, reuniting with her brother in a stunning juxtaposition of the drab explorers and the colorful robes of the Natives.

Throughout we see the meaninglessness of conflict, the sacrifice of those who fight, and the huge efforts of ordinary workers, as in the building of the Erie Canal. The movement West is seen with two oxen weighted down almost to the ground, as a metaphor for the struggle.

The dynamic compositions express struggle in every line. Most of us are familiar with Lawrence’s more realistic “Migration of the Negro,” 1940-41. “The American Struggle” still has the same small format, but the thrusting diagonals and dramatic spaces convey the meaning of each event. The color also creates rhythms and relationships. Clearly Lawrence absorbed the principles of the then-dominant Abstract Expressionists, but wedded abstraction to the realities of the bloody struggle for democracy.

As Lawrence worked on “Struggle,“ the 1954 Civil Rights Act banning segregation in public institutions passed in May, Emmett Till was lynched in August 1955 and Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat in December 1955. In the same years, government persecution was rampant as McCarthy saw communists everywhere. The FBI described Lawrence himself as “subversive” because he “propagandized alleged acts of racial discrimination of Negroes.”

Lawrence planned to continue through the Civil War and the Industrial Revolution up to 1908 when, as he specifies, “the American fleet sailed around the world.” But he created only half of the planned sixty works, stopping with the beginning of the movement West in 1817. He suspended work on the historical study of struggle in 1956, immersed in contemporary events, as well as his own financial and professional disruptions. He never completed the second thirty works, instead moving to the contemporary Civil Rights movement and other topics.

The series of 30 paintings have not been shown together since 1958: they were scattered for decades among private collectors. But as the finally re-assembled series went on exhibit last year, two more missing panels were discovered, Panel 16 “There are combustibles in every state that a spark might set fire to – Washington 26 December 1786” and Panel 28 “Immigrants Admitted from All Countries: 1820-1840,” both incredibly timely topics today.

The “American Struggle” also includes provocative work by three contemporary artists, Bethany Collins, Hank Willis Thomas, and Derrick Adams, each exploring aspects of struggle through contemporary media and perspectives.

At the Seattle Art Museum we have the unique opportunity to go from Lawrence’s “Struggle” to Barbara Earl Thomas’s “The Geography of Innocence.” It offers a perfect partner and contrast to the bloody confrontations of “Struggle.” Thomas gives us instead an homage to the innocence of black children, who stand threatened and accused by their very existence. The shimmering installation with images of black children in shrine-like niches invokes a spiritual environment that encourages awareness of the fragility of black lives. The children are people whom Barbara Earl Thomas knows personally, based on photographs, subtly elaborated with cultural references. As she says “the face of the dark child…is often misread as older and wiser than his years or misinterpreted as hostile, angry, and cunning. With this work I offer an alternative view, one that brings the dark child into a definition of the every-child. I put my children in stances where each face might be considered an unwritten slate.”

Barbara Earl Thomas was Jacob Lawrence’s student when he taught at the University of Washington. The connection between these two artists is thrilling.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“Jacob Lawrence: The American Struggle” and “Barbara Earl Thomas: The Geography of Innocence” are on view at the Seattle Art Museum located at 1300 First Avenue in Seattle, Washington. For more information, visit www.seattleartmuseum.org.

Kimberly Trowbridge: Into the Garden

Debbi Lester — Tue, 04 May 2021 16:10:01 GMT

“When we enter the Garden

the boundaries of the self are blurred.

When we enter the Garden

we enter an erotics of perception.”

— Kimberly Trowbridge

What does it mean to lose oneself in a landscape? Maybe it’s your shadow joining the others in the forest, or your fingers brushing the fronds of a fern, or even your reflection in the water. How do you experience time, space, light, or darkness in such a situation? Would you feel out of space and time, perhaps on the threshold from one moment or plane to the next? Kimberly Trowbridge’s time at Bloedel Reserve and the resulting paintings are a visual manifestation of her experiences and observations about light and dark, time and moments, and space and observations. The paintings are an exploration of perception and self; each captured from either a specific moment, series of moments, or reality.

From 2018 to 2020, Kimberly Trowbridge was a Creative Fellow at the Bloedel Reserve, a public garden and preserve located on Bainbridge Island. The Bloedel Reserve residency program seeks to provide artists with the opportunity to connect with the environment and nurture creative thinking through experiences with nature. Trowbridge’s paintings focus on four areas of the reserve: Camellia Trail, Meadow Trail, Moss Garden, and the Reflection Pond. Each area provides the artist with an opportunity to develop a new way of seeing the world and method for translating that into paint on canvas.

Immediately upon entering the exhibition, the viewer is connected to Trowbridge through physical objects. Her easel, table, paints, and brushes are all on display for guests. Even her apron is draped over a stool as if to signify she just left the scene. From this vantage point the sightlines from the entrance of the gallery place a strong emphasis on tone, time, and light. Trowbridge writes that how she perceived light and shapes in the twilight hours deeply impacted her work. The three large paintings to the left of the entrance are an example of that heightened perception. First, “Light in the Forest (Annunciation)” illustrates the changing light beaming through the branches onto the forest floor below. Next, “Camellia Walk (IV)” portrays the tones that Trowbridge writes about in her wall text. But is also begs the question: is this one moment in time or one figure throughout time? Lastly, “Theater of Destruction” completes the informal triptych. Is the light coming or leaving the forest? It is hard to tell, but the leaves, meandering branches, and fallen tree remain either stuck in time or timeless.

The paintings mentioned previously are all observations from the Camellia and Meadow Trails, but Trowbridge also places emphasis on both the Reflection Pond and Moss Garden. In fact, the first painting in the large gallery focuses on the Reflection Pond. “Reflection Pond Persephone I,” is almost divided evenly between physical objects and their reflection in the water below. Gestural strokes of blue and green paint activate the canvas. The painting is laid out in a grid, but the paint often spills from one cell to another as if to show the viewer that the planes are overlapping and not as structured as once thought. The primary character in Trowbridge’s paintings of the pond is Persephone. In Greek mythology, Persephone was abducted by Hades and forced to spend part of the year (the winter) in the Underworld. However, as a goddess of nature she could leave for most of the year and is often associated with the spring season. It makes sense that Trowbridge uses this character to demonstrate this place as one of rebirth, transformation, and passage.

It would be easy to continue writing about Trowbridge’s use of composition, narrative, and the conceptual depth of this new body of work. However, it would be an error not to comment on the use of color in the paintings, especially the vibrant earth tones. When asked about what they appreciated most about the exhibition, the gallery attendant commented, “The greens.” Spend time admiring and getting lost in the colors of “Nymph and Skunk Cabbage,” for example, from the Moss Garden. Each curve of the leaf generates a new color, either highlighted by the sun or hidden in shadow.

“In the Garden” has been extended through June 27, and there are several other exhibitions on display at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art as well. Enjoy Kimberly Trowbridge’s exploration of the consciousness through her direct observations of nature. And maybe, the viewer will notice something new on their next visit environmental exploration.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Kimberly Trowbridge: In the Garden” is on view through June 27, at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, located at 550 Winslow Way East on Bainbridge Island, Washington and open daily from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. Visit www.biartmuseum.org for more information.

Non Local: Bob Lucas at the Jeffrey Moose Gallery on Bainbridge Island, Washington

Debbi Lester — Tue, 04 May 2021 15:59:52 GMT

Bob Lucas’ latest show presents his solo works as well as collaborations with artists Tim Beckstrom and Gary Nicholson.

Once again Lucas presents us with an oeuvre that carries us through and beyond the personal into a paradigm of universal expression that is both archetypal and dreamlike. If one could ask for anything more from an artist, I don’t know what that would be.

Lucas’ works are multi-media creations as befits an expression that seeks to engage us on a multitude of levels. They stand like holograms of the human spirit, captured by one who dives deep within the psyche to document the rich yet dark foundational substrata upon whose surface our day to day cares seem to float like the random sparkles on a wind swept sea.

Lucas’ opening work is called “Show Statement Portrait” which is reminiscent of the first line of the Tao Te Ching, “The Tao that can be named is not the true Tao.” A glass enameled and fused image of Lucas enigmatically pointing to, or maybe holding up, an ear surrounded by some sort of wavelike pattern, (sound waves or the Higgs field), that itself occludes a hand written “show statement” from the past. This piece is indicative of his trust in his own intuitive process. For Bob Lucas every foray into the morass of art making results in a self portrait. But Lucas’ self portraits, and thus his work, occlude the rationalizations required by the ego so that he may reveal a deeper, hidden self.

Lucas’ “Family Portrait” from the collection of Jeffrey Moose, is a waking portal into the realm of dream. To try and interpret this piece is to miss its impact completely. An army of psychologists, philosophers, clergy, and scientists could wax poetical ad nauseam yet still miss the heart of this art.

It is a dream experience made manifest in space and time. In this, and other of his works, Lucas shows us that our dream world and our waking world aren’t just intricately connected, they are one.

In his piece “Lights Over Vicksburg,” Lucas’ internal compass steers him to combine historical “events” with “dreamlike” power. The incongruity of the brutality of actual war making (the Civil War) and the imaginary power of space aliens being involved in that war could not portray the polarity of the human psyche in a form that reveals more chiaroscuro than this.

Lucas’ piece, “3D Cube,” is a masterwork of the integration of the material and the ethereal. The profundity of its simplicity leaves us wondering whether we can ever really see the truth behind the appearances.

Every piece in this show is a tour de force, though easily passed over by the worshipers of superficiality, their power is fed by nature itself. And so lastly, but not in the least, I want to mention Lucas’ piece “Dis Coagulation,” a piece of art where the dream world meets the devil. Nightmares are real and events like Dachau and Dresden, Stalingrad and slavery meet. Lucas is willing to suffer in order to bring these images to consciousness, not as propaganda but as art. Small, easily ignored yet powerfully manifest in space and time. Many are called to witness but few will leave a trace. Bob Lucas is one of the few.

Robert Carlson

Robert Carlson is an artist, glass workshop teacher, and arts writer who lives on Bainbridge Island, Washington. To view his glass sculpture visit www.robertcarlson.net.

“Non Local” is on view through the end of May from Tuesday through Friday from 10 A.M. to 5:30 P.M. and Saturday from 11 A.M. to 6 P.M. at Jeffrey Moose Gallery, located at 181 Winslow Way East, Suite F on Bainbridge Island, Washington. The gallery hosts a Zoom session with Lucas on Friday, May 7, from 6:30-7:30 P.M. For more information, visit www.jeffreymoosegallery.com.

Anatomy of a Collection: Recent Acquisitions & Promised Gifts

Debbi Lester — Mon, 01 Mar 2021 19:18:44 GMT

How are museums using this challenging time to analyze and review their collections? With many museums closed to the public and traveling exhibitions on pause, some museums are using this time to look at their collection with renewed vision. Are key artists missing from the collection? How can the museum’s collection represent more diverse voices and perspectives? What is working in the collection, and what is not? Museum collections are constantly being reviewed and this is precisely the exercise that many museums are undertaking during this time. Whatcom Museum’s exhibition, “Anatomy of a Collection: Recent Acquisitions and Promised Gifts,” is both a celebration of the 10-year anniversary of the opening of the Lightcatcher building and a testament to the many long-standing relationships between the museum, artists, and art patrons.

The exhibition includes both artworks that are recent acquisitions to the museum but also pieces that are promised gifts by art collectors and museum supporters. The exhibit text also seeks to explain the “how?” and “why?” behind artwork acquisitions and the various collecting goals of the institution. Visitors will notice that the exhibition includes a multitude of different mediums, sizes, and spans nearly 100 years. A sculpture of a bird by beloved Northwest artist Philip McCracken greets visitors up on entry and to the viewer’s left is an impressive triptych by Gregory Amenoff. The burst of color exemplified in the artworks by Amenoff, Mary Henry, and Cris Bruch are a delightful re-entry into a physical art exhibition after months of viewing shows online.

The exhibition is organized in several categories, including medium, geography, style, and time period. However, the artwork placement feels intuitive and the groupings of artworks bring many questions to mind. The inclusion of Clayton James was an unexpected, but delightful, surprise; almost like seeing a long-time friend. James studied at the Rhode Island School of Design and was later relocated to a camp for conscientious objectors in Oregon during World War II. Both James and his wife Barbara Straker James were friends with Morris Graves and they spent many years in La Conner, Washington. Three of Clayton’s landscape paintings are on display. James stopped making sculpture and turned to painting, but thankfully the museum also chose to exhibit two of his ceramics as well. Neither are titled or dated, but the work truly speaks for itself. Both are in James’ iconic style: white finish and smooth, organic forms.

Around the corner from James’ sculptures is another area dedicated to other Northwest artists. A suspended painting by Mark Tobey shows off both sides of the canvas. The paintings are a wonderful example of Tobey’s white writing. Nearby are three photographs by Mary Randlett, including a portrait of Jacob Lawrence in his studio. One of Lawrence’s hand rests on his hip while the other grasps an artwork that is resting on the ground. The viewer can imagine that Randlett and Lawrence are conversing as friends and this photograph captures a moment during their conversation. The other two photographs demonstrate Randlett’s mastery of capturing movement and light. “Palouse Falls Gorge” is a look into a gorge and the light beautifully reflects off the rocks. The other, “Falling Waters (after a Neil Meitzler Painting)” is a moment in time as a waterfall careens down the cliff onto the rocks below. A guest familiar with Neil Meitzler will immediately recognize the similarities. One artist capturing the falling water with a camera and the other painting the rush of movement with a brush.

Around the corner from the Tobey paintings are several prints. All are excellent examples of a variety of printmaking methods, but guests may be surprised to encounter a print by Käthe Kollwitz. The artwork is from 1899 and titled “Uprising (Aufruhr)”. The print features a group of people marching in unison with a floating figure above them, appearing to encourage them to keep moving forward. The viewer can assume that they are member of the working class, a group that was often a subject for Kollwitz. The print demonstrates the artist’s ability to express the impact of poverty and war on the working class.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Anatomy of a Collection” is one of three exhibitions currently on view at the Lightcatcher building. “Conversations Between Collections: The Smithsonian American Art Museum and the Whatcom Museum” and “People of the Sea and Cedar: A Journey Through the Tribal Cultures and History of the Northwest Coast” are also on display. While the museum is not open to the public, they are allowing individuals to make private gallery tours. Whatcom Museum’s Lightcatcher Building, located at 250 Flora Street in Bellingham, Washington. Visit the museum’s website www.whatcommuseum.org to learn more about their COVID updates and to sign up for a private appointment.

Art & Love Abides

Debbi Lester — Fri, 01 Jan 2021 00:32:58 GMT

Several things struck me deeply while producing this January/February issue of Art Access. Remembering all the challenges faced these past nine months, filled me with deep gratitude to be able to continue to do what I love—make this publication. For nearly three decades, it has been wonderful to work with artists, poets, writers, gallery owners, curators, museum staff, businesses, and publishing houses. All the encouragement, participation, and financial support have made this publication possible. Thank you dearly.

Kirkland Arts Center’s listing from Lauren Lyddon reflects this moment in time perfectly:

“Art is many things to many people: an emotional outlet, an intellectual exercise, a political statement, a meditation, a cry for help, or an inquiry into the nature of being. This year we have been witnesses to history; we have had to adapt to survive. Artists have seen exhibitions and classes canceled, but still art abides.”

Finally, the image of beloveds, jeweler Steph Farber of LeRoy Jewelers and The Art Stop Gallery owner Phyllis Harrison, warms my heart. How wonderful that this husband and wife team continues to work together in their shared jewelery showroom and art storefront in Tacoma, Washington.

Blessed are we that art and love abides. Wishing you health, creativity, and happiness.

Debbi Lester

Art Access Publisher

Kris Ekstrand & Andrew Vallee at Smith & Vallee Gallery in Edison, Washington

Debbi Lester — Fri, 01 Jan 2021 00:17:49 GMT

Artists have lauded and sought out the beauty of Skagit Valley for generations. There is something about the color that is transformed by the sun shining through fog and in-between the hills that provides a stunning palette for artists and viewers alike. As I sit in Edison it is currently dark, but I can still see the outline of the hills as they are wrapped in the evening fog. Since I have just come from the studios of Andrew Vallee and Kris Ekstrand, my eyes and ears are drawn to the landscape. I can hear a snow goose landing in the slough nearby and the shapes of the landscape have a painterly quality. It is likely that I am looking at the same scene that Kris can see from her studio window, or that I am sitting near where Andrew may have salvaged a Douglas Fir for his sculptures.

Andrew Vallee and Kris Ekstrand’s studios are a stone throw away from each other, so it is only fitting that they are featured in an exhibition together in January at Smith & Vallee Gallery in Edison, Washington. Andrew creates beautiful wood sculptures that are inspired by objects from the natural environment—sea urchins, feathers, owls, and more. Each object is carefully examined and then its image is transformed into a salvaged wood carving. A favorite is “On the Edison Slough” which includes a small bird carved out of maple that is resting on a base, or cradle as Andrew says, made out of 2,300-year-old Douglas Fir. The veins of the wood are easily discernable, but they are juxtaposed with the ripples carved into the surface. The resulting effect is the appearance of the small animal hovering over moving water, which is somehow appropriate since the Douglas Fir itself was salvaged from mud and brackish water where it rested for thousands of years.

Vallee starts with an object and then creates elements of its image in wood. All appear to have aspects of both hyper-realism and abstraction. In a short walk from Vallee’s studio, guests can also see Kris Ekstrand’s painting and print studio. The artist’s hand is ever present in Ekstrand’s work. The shapes of the landscape outside the studio are echoed in her paintings and prints, but it was her use of color and gesture that caught my attention immediately. One painting in particular, “Berry Fields in Winter”, is an excellent example of color, composition, and texture. The horizon line is in the top third of the painting and a thin line of yellow paint articulates the flat fields of Skagit Valley. The bottom of the painting is a flurry of green, yellow, pink, and orange brushstrokes overlaying a body of water. The title of the painting leads me to think about all the berry bushes, now empty of berries, that fill the fields. During the winter, the rainwater collects on the fields and creates a mirrored effect which only amplifies the natural beauty surrounding it. The viewer can imagine Ekstrand’s hand and brush moving the paint across the surface of the canvas with every visible brushstroke.

Ekstrand’s landscapes look like a welcome landing field for one of Vallee’s owls, which makes the two artists an excellent duo for an exhibition. The color and life are a welcome view in the often-dreary month of January. Smith & Vallee Gallery continues to celebrate the environment of the Skagit Valley in February with the opening of their annual invitational of artworks featuring birds. Dubbed “The Bird Show” by locals, the idea of hosting events in Edison around the arrive of hundreds of birds to the area is about 10 years old. Vallee recalls talking about hosting a festival for bird watchers with his friend Jim Kowalski. This conversation led to a festival that lasted about 5 years and the infamous “Chicken Parade” that occurs in Edison every year. While the festival no longer takes place, the annual exhibition lives on and is an opportunity for bird enthusiasts to gather at the gallery every February.

The gallery is excellent about keeping their website up to date with available artworks. They are also very meticulous about COVID safety and social distancing guidelines. If you are able to visit the gallery in person, expect to see expressive paintings and prints that almost appear to vibrate with intensity on the picture plane. Vallee’s sculptures range in size from a few inches to a five-foot tall wooden feather resting on top of a book. I looked up at the feather to admire the smooth, sanded surface and then knelt to marvel at the pages of the book that seem to all be articulated with expert precision. Looking at these artworks certainly lifted my spirits, and I hope the same for you.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

Smith & Vallee Gallery is located at 5742 Gilkey Avenue in Edison, Washington. It is open Friday through Sunday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. and by appointment Monday through Thursday. For further information, please call (360) 766-6230, email gallery@smithandvallee.com, or visit the gallery website at www.smithandvallee.com.

Matzke Fine Art Gallery & Sculpture Park

Debbi Lester — Wed, 30 Dec 2020 19:46:28 GMT

Be safe. Be well. Be Creative!

Debbi Lester — Mon, 02 Nov 2020 06:00:40 GMT

We have experienced seven months of COVID-19, wildfires, social unrest, protests. the death of Ruth Bader Ginsberg, murder wasps, and, most recently, the 2020 election. To overcome these challenges, I turned to writing postcards to voters and letters to friends. Writing calmed me, channeled my anxiousness, helped me feel useful, and gave me hope. The one postcard campaign I participated in had over 375,000 volunteers writing a total of 15 million postcards! Wow—if anything, we definitely helped keep the U.S. Post Office afloat!

My major COVID-19 project—preparing the Art Access archives—surprised me as to how many magazines I’d made this past 28 years. You are reading the 250th Art Access magazine! I’m excited to let you know, so far, one set of Art Access archives is to be housed at the Seattle Public Library and another at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art.

The galleries, studios, and museums have been super resilient and creative. The majority have reopened. And those that have not, have retooled. For example, the Henry Art Gallery expanded its contemporary art programming while its building remains closed. Check out the new slate of virtual and small-scale-in-person programs at www.henryart.org and look for its upcoming first city-wide public exhibition, “Set in Motion,” featuring artworks installed on 20 buses from December through February.

The organization, Skagit Artists, has created Art Supplies for Kids (ASK) program to help out local art educators as they provide art instruction. For information, visit http://skagitartists.com/ask-art-supplies-for-kids and to donate, visit www.skagitartists.com/ask-donation. 100% of donations go to Skagit teachers for art supplies or art instruction.

I wish you all good physical and mental health. Be safe. Be well. Be Creative!

Somehow we’ll get through this together!

Debbi Lester

Art Access Publisher

Dirty Laundry & Domestic Bliss

Debbi Lester — Sun, 01 Nov 2020 15:18:08 GMT

On August 20, 1920 the Nineteenth Amendment to the United States Constitution was ratified and gave women the right to vote. After a lengthy, nearly seventy year fight, the suffrage movement finally received what the women at the 1848 Seneca Falls Convention set out to accomplish. While there has been much progress towards gender equality in the past century there is still a lot of work to be done. Holly Ballard Martz’s exhibition, “Dirty Laundry & Domestic Bliss,” raises important questions about women’s rights, the patriarchy, and the role of women in society. Using mixed media artworks, Martz references or utilizes many common household objects to address these questions and provoke the viewer to think about a particular issue in a different way.

Upon entering the gallery it is impossible not to notice the long table with sculptures that appear to be pieces of meat. The artist painstakingly applied over 40,000 sequins to the sculptures to give them a fleshy and shiny surface. As the viewer peruses the sculptures it becomes obvious that while some look like cuts of meat, others do not. There are several sculptures with obvious depictions of the vulva and vagina on the surface. Judy Chicago’s “The Dinner Party” might come to mind as an art historical reference for this imagery. Chicago’s installation evoked religious reverence for the series of tables to inform the viewer that they are about to enter a sacred space. Each plate included the name of a significant woman in world history and was set upon an intricate tablecloth.

In contrast, Martz’s installation may appear cold, even crude, with all these cuts out in the open on a bare, wooden table. The comparison is an obvious one, but Martz is careful to draw a line between them. In this case, the cuts of meat actually reference a dressmakers ham. These pillows are used as a mold for pieces of a garment that need to better fit the curves of the body, such as a waistline or sleeve. But the pillows that Martz constructed are useless as dressmakers hams because they have sequins and are really more of a decorative object. In a statement on the gallery website that artists asserts that the female body is also often reduced to cuts of meat that are laid out for decoration and the enjoyment of others. The imagery of women reduced to parts as entertainment or objects of the patriarchal gaze set up an even more somber installation directly behind the table.

In the exhibition text Martz notes that October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. It is impossible to ignore the bright pink wall at the end of the gallery with the cursive script, “Love Hurts”, written out with 6,000 9mm spent shell casings. The artwork is a series of contradictions. The beautiful script and color pink remind the viewer of a Valentine or sweet note between lovers. But there is obviously a much more sinister message. On the gallery website the artist cites a statistic from a survey by the National Center for Injury Prevention and Control, Division of Violence Prevention which states that almost twenty people are physically abused by their intimate partner every minute in the United States. She states a further study from the American Journal of Public Health that notes the risk of homicide increases by 500% if a gun is present during a domestic violence situation. “Love Hurts” represents the very present danger that many women and men face in their lives. Sometimes this threat is hidden from friends and family, but Martz’s bright pink wall and gold script is impossible to avoid.

There are many other objects in the show that connect to work that historically has been done by women. There is a large blue ironing board with a series of gold halos around its “head” in reference to the artwork title: “Lady Madonna.” Martz’s well-known hangers also appear in this exhibition. They are also beautifully adorned with beaded flowers and reference the traditional work of women in the home. But these hangers aren’t useful as they are installed by the artist. Martz installed them upside down so that they are in the shape of undergarments and the female reproductive system. Every object and material in this exhibition has a purpose and supports the guiding question: Is this really domestic bliss?

This exhibition and the questions it raise continue to be extremely relevant. With the election right upon us many people are discussing the points that Martz addresses through her meticulous artworks. But the issue of domestic work and duties that women often perform have also been magnified during the COVID-19 pandemic. The combination of professional work, teaching children who are now learning from home, and housework is causing many women to question their role in society. We are seeing record numbers of women leaving their professional careers as the pressures of home and family weigh down on them. It seems that the issue of dirty laundry and domestic bliss are just as relevant today as they were decades ago.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Dirty Laundry & Domestic Bliss” is on view through November 15 at ZINC Contemporary, located at 119 Prefontaine Place South in Seattle, Washington. The gallery is open Thursday through Saturday from 10 A.M. to 4 P.M. For more information, visit www.ZINCcontemporary.com.

"The Barn Show" at the Museum of Northwest Art

Debbi Lester — Sun, 01 Nov 2020 15:14:42 GMT

Shift Gallery & Wa Na Wari

Debbi Lester — Sat, 31 Oct 2020 16:58:08 GMT

Artists collectives are truly a great boon to our art scene, especially when grass roots collectives reach out to support each other.

Such is happening in November when the long established artist-run space Shift Gallery is reaching out with an online benefit sale to support the much more recently established Central District black cultural center Wa Na Wari.

Wa Na Wari describes itself as a “center for Black art, stories and connection in Seattle’s Central District. This Central District home owned by a black family for five generations, continues to be a legacy of kinship and community building.” As you enter the house we read that it encourages the community to be part of the process of “preservation, reclamation and celebration.”

Wa Na Wari plays a crucial role in Seattle. As the home of founder Inye Wokoma’s grandmother, it has a long history with his extended family. Wokoma’s innovative multi media creations based on film and photography offer us his personal family history as well as that of the Central District where he has lived all his life.

He decided to save his grandmother’s home at 911 - 24th Avenue from the ravages of gentrification (he lives in another home owned by his family next door). With a team of three other people, Elisheba Johnson, Jill Freidberg, and Rachel Kessler, Wa Na Wari (meaning “our home” in the Kalabari language of Southern Nigeria), presents black artists in many media. It holds workshops, films, readings, lectures, fashion shows, and art exhibitions. It also collects oral histories from residents and former residents of the Central District. You can listen to them on an old fashioned telephone.

The curator Elisheba Johnson brilliantly presents visual art exhibits that create a synergistic energy suited to the spirit of the house. Every exhibit is sophisticated and provocative combining artists from the Northwest with those living elsewhere, youthful emerging artists and established professionals.

Looking at the current exhibition, the four artists intersect both emotionally and spiritually with each other, with us and with the house. Each room/gallery is small and devoted to one artist, making it possible to dive in deep and really experience their work.

As we enter the former living room dining room area, now called Wilson Hall, the large gallery shows the work of Zahyr Lauren, also known as The Artist L.Haz. His woven cotton blankets based on a meditative process speaks through sacred geometry and symbols to suggest “Black pride, power, and regality, alongside pain and grief.” We feel their almost magical presence as we move through the space. Particularly overwhelming is the work, appropriately hung over the fireplace, with the title “The Door of No Return.”

In the first gallery upstairs, Gallery Kyle, the video “Human Design” by the amazing Ilana Harris-Babou requires several viewings to fully appreciate her sincerity paired with parody. Her work explores the absurdities of consumer culture, in this case looking at what she calls “the white washing” of culture from Africa. She takes us on a tour of various sites in Senegal, her own country of origin, as she presents the steps to understanding the real sources of the art work in upscale design stores. Her final visit is to the place from which slaves were shipped now, a museum, “Maison des Esclaves.” This piece is a great choice for Wa Na Wari. Other works by the artist parody cooking shows, make over advice, and other themes. She is humorous and biting at the same time.

In a second room, Gallery Birdie, Andrea Coleman’s digital artworks combine old photographs and abstraction. The haunting family photographs emerge from layers of browns and blues and yellows. In “Finding a Seat at the Kitchen Table,” 2017, we see the old photograph capturing an ordinary moment with family that resonates with many layers of references, even as we simply appreciate the artist’s aesthetic subtlety.

Finally, the work of Zachary James Watkins “Listen to Clarence” combines archival footage of the Civil Rights March on Selma, brilliantly edited to encompass all the different perspectives on the march, including the participants, young children, the police, and white nationalists holding confederate flags.

The video is paired with a recording of Watkins sound/video piece “Listen to Clarence” which includes an interview with Dr. Clarence B. Jones, Martin Luther King’s speech writer, describing the “I have a dream” speech, along with Watkins’ haunting sonic work “Peace Be Til” a commission with the Kronos Quartet.

Together these works all provide a spiritual and emotional journey through time and space, through history and the present.

The Shift Gallery is also a special space that makes a perfect partner to Wa Na Wari. The Shift Gallery artists explained their sense of community, collaboration, mutual support, and collective spirit. They share all the responsibilities of running the gallery on a volunteer basis, from producing a professional publication to installing exhibitions.

Shift Gallery’s support of Wa Na Wari is through an online benefit sale at www.shiftgallery.org from November 12 through December 19. Twenty artists have contributed a work worth $200 or less. All the sale proceeds go to Wa Na Wari.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

Wa Na Wari, located at 911 - 24th Avenue in Seattle, Washington, is open Fridays from 2 to 8 P.M. and Saturdays and Sundays from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. For more information, visit www.wanawari.org.

Shift Gallery, located at 312 South Washington Street in Seattle, Washington, is open Friday through Saturday from 12 to 5 P.M., and by appointment. For more information, visit www.shiftgallery.org.

Manzanar: Their Footsteps Remain

Debbi Lester — Sat, 31 Oct 2020 16:17:28 GMT

Forty years in the making, “Manzanar: Their Footsteps Remain,” is photographer Brian Goodman’s exhibition and accompanying book of the same name. Featured at Northwind Arts Center this November, Manzanar is, “a photo essay about the remnants of the incarceration of our neighbors,” says Executive Director Michael D’Alessandro. The images of Manzanar transport us from the lush, salty shores of our Olympic Peninsula experience, to the parched, cracked earth of the Owens Valley in California, and to a time of xenophobia and fear.

In 1942, our neighbors in Quilcene, Bainbridge Island, Seattle, and elsewhere—120,000 adults and children of Japanese ancestry—were forced to leave their homes and take only what they could carry by bus. Their destination: hastily erected camps dotting the mountain west’s most remote landscapes. Manzanar was one of those camps, and Goodman’s photography lays this story bare.

“As a child of ten, I remember soldiers with rifles, barbed wire fences, and observation towers with lights in 1943 and 1944,” said Michael Adams, who recalls visiting Manzanar with his father, Ansel Adams. Adams, like Goodman, was called to document Manzanar through photography and his images were influential to Goodman’s work.

Photography is often about the arresting of time, and Goodman uses his camera to full advantage. Each black and white image begs the question, “Was this 75 years ago, or is this now?” In his work it is both. By toying with our perceptions of time and the surreal atrocities of recent history, Goodman uses the contrast of light moving across a broken object, a shadow arcing across a flat plane, and allows time to slow to a stop and stare us in the face.

Goodman remarked, “when I captured the first images at Manzanar over 40 years ago, I had no idea what I was photographing. Over the years, as I learned more about this place in our country’s history, it kept calling me back. I believe it is an important story that many people have no knowledge of, and it relates directly to some of the issues we are dealing with as a society today. My hope is that this exhibit will make viewers pause and realize how delicate and precious our freedoms are and how easily they can be taken from us.”

A close friend of Goodman’s commented that he was torn when he viewed the images. On one hand, they are striking photographs with exquisite attention to composition. At the same time they are intimate examinations of racist actions taken against an entire community of people, most of whom were native born American citizens. 11,070 people lived at Manzanar over three and a half years. For anyone with a sense of justice, it is hard to reconcile the dueling emotions of appreciating beauty and understanding truth.

Goodman and his partner, Shira, who helped develop the work and book, were originally planning to tour the exhibition across the United States. COVID-19 emerged just as the book went to print, and the show, scheduled at Northwind for May, was postponed. With life in a holding pattern since then, the next exhibition is currently slated to travel to Peninsula College in Port Angeles in early 2021. The Goodmans still plan to take the exhibition to California, as well as their message. “The most profound and moving stories have been from some of the actual survivors of the camps and hearing their memories of their time of incarceration. November 21st is the 75th anniversary of the closing of the camps and very few incarcerees remain, so it’s extremely important that we never forget what took place and we never let their stories disappear. I hope the photographs instill curiosity and a desire for the viewer to learn more about what’s behind the images.”

With curiosity in hand, there is no better place to turn than the voices of those who lived the experience. Densho, a non-profit based in Seattle, collects oral history interviews, photographs, newspapers, and other primary sources on the Japanese American experience from immigration through redress, with a strong focus on the World War II mass incarceration. Densho.org is their extensive, online digital archive, and the most comprehensive community-based resource for learning more.

Shelly Leavens

Shelly Leavens is an artist, writer, curator, and the Executive Director of the Jefferson Museum of Art & History. She lives in Port Townsend, Washington with her family.

“Mazanar: Their Footsteps Remain” is on view though November 29 at Northwind Arts Center in Port Townsend, Washington. Northwind Arts Center is open Thursday through Sunday, 12 to 5 P.M., or by appointment. The exhibit’s companion book is available for sale in the gallery. Visit www.northwindarts.org for appointments and more information.

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Sat, 31 Oct 2020 16:16:11 GMT

I Have

Well, if Michelle Obama can admit to feeling blue, so will I.

At first, I didn’t want to read her interview. Clearly, I thought, there are things I am not ready to hear.

But after reading it, I realized that it’s become more than the lurking virus. It’s that living downtown has begun to take nerve. It’s a lot less intimidating to stay home and reorganize the closets.

How slippery the edge of a neighborhood can feel.

I envy my neighbor Amal. She is devout. She believes it’s all up to Allah. I wish I could think that so I wouldn’t have to wrestle with what I believe. She raises her hands to the sky so I raise my hands to the sky. And it does make me feel better. But that’s the thing about better. It’s more fleeting than worse. Will the neighborhood ever bounce back?

I lose myself in work. I am devout at losing myself in work.

Somewhere I read that writers are preoccupied by their own competing minds, and that they can’t forget that they are preoccupied. One mind just wants to live, while the other keeps commenting on how well, or how terribly, they are going about it.

There is so much truth to this. And while I don’t think it’s the only reason I write, I do believe that you can turn this competition into a sense of guidance for yourself.

So while one of my minds knows that my friend Stephanie is, by now, sitting in our rooftop garden and that I could go up and bother her, the other reminds me that this is the point of her day when she likes to stare out at Elliott Bay, smoke her allotted cigarette, and be grateful that there is nothing more she can do about today.

Fortunately, both minds know not to interrupt her alone time.

Our rooftop has become the epitome of alone time.

But there is great news! Kamala when I cast my ballot I am voting for Y O U.

And get this. I just heard that my first children’s book will be published this spring. I should celebrate. I will. I promise myself that I will. Because even if I haven’t yet felt like celebrating the moment, I do need to celebrate the triumph.

In fact, I wish that I could have reached across the Zoom cosmos this morning to give a good long triumphant hug to one of my dance students when, mid-plié, she paused to say, “You’ve written a lot of books.”

And for a little while, after she said that, I did feel like celebrating.

Because I have.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli, author, speaker, and dance teacher, lives in Belltown. Her column has been a part of Art Access since 2004. Her latest book, a novel, “The Star Struck Dance Studio of Yucca Springs” was recently published (Chatwin Books). For more information about her and her work, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Deborah Kapoor and Lauren Iida on view at ArtXchange Gallery in Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Fri, 28 Aug 2020 03:20:15 GMT

ArtXchange Gallery has been hosting art viewing sessions of two exhibits, one by Deborah Kapoor (click here for further information) and another by Lauren Iida (click here for further information) accompanied by cello performances by Asim Kapoor, who is part of the 1st level of the Seattle Youth Orchestra. He was just asked to volunteer teach beginning cellists how to play, on behalf of SYSO during the pandemic. Asim is the son of ArtXchange Gallery artist Deborah Kapoor. You can see more about Deborah Kapoor's art in the beautifully designed catalog by Laura Brown. Click here to view the catalog.

Resource Articles and Links

Debbi Lester — Fri, 28 Aug 2020 03:14:38 GMT

Click on the article titles below to read resource features.

Why art galleries won’t survive after coronavirus – unless they adapt to create value for artists through digital channels

Coronavirus: how museums and galleries are preparing for the ‘new normal’

How A Small Art Gallery Survives With Social Media During COVID-19 Shutdown

These Galleries, Arts Organizations And Museums Are Keeping Art Accessible During Covid-19

How A Small Art Gallery Survives With Social Media During COVID-19 Shutdown

These Galleries, Arts Organizations And Museums Are Keeping Art Accessible During Covid-19

How A Small Art Gallery Survives With Social Media During COVID-19 Shutdown

19 immersive museum exhibits you can visit from your couch

In the Midst of COVID-19, Chinese Galleries Adapt and Persevere

COVID-19 Tips for Art Galleries

Artsy Digital Marketing Kit for Galleries

National Endowment for the Arts
COVID-19 Resources for Artists and Arts Organizations

Conversations Between Collections: The Smithsonian American Art Museum and the Whatcom Museum

Debbi Lester — Sat, 01 Aug 2020 05:26:52 GMT

In January 2020, the Whatcom Museum announced that they are participating in an exciting new partnership with the Smithsonian American Art Museum. This five-year collaboration allows the Whatcom Museum, one of five museums in the West selected for the partnership, to borrow artworks from one of the largest collections of American art in the world. Not only does this relationship bring artworks to communities that were previously not available to them, but it also gives educators and curators the opportunity to facilitate dialogues between artworks from different regions, time periods, and styles in exhibitions. The first exhibition is titled “Conversations Between Collections: The Smithsonian American Art Museum and the Whatcom Museum” and it includes three artworks from the Smithsonian: Fritz Scholder’s “Indian and Contemporary Chair” from 1970, Jaune Quick-to-See Smith’s “State Names” from 2000, and Jasper Francis Cropsey’s painting from 1854, “The Coast of Genoa.” These loans are on display with artworks and objects from the Museum’s permanent collection in two galleries through January 3, 2021.

The exhibition poses the question, “What is American art, and what does it look like?” When discussing the importance of the loans, Curator of Art Amy Chaloupka states, “Presenting these special masterworks in dialogue with work by American artists form our collection allows the Whatcom Museum to tell a truly expansive and complex story about what American art can look like.” The portion of the exhibition in the larger Lightcatcher gallery features landscapes from the museum’s collection alongside Cropsey’s “The Coast of Genoa.” Cropsey was a member of the Hudson River School, a group of artists who worked in the Hudson River Valley and are known for their majestic depictions of the American landscape in the midst of the industrial revolution. Cropsey’s Italian scene stands in contrast to another painting in the gallery, “Western View” by Richard Gilkey. Gilkey was a member of the Northwest School, a group of artists working in Western Washington that were brought to national attention thanks to a 1953 article in Life magazine. The painting is an excellent example of Gilkey’s style: a grey sky allows filtered, Skagit Valley light to shine down onto a windswept field. I would encourage everyone to watch Chaloupka’s virtual tour of the exhibition so that you can see a close-up of the painting, which provides a close-up of thickly applied paint, which was Gilkey’s signature technique. The virtual tour also includes two additional highlights: Victoria Adams’ “High Falls” and Paul Horiuchi’s “Rocks and Shadows.”

On the second floor of the Lightcatcher building guests can view the exhibition “People of the Sea and Cedar” which includes the other two artworks on loan from the Smithsonian, both by Indigenous artists. This exhibition is ongoing and features art and artifacts from the museum’s collection that illustrate the historic and contemporary perspectives of Northwest Coast people. Fritz Scholder and Jaune Quick-to-See Smith’s paintings are on display alongside bentwood boxes, carvings, woven blankets, and Lummi language interactives.

Both artists use expressive brushstrokes and bold colors to convey their central messages about identity, history, and leading narratives. For example, in Quick-to-See Smith’s painting the viewer immediately recognizes that it is a map of the United States. But at closer look they may observe that not every state name is present and that the state borders are blurred under long drips of paint. According to Chaloupka, the artist only included state names that are from Indigenous sources. But while the painting certainly comments on colonization, it also reminds the viewer of the resiliency and survival of Indigenous people.

The “Conversations Between Collections: The Smithsonian American Art Museum and the Whatcom Museum” exhibition is a unique opportunity to compare and reflect on the relationship between regional and national artworks while seeing them in person. Since visitors can not do that at this time, the Whatcom Museum offers two virtual tours by the art curator so that they can see the photographs of the exhibition and close-up images of some of the artworks that are included. In addition, the museum has a digital version of their Story Dome. Since the exhibition is about a sense of place, guests are invited to share a story, poem, or song about their sense of place based on prompts provided by the museum. Since everyone’s routines have been disrupted, it may be consoling to reflect on our favorite places or how we connect to our current landscape. In the end, I encourage you to check out the museum’s website for additional information and resources connected to the exhibition while we all wait to see these masterpieces in person once again.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Conversations Between Collections: The Smithsonian American Art Museum and the Whatcom Museum” is on view through January 3 at the Lightcatcher Building of the Whatcom Museum, located at 250 Flora Street in Bellingham, Washington. The museum is due to open during the Phase 3 of the Governor’s Safe Start Plan. For more information, visit www.whatcommuseum.org.

“Urban Guardian” Show by George Rodriguez at the Foster/White Gallery in Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Sat, 01 Aug 2020 05:08:23 GMT

We could all use a little guardian right now. Someone (or something) that exists without our acknowledgment that would protect and guide us through these uncertain times. Or maybe we need something in the form of a spiritual message from beyond, our ancestors telling us to stay grounded because survival is both mandatory and attainable. Being hit with the double whammy of a pandemic and a social uprising is overwhelming but it doesn’t mean this is the death of resilience. What it does mean is that we need to be more resourceful at coping.

Art is a healing and tangible source of comfort. It can be spiritual, religious, or magical and sometimes it’s a combination of all three. If you feel like you need a personal journey of reflection and healing, I strongly recommend you visit George Rodriguez’s show, “Urban Guardian,” at Foster/White gallery.

A native of El Paso, Texas, Rodriguez celebrates his personal cultural background while pulling inspiration from many others. The “Urban Guardian” collection includes clay statues, vases, masks, headless bodies (or bodiless heads), that seamlessly combine Latino folklore, Greek mythology, and Italian architecture. An earlier example of this blending is from his “Lunar Vessel” group (not in this show) of clay animal-head vases that seem to be inspired by the Chinese zodiac with a Latino twist.

The brilliance of Rodriguez’s work is in the humor that lives just below the surface. But before you notice that, you have to combat a strange nagging feeling that there is something a little off or a bit dark about these guardians. Looking at some of headless statues that stand a little under two feet tall might give you the feeling that if you glanced away, they would quickly scramble or scuttle to follow you home. Or find a million ways to change places with your shadow.

There are more heads in the collection than there are bodies, which creates a choose-your-own-adventure feeling, giving you the freedom to combine the parts in any way. What if the sphinx-inspired body was adorned with the head of the a woman who had bright red lips and a bonnet of flowers? Or what would it mean if you gave the skull head to the body of the monk/priest figure? Are you playing god? Would you be upsetting the spirits or would you get to be the trickster for once?

The storybook narrative continues in his piece “Seven Indulgences,” the largest in the show, standing about five feet tall. The ceramic vase is a 360° exploration that packs a tiny surprise. The faces that surround the top of the vase are gargoyles with stoic expressions and fangs. However, one gargoyle is very different. Peppered with wrinkles that collect around his eyes, along with some facial hair, there is no doubt that this is the face of a human. He’s not necessarily old, but he’s definitely someone who has seen a few things. The question is, how did he become part of this vase? What did he do to earn his place among the gargoyles? For that matter, how does anyone become art?

The dueling show stoppers of “Urban Guardian” are the rat and pigeon statues. Standing proudly, these two ceramic guardians have such a presence that when I first saw them, I found myself saying out loud, “Oh! Hello there!”

Rats and pigeons reoccur a lot in Rodriguez’s work, probably because they are the epitome of literal urban guardians. They populate every city environment, stirring and lurking through the streets. Rats, living below ground, are the protectors of the cities that they secretly run, while pigeons are the gatekeepers and defenders of the sky and parks.

Since Rodriguez makes these two usually discredited creatures the center of his show, it makes me wonder if he wants us to have a different understanding of these animals. What if we thought of them not as disgusting or diseased vermin, but as the preservers and gatekeepers of the surroundings we call home?

One thing that’s not open to interpretation in George Rodriguez’s work is his attention to the details that go into each piece. Details so compelling that you can’t help but make up stories as you look at them. I wonder if the badge on the pigeon’s shoulder was awarded for its bravery. Or what has that head called “Ghost” seen that inspired the shocked expression on its face? Rodriguez knows, and he’s not saying. But that slight smirk behind all their eyes also invites you to calm your curiosity and let the spirit of his work guide you to a better place.

All good artists tuck a little piece of themselves somewhere in their work. Rodriguez’s soft spot seems to be the eyes. Whether it’s the eyes of the devil that seem to track you from across the room or the stare of the wee man that appears fixated on a spot in front of him, their frozen but oddly animated faces all seem to express the quality of someone who is lost in thought or was recently interrupted in the middle of a sentence. And if you listen close enough you might be able to hear the words resting on their lips.

Rose McAleese

Rose McAleese is a writer, poet, and screenwriter born in Seattle. Currently living in Los Angeles because she figured what that city needed was one more writer.

“Urban Guardians” is on view August 6 through August 22 at the Foster/White Gallery, located at 220 Third Avenue South in Seattle, Washington. The gallery is open Tuesday through Saturday from 10 A.M. to 6 P.M. For more information, visit www.fosterwhite.com.

"Gudrun Sjödén — A Colourful Universe" at National Nordic Museum

Debbi Lester — Sat, 01 Aug 2020 05:04:33 GMT

Ekphrastic Writing by Janée J. Baugher

Debbi Lester — Sat, 01 Aug 2020 05:02:02 GMT

After Henri Matisse’s 1954 gouache cut-outs, Snail

When a painter is dying, he’s not necessarily incapable of creating. Long before Matisse’s snail, Picasso and others were using found materials such as newspapers and cigarette packages and incorporating these things into their painting. Real objects adorning an imaginary space. Like artists are wont to do, Matisse studied the minute, snails in this case, in their ability to spiral or to grow linear at will. While he was on his deathbed, he considered the oft-dubious relationship we have with the external world, and how it can be a great comfort to shell up. So, he asked for paper and scissors, and he began the snail’s composition. Onto a white mat, he framed the area in asymmetrical strips of orange paper, then he cut out eleven shapes of sundry colors and arranged them. How not unlike we are to Matisse’s elder self, a snail. Constantly configuring ourselves in our arrangement to our environment, until one day we find the fit, that instance when we can be as content as block of light-lilac, purple, forest green, lemon-orange, navy blue, olive green, rust orange, and black—in each color where we can be who we are, content in that imprecise relationship to ourselves, our bodies.

Janée J. Baugher

Janée J. Baugher is the author of the poetry collections “Coördinates of Yes” and “The Body’s Physics,” as well as the guidebook, “The Ekphrastic Writer: Creating Art-Influenced Poetry, Fiction and Nonfiction” (McFarland, 2020). For more information, visit www.JaneeBaugher.com.

Poetic Collaboration

Debbi Lester — Sat, 01 Aug 2020 04:56:44 GMT

stone and lichen

we are brother and sister

this rock and i

as wind, rain and sun

push and pull

over the surface

i appear on the skin

vermillion, gold, ochre and blue

the textured colors

of earth’s palette

Alan Chong Lau

Alan Chong Lau is a poet and visual artist based in Seattle, Washington. He serves as Arts Editor for the International Examiner, a community newspaper. As a visual artist, he is represented by ArtXchange Gallery in Seattle, Washington.

John Levy is a poet and photographer. His most recent book of poetry, “Silence Like Another Name,” was published by Otata’s Bookshelf in 2019. He lives in Tucson, Arizona.

Alan Chong Lau and John Levy have published three volumes of a poetry and photography collaboration online that can be found by searching online for “eye2word.”

The creative culture shines brightly in Washington!

Debbi Lester — Sun, 03 May 2020 01:45:34 GMT

Spirits are lifted witnessing creatives helping to make beautiful new ways of being during this challenging COVID-19 pandemic shutdown.

Hats off to Lauren Gallow and Gabriel Stomberg for hosting “By the Hour” a virtual live First Thursday broadcast featuring art, gallery tours, and interviews with curators, gallery owners, and artists. Check it out at https://bythehour.live.

Who knew that Patricia Rovzar had graffiti skills?! She brightened her shuttered gallery with her “Art Matters” message. How would we be getting by during the stay home order without art, books, music, and movies? A big shout out to Alliance for Pioneer Square, business owners, and the artists that partnered to create the Storefront Mural Project. These uplifting images bring joy, beauty, and hope.

BONFIRE Gallery is now a production site for face masks by artist Jack Taylor.

Artist Trust (artisttrust.org/covid-19-response) and Whidbey Island Arts Council (islandartscouncil.org) have in-depth COVID-19 resource pages.

Many Seattle art dealers created a “How to Re-Open Galleries” type letter which you can find at www.ArtAccess.com. They are asking you to share it with Governor Inslee. If art venues are allowed to re-open, please call before visiting to confirm hours and safety protocols.

Cascadia Art Museum, Bainbridge Island Museum of Art (#BIMAfromHome), Frye Art Museum (#FryeFromHome), Schack Art Center, Winslow Art Center, and many galleries have re-tooled to provide virtual exhibits, artist talks, and/or classes using online programs (Zoom, Facebook, etc).

Before the stay order ends, consider using this time to re-tool, improve, and/or learn new internet programs and build a website. All premium online profiles for artists, galleries, and museums on www.ArtAccess.com are now free.

Finally, Korum Bischoff from Bainbridge Island Museum of Art made me cry when he said, “We just want you (Art Access) to

stick around!…We’re committed to this arts

community.” Dear reader and magazine participants, your support makes Art Access and art communities thrive. Thank you!

Be safe. Be well. Be kind. Be creative!

Debbi Lester

Art Access Publisher

Letter to Governor Suggesting Guidelines How to Re-open Galleries

Debbi Lester — Sun, 03 May 2020 01:20:23 GMT

Dear Governor Inslee,

In your emergency proclamation of March 16th, when you closed business such as bars and recreational facilities while prohibiting gatherings of 50+ people, you also included art museums and art galleries. Other non-essential businesses were closed a week later. We are writing to ask that you do not categorize art galleries with art museums or regular retail as you develop your plan to allow small businesses to re-open.

We believe that commercial art galleries are in the lowest risk category for re-opening. Our daily traffic flow is very low compared to shops or bookstores. Like museums, the public is not allowed to touch the art so the only surface contact would be doorknobs and restrooms, which are easily sanitized. Art galleries can support social distancing far more easily as we have open floor plans, allowing plenty of space for the few visitors we may have at any moment. We could also allow one party through at a time. Masks could be required and, of course, there would not be openings or gatherings until permitted.

To ensure the safety and health of our employees and patrons, we propose that galleries will:

Keep minimal staffing of the physical gallery spaces to minimize exposure, and ensure appropriate separation of workspaces.
Allow visitors in groups of two or fewer, per gallery space, following mandates and guidance issued State and City officials.
Establish a guest per square foot ratio based on the size of exhibition spaces.
Post signage asking that guests self-regulate by asking them to stay away if they present elevated temperatures, coughing, or other COVID symptoms.
Increase daily cleaning regimens, and ensure frequent sanitization of high-touch surfaces such as countertops, pens, door handles, and shared office equipment. Our commercial gallery businesses are low-touch by nature. Clients are discouraged from touching artworks.
Request that visitors wear masks when visiting, and require the use of hand sanitizer (provided by business) upon entry and exit.
Enforce six-foot social distancing of people. Artworks are viewable by clients with gallerists outside of the six-foot radius.
Provide low-touch delivery or pick-up of artworks. Galleries will clean and sanitize artwork and packaging.
Cancel all community gatherings and opening events until State and City governments lift bans on social gatherings.

Art galleries are already struggling to stay open, particularly in Seattle where the cost of rent is prohibitive. We have seen a huge decline in commercial galleries in Seattle over the last 5 years. This leads not only to a great loss of culture for the general public but also diminished support for all our local artists. Each gallery not only employs its own staff but is also sending support money to all our artists through its sales.

We appreciate your consideration for the state of the arts here in Washington and your efforts to help us hang on to that richness that still remains.

With Appreciation,

Click here for downloadable version of letter.

Anne Hirondelle: Not Done Yet

Debbi Lester — Sat, 02 May 2020 20:52:49 GMT

“Not Done Yet” is an apt title for an exhibition featuring an artist like Anne Hirondelle. As renowned Seattle gallerist Francine Seders describes in the exhibition catalogue, Hirondelle is an artist who continued to evolve even when some may have thought her work was perfected. It is challenging to imagine changing your artistic style so drastically, especially when the artworks are so popular. In the early 2000s Hirondelle took a risk, but it is not accurate to say that she completely changed direction. Her goals evolved and shifted, but she was not done yet examining and dissecting her forms. “Not Done Yet” is a continuation of the series of discoveries that Hirondelle made in her career and continues to make to this day.

Hirondelle’s exhibition is divided into two galleries and traces her exploration of form. The main exhibition space includes artworks from 2002 to the present, while her earlier artworks are installed in the smaller gallery downstairs. Hirondelle began her artistic career creating functional objects and trained with Robert Sperry in the University of Washington ceramics department. But in 2002, her focus shifted from a vessel that contains to an open sculptural form. Her continuing examination of form and line is the thesis of the show, “Not Done Yet,” as Hirondellle focuses more on works on paper. These artworks create a wonderful dichotomy between the vessel as a 3-dimentional object versus a 2-dimenstional plane.

Anne Hirondelle was born in Vancouver, Washington and grew up in Oregon. She has a Bachlor of Arts in English, an Masters of Art in Counseling, and studied Law at the University of Washington in the early 1970s. Thankfully, Hirondelle shifted her attention to sculpture and studied ceramics at the University of Washington. She received a Visual Artist Fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts in 1988, was a finalist for the Seattle Art Museum Betty Bowen Award in 2004, and was acknowledge as a Creating a Living Legacy Artist by the Joan Mitchell Foundation in 2014. She has exhibited her work in countless galleries and many prominent museums in the Northwest, and her artworks are a staple in the homes of many art collectors in the region and beyond.

Since the museum is currently closed due to COVID-19, a written description of the exhibition has to suffice until the public can once again visit. A bright yellow wall greets visitors and educates about Ann Hirondelle’s life as an artist. There is also a quote by Hirondelle which sums up her artistic explorations beautifully: “I think one of the challenges of being a really good artist is not more and more, but less and less; really stretching what you know and what you can do. That is where you find your own self: in the limitations, not the additions.”

The exhibit includes a large installation, “Staccatos,” of 18 black stoneware sculptures and it’s one of the first artworks on view. The main gallery consists of wall-mounted sculptures, drawings, and many artworks on pedestals. The room is striking, and it seems to glow as the brightly painted sculptures are highlighted against white walls. Hirondelle’s round forms are soft yet crisp, both organic and exact. Teal, royal blue, orange, purple, and red are visual pops that create a real visual delight. But there are many black and white vessels and drawings as well. In one view, the visitor can see a two-dimensional drawing of a circular form that is then deconstructed and expanded into the sculpture on the pedestal below.

There is a series of three installations that include nine objects each. The sculptures are reminiscent of a larger installation from 2012, “Sixteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.” These sculptures are an excellent example of Hirondelle’s examination of the circular form and there is a long artistic lineage in the search to capture the complete view of an object. Hirondelle’s sculptures appear to be the same object just rotated over and over again until the viewer can see on one visual picture frame the complete object. Similar to Cézanne, she is seeking to create a complex view of a three-dimensional object.

A smaller gallery contains earlier works by Hirondelle when she was creating functional objects, as well as a few pieces of archival material. The vessels are displayed side-by-side and range from small teacups to large pitchers. All have one key similarity: graceful use of line. Hirondelle created these objects to be functional, but the origins of her later work is evident. It is incredible to see so many artworks by one artist in a single exhibition, and even more enlightening to see how their work evolved over the decades. The message is truly inspiring: Hirondelle isn’t done yet, and we must all keep moving forward because there is more to discover.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

The Jefferson Museum of Art & History, located at 540 Water Street in Port Townsend, Washington, plans to extend the exhibition through the summer once it is safe to reopen. Until then, visit www.jchsmuseum.org, for more information and to find out about online programming.

Meggan Joy’s Battle Cry J. Rinehart Gallery • Seattle, Washington

Debbi Lester — Sat, 02 May 2020 20:25:58 GMT

Meggan Joy grew up in Puyallup in the 1990s, the daughter of a truck driver and a homemaker. Today, she lives, gardens, and creates complex digital collage work in Seattle. Her solo show, “Battle Cry,” runs at J. Rinehart Gallery from June 13th through July 25th and features new imagery that teems with flowers, birds, insects, and more.

These aren’t just exquisite pictures. Rich with allegory and art history references, the work testifies to the resilience of women and nature’s plenitude. The few non-living objects in the images are items that Joy has repurposed from thrift shops and the like. As a stalwart recycler who aims to tread lightly, she doesn’t buy anything new other than printing supplies to create her work.

Joy grows many of the plants seen in her work in her Interbay neighborhood P-Patch. She also raises some of the insects in her home. “If you have to hurt another living being to make your artwork, then what’s the point of making artwork?,” she asks. “I’m not going to harm another animal for the sake of making art. When I find an insect, I will photograph them usually in place. I won’t take them out of their environment, if possible. If I can do that safely, then I will take them home really quickly and then put them right back in their same spot. But I do have a rule that I’m not gonna hold onto an insect that I found for longer than 12 hours.”

Below are excerpts from a wide ranging Zoom conversation with Joy (who has auto-immune issues) during the COVID-19 stay-at-home period; they have been edited for clarity and concision.

A Modern Lucretia

When I started planning the show a year ago, I was thinking, “Oh, election year.” This was when Christine Blasey Ford was in the news and all of those things. And I was thinking, “Oh, ‘Battle Cry’ will be about winners, losers, and aristocratic-type portraits.” And now we’re in this entirely different battle (the COVID-19 crisis) that nobody could have predicted.

For my “Lucretia”* piece, I pulled part of the Christine Blasey Ford “I pledge” hand from that really famous image. So that’s part of her. I just kept on thinking of Lucretia when I was watching her at that time. It struck me as like, “Oh that’s a modern Lucretia—that’s who that is.” And that’s really what inspired the show.

*Lucretia has been the subject of many revered Old Master paintings. She was a virtuous noblewoman who was raped by the son of a tyrannical ruler in the sixth century B.C. Her resulting suicide caused a revolt that led to the overthrow of monarchical tyranny and the creation of the Roman Republic.

Under the Magnifying Glass

We always put magnifying glasses next to my work so that people can get really into it. I have to put glass over the front because there’s always—every night—fingerprints that we have to clean off, because people can’t help it...they’ll spend a really long time getting so close that they’re not even really seeing the human shape anymore. They’re just finding the little snails or the butterfly or the flower that they’ve never seen before. The teeny tiny strawberries, which are like my favorite to hide into things.

I think that’s why people like having the work around them…and why thankfully people are buying it because they know that they can look at it for a year or so before they can even get close to seeing everything that’s in there.

Breaking Cycles

I wasn’t even willing to consider or call myself an artist until fairly recently. I had won awards for being an artist before I felt comfortable being called an artist. I had this block that, “This isn’t for people like me, that’s for rich people. That’s not for people that grew up in trailers.”

Now that I’m a little bit on the inside (of the art world), I’m so thankful that I’m working with (gallery owner) Judith who works really hard to make an open environment that feels like a living room.

I fully intend on breaking a lot of these cycles of needing to have money to be an artist. One of the things I really want to work on is making a frame library so that artists that have an opportunity to show but can’t afford to frame the work can just rent frames for free.

Art should be democratized. I hope that from growing up very poor as a truck driver’s daughter, coming at this from a very outside perspective, that I can bring something different to it. I think that’s actually a responsibility of mine as somebody that’s in this space, to be honest...it’s part of my job to make sure that other people get seen equally.

Two Shout-Outs

My husband is basically my assistant that I don’t have to pay. We were on a hike, and was like, “Ooh, I found a lizard. Can you just hold onto him for a second?” And I look over and the lizard is hanging off his beard while I’m trying to set up my camera. He used to be an Army Ranger, so he’s gotten into worse situations than I could ever get him into.

I am the person everyone is staying home to protect. I would be risking my life to go out and print right now because of my auto-immune issues. I don’t know how we could have done this show without the Photo Center and Sandy King. She’s the digital lab lead there and I call her my hero—she’s been doing all the printing for the show. She knows how picky I am and she holds the same standards I do. The execution has to be spot-on because it’s on a black background.

Flower Anarchy

If we’re able to have an opening, I’m giving everybody little May Day baskets with flowers or flower seeds. Hopefully people will be planting flowers all around the city. It’s a total experiment of like, can I get this to happen? Is planting wild flowers the same thing as graffiti? Is it considered a nuisance or is it considered artwork? Let’s see…

Clare McLean

Clare McLean is a writer, photographer, and horticulture student in Snohomish County.

The opening reception is on Saturday, June 13th, from 3-6 P.M. and First Thursday, July 2nd, from 5-8 P.M. J. Rinehart Gallery is located at 319 Third Avenue South in Seattle, Washington. For information, visit www.jrinehartgallery.com.

"American Graffiti"at Schack Art Center in Everett, Washington

Debbi Lester — Sat, 02 May 2020 20:18:37 GMT

Ekphrastic Writing

Debbi Lester — Sat, 02 May 2020 20:17:04 GMT

After René Magritte’s 1928 painting, The Lovers

A portrait of a couple posed side by side. The painting cropped at the chest, the landscape behind them a meadow, bushy trees, the sky is a solemn blue with clouds. She in a dress and he in a suit and tie. Their heads tilt toward each other. White cloth is draped over their heads and necks. Just the hint of features under the cloths—point of a nose, a chin, the cloth is close to the face. They have only their bodies to give each other in their senseless love. Two lovers without a harsh word for one another. Words that stench and stink and sting cannot fester in the mouth (a cauldron of venom) nor the ears (a rancid pit). Without eyes to criticize, to close when they should be open, remain open when they should be otherwise. They press their heads together and grin for the artist.

Janée J. Baugher

Janée J. Baugher is the author of two ekphrastic poetry collections, The Body’s Physics and Coördinates of Yes. Her poetry and prose have been published in Tin House, The Writer’s Chronicle, Boulevard, NANO Fiction,Nimrod, and The Southern Review, among other places, and she teaches at Richard Hugo House. In autumn 2020, McFarland is to publish her academic book, The Ekphrastic Writer: Creating Art-Influenced Poetry, Fiction and Nonfiction.

Seattle Asian Art Museum: Reimagined. Reinstalled. Reopened. by Susan Noye Platt

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 Mar 2020 05:00:11 GMT

Seattle Asian Art Museum: Reimagined. Reinstalled. Reopened.

Visit the dazzling new installations at the Seattle Asian Art Museum as soon as possible! In a striking departure from tradition, the museum is now organized thematically rather than by geography, the only Asian Museum in the country to take this bold step. It is a huge success.

Themes enable us to see familiar works with new eyes, and to enjoy never before seen masterpieces. Each theme includes many countries, and each object often is the result of crossing boundaries, such as a Chinese robe made with Russian silk.

As you explore the twelve themes, enjoy the cultural intersections. In fact, the theme of the entire museum is the intersections of culture.

Architectural firm LMN restored the stunning 1933 Art Deco building. As you approach the entrance, you at once notice that it glows a subtle pink color as a result of the restoration of the exterior. The reglazing of the doors now allow views out to the park and beyond. Restored windows throughout the museum allow frequent views of Volunteer Park and its magnificent trees.

The new gallery of over 2600 square feet is scaled to the rest of the building. In addition there are newly imagined education spaces and a state-of-the-art lab for restoring the mounting of Asian painting, the only one west of the Mississippi. Even the auditorium has new seats (made by the original firm) and better lines of sight.

First look up at the delicate canopy in the Fuller Garden Court by Kenzan Tsutakawa, the grandson of our famous George Tsutakawa. Composed of LED lights in a pattern based on Asian textiles, it swoops toward the front door and the outside world.

Many works have never been shown before such as a Filipino “Fichu” or shawl, made of pineapple fiber in the first gallery off the Fuller Garden Court titled “Are We What We Wear?” In another radical act, the curators added contemporary work in most of the galleries, amplifying their themes. So in this gallery we see jewelry and ceremonial clothing, along with contemporary Korean photographer Jung Yeondoo’s “Bewitched” project. The two photographs pair a young woman dressed for her humble job with the same woman outfitted for her fantasy life to explore the Arctic.

“Writing Images” includes painting, calligraphy, and poetry. Don’t miss the small horizontal book made of stacked palm fronds, then enjoy the larger masterpieces. These fragile light sensitive works most likely are to be on display for only six months.

The narrow gallery, “Color in Clay,” faces the park with a long display ranging from white to polychrome. It has no labels which encourages simply looking at the colors as they change according to the light. A video display includes all the information about each piece if we want to pursue the detail.

Just to the right of the front entrance, “Kamadeva, God of Desire” greets us in “Spiritual Journeys.” Highlighted here as an outstanding 12th century masterpiece of the South Asian Collection, it was formerly lost in the many works in the Fuller Garden Court. After exploring the images of gods of Hinduism, Buddhism, and Islam, pause in the next gallery, “Awakened Ones,” and listen to chants: these three Buddhas are from Japan, China, and Thailand.

“Divine Bodies” emphasizes the human body, accompanied by a video that outlines “mudras,” the complex blessing gestures of Buddhism. We can see a teaching gesture in the early 9th century bronze of Buddha Shakyamuni. This bronze is so sensitive to oxygen that it required a special case and has never been displayed before. Anita Dube’s photographs “Offering” of ceramic eyes on hands creating mudras hangs above a riveting thousand armed eleven headed Guanyin. Dube’s work is one of many contemporary works loaned by our generous local collectors Sanjay Parthasarathy and Malini Balakrishnan.

Finally the new gallery has a separate contemporary art exhibit, “Belonging,” centered around the enormous and familiar Do Ho Suh’s “Some/One,” made of hundreds of military dog tags. In addition to international superstars, be sure to find the work of our own Akio Takamori. His group of poignant ceramic figures depict villagers he remembered from his childhood in Japan.

As you leave the large new space, pause with Kim Soja’s “Mandala: Zone of Zero,” three “mandalas” made from juke boxes, each reciting a different chant from Gregorian, Islamic, and Buddhism, an example of ecumenism so crucial in today’s world.

Perfect. Hats off to the curators and the staff.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

The Seattle Asian Art Museum, located at 1400 E. Prospect Street in Seattle, is open Wednesday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M., Thursday from 10 A.M. to 9 P.M., Friday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M., Saturday from 9 A.M. to 5 P.M., and Sunday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. For info, visit www.seattleartmuseum.org/visit/asian-art-museum.

Schack Art Center by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 Mar 2020 18:00:33 GMT

Ekphrastic Writing by Janée J. Baugher

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 Mar 2020 17:19:16 GMT

After Alberto Giacometti’s sculptures

Start with a metal skeleton of what serves your pleasure: a house, a mug, a human figure. Then, take clay and obliterate the metal with it, rendering it inexhaustible of air and mind and any wayward form that disagrees with this surface. You may add mounds of clay or as little as possible. In this manner, you will sculpt Everyman, and how you depict him here people will remark on: Did you make him portly, disheveled, mute? Is he capable of doing anything? Have you captured motion, devolution, mutation? This figure remains lean. Scarcely clay beset the metal, the bones of which poke out of him—he with his elongated, attenuated, atrophied limbs. His head looks straight on, his features are cast in bronze, yet I cannot tell his eyes from nose. Does he feign movement of thought and promise—that solitude starves from ourselves? Merely alone, we are left in the skeleton of our daily skin, the way the bronze catches the light and absorbs it into itself—that color, that light that spreads around a room only hibernates there inside Giacometti’s thin figure. I imagine him falling off the edge.

Janée J. Baugher

Janée J. Baugher is the author of two ekphrastic poetry collections, The Body’s Physics and Coördinates of Yes. Her poetry and prose have been published in Tin House, The Writer’s Chronicle, Boulevard, NANO Fiction, Nimrod, and The Southern Review, among other places, and she teaches at Richard Hugo House. In autumn 2020, McFarland is to publish her academic book, The Ekphrastic Writer: Creating Art-Influenced Poetry, Fiction and Nonfiction.

In Plain Sight by Susan Noyes Platt

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Jan 2020 17:52:19 GMT

Fifty coffins by Ebony G. Patterson, decorated with fabric flowers, fringe, glitter, lace, rhinestones, ribbon, and tassels stand in a dense cluster in the center of the Henry Art Gallery. Glorious to look at, “Invisible Presence: Bling Memories,” celebrates as well as mourns. The coffins bear witness to the lives of youths killed in violence during only four weeks. At the same time, in the tradition of Carnival, they suggest a celebration. Patterson amplifies that with three almost mural scaled collages that celebrate with a dense pattern of toys and, on the floor, paper-mâché balloons, the hopes and joys of youth who die young with titles like “…they were filled with hope, desire and beauty (…when they grow up…).”

Nearby we mount a large platform with several bookcases, part of Oscar Tuazon’s installation based on his continuing “Water School” project adapted to each locale where he shows it. For this installation, he included large maps of the rivers of the Olympic Peninsula and Lake Washington, highlighting the native names of rivers and omitting roads. His work, both visionary and historical, encourages us to think about water on indigenous land and the colonialism of dams, pipelines and other abuses.

These two impressive works are part of “In Plain Sight,” the first large exhibition by Senior Curator Shamim M. Momin. The exhibit features fourteen national and international artists whom we have not seen in Seattle. It fills the entire Henry Art Gallery with artists who address topics, communities, and stories not usually visible in public spaces. The exhibition gives us the opportunity to see artists with a sharp critical edge as they expose untold narratives.

For example, Sadie Barnette’s moving installation “Room to Live” features the story of her father, Rodney Barnette, who was an active, but little-known, Black Panther, under extensive FBI surveillance. She juxtaposes redacted pages of his FBI file with a living room setting from the sixties, suggesting his personal life. Sanford Biggers’ combination of sculpture and textile mixed media wall pieces also forces us to rethink racial clichés and news bites. The bronze sculpture “BAM (for Michael)” confronted us in the stately museum medium, here pockmarked and damaged, with the reality of police violence.

Tom Burr’s installations throughout the exhibition, quietly written in corners, list the names of locations he cut out of “Spartacus,” an International Gay Guide, for gay men to meet up. The piece originally conceived in 1989 and recreated for this show is all the more affecting for its subtlety.

Hayv Kahraman’s dramatically scaled paintings would seem more straightforward than Burr’s lists of street names, but in fact they are equally layered with meanings that are hard to immediately grasp. Kahraman fled her native Iraq as a child in 1991 to escape Saddam Hussein’s brutal policies toward Kurds. But her paintings feature ironic statements on international entertainment fundraisers that stereotype victims as they raise money. She “orientalizes” the women she depicts, rendering them all alike as “other” as seen by Westerners.

Beatriz Cortez of El Salvador created an intense steel portal honoring the 1000 men, women and children in El Mozote, brutally massacred in 1981 during the Civil War. In a corner of the gallery, she spoke the names of each victim layered over one another. We cannot understand the names, just as we cannot grasp the tragedy.

Alison O’Daniel addresses hearing loss and alternative means of communication through a series of videos called “The Tuba Thieves.” Based on an actual event in which tubas were stolen from a South Los Angeles marching band, stealing a crucial sound, she creatively conveys the difficulty of communication for the hard of hearing.

“In Plain Sight” requires time to experience, particularly for the video works. It is easy to miss Mika Rottenberg’s “Cosmic Generator” at the end of the exhibition in a very dark room, too dark to read the explanation. Rottenberg swerves between surrealism and narrative, documentary and pop to explore artificially created boundaries. Filmed in a Chinese restaurant in Mexico and a kitsch souvenir shop in China, the larger theme is the corruption of capitalism. Amusing scenes underscore that in wildly unpredictable imagery like a taco with men in suits lying inside.

The exhibition provides an opportunity to see a provocative range of very current artists who address the difficult topic of hidden stories for the ironically titled “In Plain Sight.” Thanks to Shamim M. Momin for bringing these challenging artists to Seattle.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“In Plain Sight” is on view at the University of Washington’s Henry Art Gallery, located at 5th Avenue NE & NE 41st Street in Seattle, Washington. The hours are Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday from 11 A.M. to 4 P.M. and Thursday 11 A.M. to 9 P.M. For more information, visit www.henryart.org.

The Lavender Palette: Gay Culture and the Art of Washington State by Chloé Dye Sherpe

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Jan 2020 16:28:48 GMT

“The Lavender Palette: Gay Culture and the Art of Washington State” at Cascadia Art Museum is the first of its kind. Curator David Martin seeks to document and illustrate the influence of gay artists in Washington state and outline their regional, national, and international importance. The public and private artworks and writings of these artists are on display for the first time together in this exhibition. Martin describes significance of this in his introductory statement, “While certain aspects of their creative output exist in public collections, art with subject matter illustrating their personal lives was often destroyed or weeded out in museum collections in order to preserve a sanitized version of their lives.” The show touches on many aspects, including stylistic contribution,international acclaim, the risk of persecution and imprisonment, aesthetic influences, and documentation of gay culture. However, I believe that the core strength of the exhibition is that it shares the stories and significance of these artists, and in many cases these personal narratives are being shared with the public for the first time.

There are four artists whose work is synonymous with Northwest art. Kenneth Callahan, Mark Tobey, Morris Graves, and Guy Anderson are the “big four” artists who make up the core of the Northwest School. Three of those artists, Tobey, Graves, and Anderson, are included in this exhibition. Tobey’s paintings show his experimentation with white lines, which would become his signature style. Several of Graves’ paintings from the 1930s are included and they are wonderful examples of the social realistic style. A later painting, “Preening Sparrow” from 1952, is also included. I was particularly thrilled to see Guy Anderson’s “Fisherman Dreaming of Home” from 1964 which is oil and metal collage on wood. His paintings and prints are staples in the both private and public art collections in the Northwest, but I think his mixed media pieces are especially personal because would often use materials in his immediate surroundings.

It is vital that Tobey, Graves, and Anderson be included in this exhibition, but there another dozen artists featured that will likely not be familiar to even the most devoted Northwest art connoisseur. Once the visitor has entered the galleries, the first images that the viewer sees when entering the space is a series 54 mugshots of men arrested for sodomy between 1893-1913. On a perpendicular wall, portraits of many of the artists are also installed. I was so grateful to be able to put faces to the names of artists that I was learning about for the first time. I am very familiar with portraits of Morris Graves, for example, but other artists like Thomas Handforth, Sarah Spurgeon, and Richard Bennett were completely new to me. Rediscovery has become a theme for the exhibitions at Cascadia Art Museum and it is a real benefit for the artistic community.

The galleries that hold the exhibition feel intimate and the visitor can easily stand in a position so that they can see the majority of the room. As I stood at the entrance of the largest room, I was amazed at the number and variety of artworks. Since the works are arranged by artist, it can be a wonderful visual exercised for the visitor to try to note some of the thematic through-lines as they move from artist to artist. Many themes are revealed, including interior mid-century scenes, fashion illustrations, labor scenes in social realist style, Northwest School style paintings, and more. However, the artworks most interesting to me focused on intimate subject matter and portraits. The thesis of the show is to bring the private lives of these artists to the forefront; lives that they often had to hide to varying degrees. These intimate writings and images tell many stories including the “wedding” of Jackie Starr (“a top female impersonator at the Garden of Allah Club in Seattle” according to the exhibition text) and Bill Scott, the long-lasting professional and personal relationship between Del McBride and Clark Brott, Orre Nobles’ diary in which he describes “chats” (code for sexual experiences), and photographs of naked men in a variety of poses and displayed in the “mature content” section of the exhibition.

As stated in the introductory text, this exhibition is groundbreaking. The time and knowledge required to gather all the artworks and primary sources together in this show is staggering. I was told by the docent that there a catalog is forthcoming, but its release date is unknown at this time. There are three Coffee with the Curator events throughout the run of the exhibition and the last event is on January 5. If you want to discover artists who will likely be new to you and learn more about their concealed personal relationships and artworks, this is the exhibition for you.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“The Lavender Palette” is on view through January 26 at the Cascadia Art Museum, located 190 Sunset Avenue in Edmonds, Washington. Museum hours are Wednesday through Sunday from 11 A.M. to 6 P.M. and on 3rd Thursdays Art Walk Edmonds from 11 A.M. to 8 P.M. For more information, visit www.cascadiaartmuseum.org.

Living the Dream in the Skagit Valley

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Jan 2020 14:53:05 GMT

Perry and Carlson Gallery & Shop • Mount Vernon, Washington

After decades working in New York and Seattle as design professionals, couple Trina Perry Carlson and Christian Carlson were primed to build a life with their personal creative imperatives on the front burner—textile-based artwork for her, abstract painting for him.

“My motivation for coming was to have time and space and creative freedom,” explains Christian, an architect. “And Trina’s was to start a retail business.”

They decided that moving to a smaller, more affordable community would set the stage for realizing their aspirations. So as their youngest child neared the completion of high school, they began looking at real estate with that ineffable “it” factor in Oregon and Washington.

Their sweet spot turned out to be an hour north of their Capitol Hill home, in Mount Vernon, where they purchased a 6000-square-foot building in the town’s commercial heart. Since moving into the 1924 property almost five years ago, they have transformed its street-facing area into two fluidly conjoined spaces: a gallery featuring contemporary artists and a retail shop rich with handcrafted objects and vintage finds. And in the back, an enviable loft-like residence, with room for their own studio spaces.

“Mount Vernon is one of the most intact towns in the West, at least on First Street,” according to Christian. “We’re both urbanists and understand what makes a town healthy or unhealthy and Mount Vernon seemed to be doing everything right.” The pair was impressed by the town’s active farmers’ market and downtown business association, mix of retail, restaurants, cafes, and bars, and a recently completed flood wall and riverwalk.

“One thing that really spoke to us was how vibrant the community co-op is,” says Trina. “People travel from Bellingham to shop at the Skagit Valley Co-op and also to go to the Lincoln Theater. It felt like if this town supports these two really strong community-based businesses that’s a good sign.”

They wanted to avoid the gallery being a gift shop with art on the walls. And, unlike many of the Valley galleries which mainly focus on local artists, its exhibitions have featured national and international artists.

“We were trying to make a splash with bringing more of a big city kind of art scene to the Valley,” Christian explains. “We got some nice attention for that. And then the local artists started kind of paying attention to us. And in the meantime, in the last three years, we’ve met dozens of local artists.”

Looking ahead, he says, “there are two things that we haven’t done that we would like to do. One is more focused on installations, where we invite artists to take the gallery for a month and build something in situ. And the other is new media.”

The unexpected pleasures of the move have been many. Trina explains, “We feel like we’ve built more community in the last four years than in 20 years in Seattle.” Another boon of moving to a smaller town is that “there’s a real value in getting involved. There’s room for involvement and you can make a difference. Christian’s on the planning commission now, he’s a planning commissioner and helping the city.” Collaboration with other artists, artisans and galleries has been rewarding as well.

And Christian’s work has changed profoundly. Prior to the move, he considered himself an inveterate abstract painter. “I’d never been interested in landscape art in any way, shape, or form. To me landscape was the same as still lifes or something. It was just kind of too representational and too sort of light.”

Once settled in town, “I kept noticing how the horizon organizes everything that you see, especially in the Valley where you pull over to the side of the road and there’s a field that starts right in front of you and goes almost to the horizon. And then there’s stuff on the horizon, trees, buildings, telephone poles, whatever, and then usually a uniform white sky. And so it ends up being this very abstract composition. And so I started really focusing on the line of the horizon. I would just sketch this again and again, and then I started painting it.”

His fascination continues. “I’m just obsessed with it. I can’t stop. I paint the Valley again and again and again.” Christian’s Valley-inspired work is on display in the gallery through January 31. Entitled “Skagit Winter,” the show includes drawings and paintings in encaustic, acrylic, and oil.

Clare McLean

Writer Clare McLean is based in Snohomish County.

“Skagit Winter” featuring paintings and drawings by Christian Carlson is on view Monday, Wednesday through Saturday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. and Sunday from noon to 4 P.M. through January 31 at Perry and Carlson located at 504 South 1st Street in Mount Vernon, Washington. For more information, visit www.perryandcarlson.com.

Ekphrastic Writing by Janée J. Baugher

Debbi Lester — Wed, 01 Jan 2020 16:52:09 GMT

After Allison Collins’ 2002 painting, “Steptoe Butte”

The squares of yellows and oranges like a library—all angles in their places until an unsuspecting hand…a melding, a greeting of hand to angle, of that which is fresh and sinewy and pale to the stacks, a landscape of yellow boxes and orange boxes amid a landscape of green expanse and lavender above. Who lingers here and who drives through. Who knows how to mix the rhythm of green—that undulation of grass not yet harvestable for straw, but plumbing in nutrients, hay perhaps, grain or crops, those that someone nods to on his way to the city where cement stacks ride on brick and the sky turns a pink some nights because of the smog, and it makes him recall the purity of a lavender sky astride the velvety green of field, makes him recall the symmetry of these shapes like books on the shelf of his own body.

Janée J. Baugher

Janée J. Baugher is the author of two ekphrastic poetry collections, The Body’s Physics and Coördinates of Yes. Her poetry and prose have been published in Tin House, The Writer’s Chronicle, Boulevard, NANO Fiction, Nimrod, and The Southern Review, among other places, and sheteaches at Richard Hugo House. In autumn 2020, McFarland will publish her academic book, Ekphrastic Writing: A Guide to Visual-Art-Influenced Poetry, Nonfiction, and Fiction.

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Wed, 06 Nov 2019 13:49:57 GMT

May You Never Have To Run For Your Life

One of life’s unavoidable responsibilities is to show up at your friend’s fund-raising event. You could send a check. But if she’s been reminding you of the date for months; comparing her entertainment line-up to Hamilton, you really do need to attend.

I’m joking. But even if I wasn’t, I’d never want to let her down. She’s been good to me. Loyal, generous, honest. But not too.

Still, I’m a little fearful of round table seating. It makes me feel like I’m ten years old again waiting for the popular kids to reject me. So I always try to find at least one person I can see myself making small talk with.

One woman looked interesting enough. At least I wanted to think her tree-of-life earrings meant she might be fun. I put my coat over the back of the chair next to hers and we got to talking. Of course we did.

I wish I could say it’s possible to recognize what side of an issue someone is on based on earrings alone, but one should never make such assumptions.

Now, I’m a little sensitive about immigration, I feel protective. The more my tablemate drank, the more obnoxious she became, and we were only halfway through our salads. And so came the probe. “But your parents came legally, right? They didn’t come expecting a free ride?”

I wanted to say, free ride? How many immigrant’s do you know who want that? Most come to work at kitchen or field labor. I’m sure you didn’t raise your son to move on down to Fresno to hand pick tomatoes. But to answer your question directly, no, I don’t think my family came legally, they came desperately. It’s why they were called WOPS. Without Papers. The legal process began after they arrived. Oh, and one other thing: May you never have to run for your life.

I didn’t say this. I sat there with a big fat fake smile on my face, trying to be socially-correct where the worst thing you can say is the truest thing you feel. The polite thing to do is just say, “Excuse me,” and pretend to see someone you know across the room.

I did know someone! At the head table.

After congratulating my friend (she raised a ton of money for a scholarship program), I passed two women discussing Good Friday, “What’s so good about it again? I can’t remember.”

“It’s when Jesus rose from the dead.”

“Was it before or after he walked on water?” They laughed. “My first husband thought he could walk on water, too, but my lawyer showed him just how quickly you can go under.”

Every once in a while you overhear someone who knows how to make easy, light, irreverent conversation, who reminds you that it’s possible to be sassy and bold and respectful all in the same breath. Not that it’s ever smart to assume. But I pulled up a chair anyway.

I’ve replayed a lot of the evening over and over in my mind, looking for a reason I should have stayed home in my sweats, but I can’t find one. It was a really good cause.

And the entertainment was top notch.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli is an author, speaker and dance teacher. Her first novel, “The Star Struck Dance Studio (of Yucca Springs)” was recently published by Chatwin Books. Ask for it at your favorite independent bookstore. For more information, visit
www.marylousanelli.com.

After Francisco de Goya’s painting, The Third of May 1808 in Madrid: The Execution at Principe Pío by

Debbi Lester — Wed, 06 Nov 2019 13:47:07 GMT

After Francisco de Goya’s painting,

The Third of May 1808 in Madrid: The Execution at Principe Pío

Goya admired the maverick monarch Napoleon, but when his army invaded Spain, Goya experienced war firsthand. In addition to conveying sympathy for the victims of war, he showed how the French soldiers were also victims, with their “just follow orders” mindset. Some soldiers cover their eyes in disbelief and choke on gun smoke and blood liberating from the luckless. The blood reaching the soil, penetrating the earth, lurching to its core, mingling with other roots and life in which God exists. The cells of the blood, the pebbles on the ground, the fine outerwear of the guards, and the night which holds each man there and can do nothing else. Cued: five prisoners, including a tonsured monk. On one side: a mound of three dead. On the other side, a group awaits the firing squad which functions as a single unit. Each of the Spaniards bearing a long shot-gun—their hat-shaded faces are staring into the eye holes, their stance is leaning balanced on a collective bent knee. Kneeling prisoner in the center—lit by a lantern between the killers and the killed. His hands palms-up to Madrid’s night sky in vain, for the group of dead beside him will rise to eight. How close we stand to death, to our rites, where brooding men loom in their top-hats and long jackets. Their full sheaths swinging beside them as they reload and take down men as easily as a tree struck by lightning. The bark flings off the tree bole, exposing the white inside. The blood of these war-captured stains the ground disappears into a stronghold of roots destined to rot to the core, the core of the earth where men trod mindlessly over the amount of blood it takes for the work to be done. They will not reap what they sow, but the cells will descend and inhabit the soil, inhabit the land which grows the bread that these soldiers will deliver home and break for their children to eat.

Janée J. Baugher

Janée J. Baugher is the author of two ekphrastic poetry collections, The Body’s Physics and Coördinates of Yes. Her poetry and prose have been published in Tin House, The Writer’s Chronicle, Boulevard, NANO Fiction, Nimrod, and The Southern Review, among other places, and she teaches at Richard Hugo House. In autumn 2020, McFarland will publish her academic book, Ekphrastic Writing: A Guide to Visual-Art-Influenced Poetry, Nonfiction, and Fiction.

After Sandro Botticelli’s c. 1475 painting, Spring by Janée J. Baugher

Debbi Lester — Wed, 06 Nov 2019 13:44:07 GMT

After Sandro Botticelli’s c. 1475 painting, Spring

In a citrus grove in spring, the wind distributes the pollen, then gestation happens and hence, flora sprouts from her mouth. Spring personified as the maiden carries a bunch of flowers and petals. Mercury as Wind on one side of the canvas. The three Graces, intertwining all 30 fingers, signify love for humanity. In the center, Venus cloaked in a white gown and red wrap. Cupid hovers above her and aims his arrow carelessly. All bodies are symmetrical and serene. The translucent gowns, see the curves and see their faces like friends. We must relish in spring, but not adhere to it. In winter, the mind was at home with the cold white mornings and the short days smelling of decay and endings. Do not let spring fool you, she begs, relish in all the elements: Talk to the wind so no one will hear you, look to Cupid’s aims if you’ve lost direction, gaze at Mercury, for when he appears, it’s only an illusion. The fruit and flowers depicted in that painting couldn’t have existed in nature at the same time. But the artist could not consider realism, the way grass grows upward and green, and how some nights the wind gusting through your window is a little blue man. As for Venus, she can name the flowers and fruit, but she can never describe to you their colors.

Janée J. Baugher

Janée J. Baugher is the author of two ekphrastic poetry collections, The Body’s Physics and Coördinates of Yes. Her poetry and prose have been published in Tin House, The Writer’s Chronicle, Boulevard, NANO Fiction, Nimrod, and The Southern Review, among other places, and she teaches at Richard Hugo House. In autumn 2020, McFarland will publish her academic book, Ekphrastic Writing: A Guide to Visual-Art-Influenced Poetry, Nonfiction, and Fiction.

Robert Williams: Father of Exponential Imagination at Bellevue Art Museum by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Wed, 06 Nov 2019 13:42:08 GMT

June Sekiguchi and Lauren Iida at ArtXchange Gallery by Susan Noyes Platt

Debbi Lester — Wed, 06 Nov 2019 13:21:24 GMT

A river flows through the center of the ArtXchange Gallery. June Sekiguchi’s poetic exhibition, “The Pulse of Water,” features a river constructed by the artist of fiber board intricately cut on a scroll saw. As we immerse ourselves in the swirls and patterns of the river that flows down the wall and across the gallery, we can feel the spirit of the river as it moves from the purity of the mountain stream to the siena browns of the lowlands.

Fourteen years ago June Sekiguchi traveled on the Mekong River for two weeks, “Floating down the river in a long narrow boat slows the pace of life—I could just BE. As I meditatively floated, the riverboat captain was vigilantly reading the river—there are not many rapids, but bubbling whirlpools in constant motion indicate there is something beneath the surface. Trees, rocks, and all kinds of human-made things have been swallowed by the river. I saw the Mekong as a metaphor for our human selves. One may detect hints on the surface, but underneath is where our stories are submerged.” The Mekong river begins in Tibet, flows through South China, forms a border between Burma and Laos, as well as Laos and Thailand, then flows on through Cambodia and Vietnam where it ends in the famous Mekong delta.

In Sekiguchi’s installation the swirls of the river in many colors and patterns seem alive and perhaps struggling, as the dark colors and the pure clean white patterns overlap and interact. The artist also created a bamboo bridge across her river about which she states “Every year the bridge is washed away by the monsoon. Each year, the people rebuild the bridge.” Those many patterns though also refer to the threats to this precious river, the source of food for millions of people. It is rapidly being dammed for hydroelectric power, starting in China, and now further South in Laos. The entire ecosystem of the river is under threat. As we well know from our experience here, dams are devastating to migrating fish. So as we look at this celebration of the poetry of water flowing freely, we also can feel the threat to the river.

Sekiguchi recently created “Akha Headdress” to honor the Akha people, a tribal hill people that span from the Yunnan province of Southern China, as well as Thailand, Laos, Burma, and China. Their traditional farming land is also threatened by governments taking their land, although eco-tourism seems to be helping them survive. In China, the Akha people grow Puer and other types of sought-after tea (as well as coffee) and have been integrated into the world economy.

Other works in the “Pulse of Water” include mandalas, bells, and kites, all created on scroll cut wood. The scroll saw moves up and down with a spiral blade, and Sekiguchi frequently works with 1/8 inch thick low grade fiber board that has no grain, allowing her to create intricate designs.

Also at ArtXchange is an exhibition by Lauren Iida, “100 Aspects of the Moon.” Iida creates delicate images with hand cut paper, watercolor, and sumi ink that suggest a fragment of a story. Lauren Iida’s grandparents were detained during World War II at Tule Lake. As a Japanese American, this personal history has profoundly affected her art and her view of the world.

Japanese woodblock artist Tsukioka Yoshitoshi (1839-1892) “100 Aspects of the Moon” inspired the current series. In his case, the themes are taken from Indian and Chinese legends, famous musicians, poets, and heroes of classic novels and plays. Iida chooses to represent personal events for her family as well as to depict scenes from the life of her friends in Cambodia. The moon in each image in both series represents the connections among people no matter who or where they are. Iida suggests a meditative moment in each work, whether it be those waiting for a family member who is detained or a young man standing alone in a field.

Iida has been based in Cambodia since 2008. Deeply engaged with social projects she sponsors the nonprofit The Antipodes Collective which creates illustrated books in both Khmer and English for Cambodian children. Open Studio Kampot takes place in her house which she has opened up to youth artists, including many with disabilities. Her story suggests her deep feeling for those who struggle to survive, but she doesn’t just feel concern, she collaborates with people who might seem to have no way forward to help them create viable lives.

Lauren Iida and June Sekiguchi make a perfect pairing of exhibitions that give us insights into an area of the world that shares the same ecological concerns as Seattle, but of which we hear very little. ArtXchange Gallery plays a crucial role in Seattle in exhibiting both contemporary Asian and Asian American artists.

Susan Noyes Platt
Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“The Pulse of Water” exhibit by June Sekiguchi and “100 Aspects of the Moon” exhibit by Lauren Iida are on view through November 30 at the ArtXchange Gallery located at 512 First Avenue South in Seattle, Washington. Gallery hours are Tuesday to Saturday from 11 A.M. to 5:30 P.M. For information, visit www.artxcahnge.org.

Wanted Ed Bereal for Disturbing the Peace by Chloé Dye Sherpe

Debbi Lester — Wed, 06 Nov 2019 12:51:05 GMT

On August 14, Ed Bereal woke to find a National Guardsman outside of his studio pointing a gun at him. It was 1965 in Los Angeles and the artist was living in the midst of the Watts Rebellion. Curator Amy Chaloupka titled this section of her essay describing the event as “An Awakening”. From that moment, Bereal’s artworks intensified and became even more pointed and critical. Building on his training and life experiences, his artworks continue to tackle corruption, corporate greed, commercialism, racism, and gun violence. By using characters prevalent in popular culture, from George W. Bush to the Joker, Bereal draws the viewer in by using startling imagery mixed with recognizable figures. The images are often astonishing, and will no doubt hurtle the viewer towards introspection and discussion. Layers of intricate drawings are sometimes superimposed with rough, found materials. In the end, Bereal constructs a poignant criticism and reflection of the challenging aspects of American history.

“Wanted: Ed Bereal for Disturbing the Peace” is the artist’s first solo museum retrospective. It is incredible that Bereal had never had a significant solo museum exhibition before this point. His work has been exhibited widely internationally at important art institutions like the Getty Museum and Centre Pompidou.

This exhibit includes Bereal’s artworks from the last sixty years in all areas of his career, including collages, sketches, photojournalism, sculptures, and videos of his theater work. It also includes the never-before-seen installation, “Exxon: The Five Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” a forty-foot long piece with five “horsemen” created from assembled materials and projected light. The exhibition is impressive for several reasons. The scope and breadth of the artworks exhibited is the first of its kind. In addition, curator Amy Chaloupka expertly organized the exhibition so that a visitor who is new to Bereal’s work can move through his artistic career and many of the artworks have extended labels with more information. The museum does have a word of caution for visitors before they enter the exhibition, and the message states that the content may be emotionally charged for some visitors and that some artworks contain adult content.

The exhibition is organized into several sections that represent the phases and evolution of his artistic career. At the entrance, the viewer encounters “Political Cartoons” which filled with logos, familiar faces from politics and popular culture, and sarcasm. It is in this section that Bereal’s use of dark humor and his talent for illustration really shine. There is a wall filled end to end with sketches from the 1980s through the present. Bereal studied at the Chouinard Art Institute in their advertising design program and the institute was known for training Disney illustrators, so it is not a surprise that Bereal’s drawing skills are excellent.

After seeing the political cartoons and large-scale installations, the viewer is brought back twenty years Bereal’s early career when he was experimenting with drawing and assemblage artworks. This portion includes information about his involvement in the infamous War Babies exhibition Huysman Gallery in 1961, examples of his unique use of materials, symbols, and ephemera from the period.

Significantly, it was also during these formative years that Bereal lived through the Watts Rebellion. The impact of that event is evident in his work. “America: A Mercy Killing” is a mixed-media kinetic sculpture that he made while writing a screenplay and the artwork was originally intended to be a model for the set.

He continued his interest in performance while teaching at University of California, Riverside and University of California, Irvine. In 1968 he organized a group of twelve student actors into a group called Bodacious Buggerrilla to bring critical perspectives to their communities. For the following decades, Bereal continued to bring performance to the masses and later took his skills overseas as a photojournalist in the 1980s and 1990s. He continued to teach while on assignment outside the United States and sought to demonstrate how people could use photography and film as forms of activism.

It was very wise to put a warning at the entrance to this exhibition. The images are powerful, at times disturbing, and often evoke an immediate response. As a caucasian, millennial woman, I came to this exhibit with ideas and experiences informed by my life and the world around me. I can’t imagine experiencing what Ed Bereal experienced. A t the end of the exhibition, there is a table with several chairs for people to reflect and discuss their thoughts on the show. Notebooks titled “I leave wanting to…”, “I am still thinking about…”, and “I want to have a conversation about…” are sitting on the table. My recommendation? Take the time to observe the details, maybe chuckle at some of the sarcasm, deliberate about the challenging images, and witness the strange in this show. I also recommend reading the essays in the corresponding catalog. The authors expertly provide context for the artworks and respectfully share Bereal’s story. The curator also gives gallery tours and Bereal has participated in several events at the museum.

Chloé Dye Sherpe
Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Ed Bereal: Wanted for Disturbing the Peace” is on view through January 5 at the Whatcom Museum located at 250 Flora Street in Bellingham, Washington. Museum hours are Wednesday through Sunday from 12 to 5 P.M. For more information,
visit www.whatcommuseum.org

Poem by Alan Chong Lau

Debbi Lester — Wed, 06 Nov 2019 12:44:11 GMT

    today
    i am dancing
    for my mother
    who carried me
    on her shoulders
    and made the earth
    sacred

Alan Chong Lau
Alan Chong Lau is a poet and visual artist based in Seattle, Washington. He serves as Arts Editor for the International Examiner, a community newspaper. As a visual artist, he is represented by ArtXChange Gallery in Seattle, Washington.

John Levy
John Levy is a poet and photographer. His most recent book of poetry, “On Its Edge, Tilted,” published by oata in 2018 and some of his previous books of poetry have been published by First Intensity Press and The Elizabeth Press. He lives in Tucson, Arizona.

Alan Chong Lau and John Levy have just published their third volume of poetry and photograph collaboration with the online literary magazine, otata. To view more of their work, visit www.otatablog.wordpress.com.

Poem by Alan Chong Lau

Debbi Lester — Wed, 06 Nov 2019 12:34:08 GMT

   with nothing to hide
   i bunch up
   my turtleneck
   and spill
   out of my shell

   the hair
   on my head
   coiffed into
   a soft frizzy
   exclamation point
   of what i’m
   all about

Alan Chong Lau
Alan Chong Lau is a poet and visual artist based in Seattle, Washington. He serves as Arts Editor for the International Examiner, a community newspaper. As a visual artist, he is represented by ArtXChange Gallery in Seattle, Washington.

John Levy
John Levy is a poet and photographer. His most recent book of poetry, “On Its Edge, Tilted,” published by oata in 2018 and some of his previous books of poetry have been published by First Intensity Press and The Elizabeth Press. He lives in Tucson, Arizona.

Alan Chong Lau and John Levy have just published their third volume of poetry and photograph collaboration with the online literary magazine, otata. To view more of their work, visit www.otatablog.wordpress.com.

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 Sep 2019 20:39:53 GMT

Lyft Share, Yes Please

Some of my worst days lately have been the ones that I thought driving across town was a good idea.

So, I’ve decided to sell my car.

And here’s why. Now that we have the Lyft share option, I can no longer justify owning a car in the city.

Now, I’m not preaching the gospel of not owning a car; if I believed that, I’d have sold mine years ago.

One friend says that since I’m from New York, I’m more cut out for public transit. “But I’m from Seattle,” he said.

“But Seattle is the most forward-thinking city about transportation,” I said.

I don’t remember much else about that conversation, just that the real differences between us were highlighted in the collection of odd shaped mirrors above the bar at Tavolata where they’ve been brought to light before. Last time he said that my apartment reminds him of a bento box.

Granted, I live in Belltown, where parking is more of an issue. But the fact that I can ride to just about anywhere I need to go in the city for under five dollars if I’m willing to share feels like a gift.

It is a gift. “Thank you!” I cried the first time I tapped the share option, as though I’d just unwrapped one.

Many of my Lyft drivers have been surprisingly enlightening. My last was from Afghanistan. He wanted to know all about Velocity, the dance studio he was taking me to, because he loves to dance but under the Taliban he was not allowed to. He had a regal presence with brown hair and eyes and a white dress shirt. I wore workout sweats. But the rider we picked up was so covered with dog hair and what looked like dog slobber that this put a lid on my feeling frumpy-American.

He was nice though.

Our driver said he was grateful to be in this country. “I wish Americans had just helped us more, not invaded.” I found his comment refreshing. I no longer want to hear what journalists think Afghans think. I want to understand from Afghans what they think.

Once he cleared that up, we talked about other things. Like the last mass shooting, though, sadly, I don’t even remember which one. He said—I’m paraphrasing, but only slightly—“he had so many rounds, that crazy shooter! He shot and shot! I really don’t think our forefathers had an AK-47 in mind when they thought about the right to bear arms. I don’t think they ever meant that.”

What really got me was the way he said, “our” forefathers. I mean every time our government pisses me off lately, I’m more than happy to call myself an Italian again.

Not every ride is as interesting. One driver picked me up at the Fauntleroy Ferry and for the entire drive I was on the receiving end of a nonsensical monologue. Before driving off, he thanked me for the great conversation. “Is that what that was?” I said. And slammed the door.

Yet, all of these people make me get up from my desk and look out the window at the street beneath my fifth floor window. And I think, that driver, in his grey Toyota Prius, who is he?

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli, author, speaker, and dance teacher, lives in Seattle. Her forthcoming novel, “The Star Struck Dance Studio (of Yucca Springs)” is to be published in September, (Chatwin Books). Please join her at Village Books, in Bellingham, 7 P.M.; at Third Place Books, Lake Forest Park, Saturday, October 12, 6 P.M.; at Watermark Book Company on Thursday, October 17, 6 P.M., on Bainbridge Island at Eagle Harbor Book Company on Sunday, October 20, 3 P.M.; or at the Rose Theatre in Port Townsend, Sunday, October 27, 1 P.M. For more information, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

this girl by Alan Chong Lau

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 Sep 2019 20:38:10 GMT

this girl

from a vermeer painting

sits on a bus

engrossed in words

everything around her moves

but she sits still

in time

the silence

will tell

its own story

Alan Chong Lau

Alan Chong Lau is a poet and painter exhibiting his art locally at ArtXChange Gallery in Seattle, Washington.

Alan Chong Lau and John Levy have just published their third volume of poetry and photograph collaboration with the online literary magazine, otata. To view more of their work, visit www.otatablog.wordpress.com.

this crow by Alan Chong Lau

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 Sep 2019 20:31:56 GMT

this crow

taking flight

its shadow

a paper cut

emblazened

on this wall

Alan Chong Lau

Alan Chong Lau is a poet and painter exhibiting his art locally at ArtXChange Gallery in Seattle, Washington.

Joe Max Emminger @ Bainbridge Island Museum of Art by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 Sep 2019 20:29:11 GMT

Zanele Muholi and Natalie Ball Exhibits by Susan Noyes Platt

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 Sep 2019 20:14:33 GMT

From three galleries away the huge self portrait photograph of Zanele Muholi dominates the view. The mesmerizing image called “Somnyama Ngonyama: Hail the Dark Lioness,” gazes at us in a side wise glance. The giant mane of hair, a headdress of sheepskin, cascades and almost buries the small face. Keeping in mind that it is the male lion that has a mane, this lioness identifies as they. Their expression is hard to decipher. While the scale of the work suggests domination, the face is self contained and private.

This title image by South African artist Zanele Muholi prepares us for what is to come. Every single photograph is a self portrait, with the artist gazing fixedly and inescapably, sometimes directly at us. Opposite the “Lioness,” a mural sized reclining Muholi clutches plastic pillows against a background of stacks of newspapers. They are unavailable, gazing beyond us. Reclining Venus they are not. At the end of the adjacent hall, a “Statue of Liberty” Muholi, wearing a crown of foam loops, gazes skyward.

As we enter the Jacob Lawrence and Gwen Knight Gallery at the Seattle Art Museum, the full force of the gazes of the self portraits strikes us from all four walls. The first wall refers to colonialism, with a huge portrait sporting a (paper) ruff (from the packing for children’s toys) as in the era of Rembrandt and the occupation of Africa. On one long wall we start with plastic pollution, then move to enslavement, and service and exploitation. A few images turn away, some are personal, as in the self portrait honoring her sister, a gentle and proud Muholi wears a crown and necklace of rubber inner tubes that confer majesty. They are defiantly inverting the violent history of rubber in Africa, where the Belgian King Leopold ruthlessly killed thousands to satisfy his thirst for that “natural” product. Rubber appears repeatedly here as a garment, necklace, or headdress.

The props gathered in the street, and thrift stores, drastically alter the effect, transforming the same face from royal to ironic, but never oppressed. Defiance is the common theme. In one work, the artist dons a milk stool on their head, and tangled straw around their neck as a reference to farming. In others they blend into a rocky landscape or deep forest commenting on making visible the invisible black body. As a mask in the midst of African market kitsch the artist gives us the absurdity of tourist capitalism.

Two videos provide background, speaking of the ten year project of documenting the victims of hate crimes against LGBTQIA South Africans,as well as photographing the dignity and beauty of Trans and Lesbians in over 500 portraits. They wanted to celebrate community and create respect.

In 2012, their studio was ransacked and the perpetrator deliberately destroyed the hard drive of current work that had not yet been published or even printed.

It was then that Muholi turned to self portraiture, a painful act of exposure. These portraits are identified by and subtly connected to the location where they were taken, a wide ranging geography. But the artist stood in humble hotel rooms to stage the images.

Each work has a title in isiZulu, and English. Muholi (that word actually means Leader) confronts us with their occupation of our white space on their own terms. We come away with a feeling of uplift, humility, and awe, for their photographic prowess as well as their courage.

Not far away on the same floor is the Betty Bowen award winner Natalie Ball (Modoc, Klamath). Ball is descended from the famous leader of the late nineteenth century Modoc resistance, Captain Jack. That heritage of warrior defiance is obvious here. Ball’s two pieces “You Mist, again (Rattle)” and “Re Run” make up the installation “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Snake.” The title tells you a lot, interrupting the familiar nursery rhyme about the stars with a snake that can be both threatening and magical. The installation is ironically (intentionally?) juxtaposed to a well-known work by Marsden Hartley in the adjacent American Art Gallery which borrows native American designs, a widespread practice in the early twentieth century (and still). In every detail of these complex collaged sculptures, Ball explores the collision of indigenous and white cultures as well as African American, also part of her heritage (note the bullet shells embedded in one of the works). But she is also celebrating indigenous vitality and incorporating trickster humor.

Rattlesnake skin appears as part of both works (although significantly identified simply as rattlesnake), a skin that a snake has shed, after it regrows another, a clear reference to the survival abilities of indigenous peoples, in spite of white man’s best efforts to obliterate them. The diamond patterned quilt suggests joy, but everything is off kilter. The cut up sports jerseys, letters, and logo disrupt any possible cliché of Native or African American culture, giving us instead a proud declaration of survival in the face of extreme pressure.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“Zanele Muholi: Somnayama Ngonyama, Hail the Dark Lioness” is on view through November 3 and “Natalie Ball: Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Snake” is on view through November 17. Both exhibits are at the Seattle Art Museum, located at 1300 First Avenue in Seattle, Washington. Museum hours are Friday through Monday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. and Thursday from 10 A.M. to 9 P.M. For information, visit www.seattleartmuseum.org.

Magic Skagit: The Edison Art Scene by Chloé Dye Sherpe

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 Sep 2019 19:24:19 GMT

It’s common to hear Skagitonians refer to their home as “Magic Skagit.” For decades, well-known Northwest artists have been visiting or moving to the area in order to capture its light and landscape. Morris Graves, Guy Anderson, Philip McCracken, Richard Gilkey, and the infamous Fishtown group are just a few significant artists who chose to live in Skagit Valley. But another town in the valley is now making its mark on the Pacific Northwest art scene. You may have heard of the amazing food in Edison, Washington, but have you heard anything about the thriving art scene in this tiny town? As a lifelong Skagitonian myself, I have many fond memories of traveling to this small town to get cookies at the Breadfarm, but over the last few years I have been mostly drawn to the amazing art community. In order to get an insight to this unique place, I spoke to Margy Lavelle and Andrew Vallee, the directors and founders of i.e. gallery and Smith & Vallee Gallery respectively.

Margy Lavelle isn’t new to the Northwest art scene. She managed Mia Gallery in Seattle for five years in the 1980s and 1990s. As an artist herself, Margy often came up to Skagit Valley for inspiration. In our interview, she said: “I used to drive up here with my kids on the weekend. I love the light, and I love the space. After the kids finished college and got settled…I moved up here to paint.” We also talked about Dana and Toni Ann Rust, who ran the Edison Eye Gallery in Edison and were significant patrons of the arts in Skagit Valley. The Edison Eye building had been sitting empty, and Margy started asking Toni Ann if she could curate art shows in the space. Eventually, Toni Ann gave in and Margy started the gallery with David Kane, another artist, in 2015. Now, Margy is the sole proprietor and the beautifully curated shows clearly exhibit her vision.

Margy has a clear vision for her gallery, and that is evident in the September and October shows. In September, i.e. gallery welcomes Drie Chapek. Chapek is an abstract painter who uses broad brushstrokes, thick paint, and a natural, yet colorful, palette. Margy reported that Chapek’s new work is more angular, contrary to her usually billowy paintings, and the colors more subdued. Juliana Heyne will fill the gallery in October with landscape paintings from her travels. Her pieces often include an element of collage, making them also textured in their own way. Both artists certainly contain “the hand” that Margy mentioned that she looks for when selecting artists for the gallery.

Right down the street, visitors can stop by another art gallery. Interestingly, Dana Rust and the Edison Eye also brought Andrew Vallee to Edison. After showing his artwork at the gallery, Rust kept inviting Valley back. One evening in 2006, he was walking down the street with his future wife and they saw that a historic schoolhouse was for sale. They put an offer on it the next day and Smith & Vallee Gallery was born. But the Smith & Vallee brand consists of more than an art gallery. Andrew Vallee and Wesley Smith also make furniture and cabinetry and have been in business since 1997. Regardless of whether they are making cabinetry or selling artworks, the result is consistent. When asked about his vision for the gallery, Vallee responded that “Smith & Vallee has the highest standards with the artists we represent and the way we show their artwork, while fostering a friendly environment where everyone is welcome to enjoy the experience.” And that is clear the moment you walk in the door.

Smith & Vallee Gallery shows often consist of two artists. The September show features Andree Vallee and Patty Haller. It is interesting to note that both Vallee and Haller live in Skagit Valley. Vallee is showing his sculptures and Haller paints large-scale oil paintings of nature scenes. Texture is again a theme for the gallery’s October exhibition which includes Julia “Joules” Martin and Brian O’Neill. Martin paints landscapes in acrylic and is a newer artist to Smith & Vallee Gallery. O’Neill is a ceramicist, and both artists live in Whatcom County.

When I asked Vallee and Lavelle why they think people are drawn to Edison, their answers were relatively simple and consistent. Vallee believes it is because Edison is authentic. Everything is made locally, whether that food, wool sweaters, or art. Lavelle told me that the people in the area naturally live a “creative life.” I encourage everyone reading to visit this town and stop in the restaurants, shops, and especially the art galleries. Beyond the two described in this article, a new gallery, Hadrian Art Gallery, opened recently and focuses on nature-inspired objects for everyday life. Come see for yourself what makes this place unique and why Skagitonians, myself included, refer to our valley as Magic Skagit.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

These galleries are in Edison, Washington. i.e. gallery, located at 5800 Cains Court, is open Friday through Monday from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. For information, visit www.ieedison.com. Smith & Vallee Gallery, located at 5742 Gilkey Avenue, is open daily 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. For information, visit www.smithandvalleegallery.com. Hadrian Gallery, located at 5717 Gilkey Avenue, is open daily 11 A.M. to 5 P.M.

Light Enough by Paul Hunter

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 Sep 2019 19:23:05 GMT

Mostly in the open Charlie’s work

went on rain and shine along hillsides

the lay of the land back and forth

only headed in for maintenance repairs

where Evaleen would likely visit him

in the barn bring her sewing sandwiches

sit by him chat if he felt like or be still

mend socks half a day while he figured

how to adjust the chain drive then

time the whirling combine head

where the manual was none too clear

and on the phone the dealer only said

bring it in if Bud’s not too jammed

at a hundred an hour he’ll maybe have a look

but remember we close right at six

so clearly stuck with fixing it himself

Charlie would open up to her eventually

explain how he thought the stupid thing

was meant to work and what he thought

should be adjusted round and round

till something in them both would yawn

at the lateness of the hour share a laugh

that finally let in light enough

to fix the cranky thing or blow a fuse

and let the sudden darkness rescue them

Paul Hunter

This and twenty-some others grew out of a long poem about shy country people finding love, a piece called “Luminaries” that first appeared in his third farming book called “Come the Harvest” (Silverfish Review Press, 2008).

Simon Hanselmann at The Bellevue Arts Museum

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Aug 2019 21:27:39 GMT

Portraits and Self-Portraits by Northwest Artists; 1910-2018

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Aug 2019 21:20:27 GMT

In January 2019, Cascadia Art Museum opened “Portraits and Self-Portraits by Northwest Artists,” an exhibition that includes paintings, prints, drawings, and photographs by both modern and contemporary Northwest artists. Curated by David Martin, the exhibition seeks to demonstrate the variety of approaches to portraiture by Northwest artists over the past one hundred years. While many exhibitions at Cascadia Art Museum primarily contain artworks created in the first half of the twentieth century, Martin decided to include artwork by three contemporary artists in this exhibition: Gary Faigin, William Elston, and Aleah Chapin in order to facilitate a visual dialogue between the past and the present.

Viewers are sure to be delighted to see well-known artists represented in the exhibition. Artists such as Edward S. Curtis (1868-1952), Thomas T. Wilson (1931-2015), Andrew Hofmeister (1913-2007), and Walter Isaacs (1886-1964) all have artworks in the exhibition. There is even a charcoal drawing of Mark Tobey by Dorothy Dolph Jensen (1895-1977) titled “Caricature of Mark Tobey” included in the show. Jensen was a student of Tobey at Cornish in the 1920s. Text by Jensen is posted next to her drawing in which she recounts some of her interactions with Tobey. According to Jensen, Tobey was hard on his female students and would often storm out of class after declaring, “There’s no such thing as perspective!” In one instance, after he left class Jensen quickly drew his face. Tobey returned quickly, looked at her drawing and declared: “I like it.” Her drawing is an intimate one of the famed Northwest artist. His hair is wildly sticking up in every direction, brow furrowed, and every piece of stubble on his chin is distinct. Jensen drew him quickly and emotionally, though it is difficult to determine which emotion won over in the end: anger or admiration.

Perhaps one of the most nationally celebrated artists in the exhibition is Imogene Cunningham (1883-1976). She is represented in almost every major museum in the United States and is considered an important pioneer in the field of photography. She was a member of Group f/64, a California-based group of photographers interested in meticulously composed and focused images Cunningham worked with or knew every major photographer working during this time,including Alfred Stieglitz, Ansel Adams, Edward Weston, Edward S. Curtis, and Dorothea Lange. This exhibition includes two of her photographs and they are portraits of Curt Ducasse and John Butler. Interestingly, another portrait of John Butler is included in the exhibition by artist Roi Partridge (1888-1984), who was Cunningham’s husband from 1915 to 1934. This situation allows the visitor the unique opportunity to compare how Partridge and Cunningham differ in their representation of the sitter.

A delightful inclusion in this exhibition is Anne Kutka McCosh (1902-1994). The painting, “Rainy Evening, Bus Corner, Self-Portrait,” is an oil on canvas created in 1931. At the time, McCosh was living in New York. The painting depicts McCosh in the center of the picture plane dressed in a blue work suit with a cream shawl over her head to protect her from the rain. The scene is dark and muted, but McCosh stands out as the largest and brightest figure in the composition. She holds an umbrella but doesn’t use it. Two people are huddled under an awning to protect themselves from the rain and warm up on a damp evening. McCosh looks up at the sky, maybe to try to determine if the rain will continue. McCosh has painted herself as a confident and professional New Yorker who is unaccompanied on her way home from work. This surely gives the viewer insight into how McCosh viewed herself, and it is an inspiring point of view.

This exhibition is packed full of portraits and self-portraits in a variety of styles and media. The museum also offers several programs to accompany the exhibition, including Coffee with the Curator which allows visitors to hear a lecture from David Martin. Cascadia Art Museum also offers music in the Museum and participates in the Blue Star Museum Program. Another wonderful opportunity to view the exhibition is during the Edmonds Art Walk on the third Thursday of every month from 5-8 P.M. when the museum is free. You can always count on this museum to include artworks by well-known Northwest artists in addition to several you may not recognize. “Portraits and Self-Portraits by Northwest Artists” does just that, and hopefully the viewer enjoys seeing both old favorites and discovering new ones.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art professional based in Washington State.

“Portraits and Self-Portraits by Northwest Artists; 1910-2018” is on view Wednesday through Sunday from 11 A.M. to 6P.M. through September 29 at the Cascadia Art Museum, located at 1990 Sunset Avenue South in Edmonds, Washington. For more information, visit www.cascadiaartmmuseum.org.

yəhaw̓

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Aug 2019 20:42:40 GMT

A dazzling exhibition of contemporary Indigenous art awaits you at the newest art space in town, ARTS at King Street Station. The Seattle Office of Arts and Culture launched their new 7500 square foot exhibition space with an exhibition of 200 indigenous artists from 100 tribes. This exhibition curated by Asia Tail (Cherokee), Tracy Rector (Choctaw/Seminole), and Sapreet Kahlon, accepted all indigenous submissions: children and elders, professional artists and beginners, all media from traditional cedar, bead work and dolls to digital and audio. We see sculpture, painting, photography, printmaking, text, cartoons, games, performance, skateboard, drums, maps. There are iPads with music, poetry and stories recited from speakers, and both hilarious and serious videos.

Installing such a diverse show challenged the curators and staff of ARTS as they organized hundreds of art works succeeded in creating a spectacular result. To enjoy the exhibit simply embrace its mind-expanding diversity, then immerse yourself in one wall at a time, each a compact exhibit. Gaps between the walls allow a view through to another part of the exhibition. The entire space is activated by sculpture and installations, many encourage interaction.

At the opening Timothy White Eagle (White Mountain Apache) performed “Songs for the Standing Still People” within a space hung with jingles and chains. He called us to action against the “vast forces” that “will ravage us if we do not act” though a story of rocks that came together and changed the world. We can create our own music in the space and thus join his call to action.

A giant deck of cards by Roldy Aguero Ablao (CHamoru) greets us at the entrance, along with a seemingly random accumulation of objects hanging over the front desk by Catherine Cross Uehara (Uchinanchu/Hapa/Okinaway American), “between you & me & the Ancestors…” includes photographs of her ancestors, a wedding dress kimono, memorabilia, and much more.

On the opposite wall is a film of the famous Vi Hilbert, (Upper Skagit) who singlehandedly saved the Lushootseed language from extinction, encourages a community audience to “lift the sky” together. In her telling: “The Creator has left the sky too low. We are going to have to do something about it, and how can we do that when we do not have a common language?…We can all learn one word, that is all we need. That word is yəhaw̓—that means to proceed, to go forward, to do it.”

We are invited to go forward into the exhibit in order to create community.

We immediately encounter the compelling painting of Itzá by Nico Inzerella (Mexican American, Indigenous) in the complex mixed media of wheat paste on birch panel, gold leaf, copper leaf, oil, latex and acrylic. Pay attention to media in this exhibit, it is almost always unusual.

At the same time, traditional photography includes striking results such as Selena Kearney’s (Chehalis) photograph of a young woman proudly dressed for a PowWow, Adam Sings in the Timber’s (Apsáalooke) photographs of women in regalia re-asserting indigenous presence in various locations in Seattle and the eerie images of scanned tintypes by Kali Spitzer (Kaska Dena).

Spend the time to explore the various subtle works hanging on walls, but don’t miss the entire corner devoted to stunning cedar hats, baskets, skirts, and capes.

Not far away another type of weaving hovers over us. A twelve foot high “Big Foot” hovers over us as it “Lifts the Sky.” HollyAnna “CougarTracks” de Coteau Littlebull (Yakama/Nez Perce/Cayuse/Cree) upcycled 15,190 pieces of plastic to weave this giant. She explained that it represents the wasted past in its orange/red hued back and the future in its green/ blue front.

Be sure to look in the stairwell for a mixed media homage to weaving by Sara Siestreem (Hanis Coos/Confederated Tribes of Coos/Lower Umpqua/Siuslaw) “Eagle Machine dancing<<<<<the beautiful” combines a cotton wood bark skirt with her photographs and mixed media references to indigenous history.

Nearby is Priscilla Dobler’s (Mayan) “El renacimiento de la Sociedad: The rebirth of society,” a traditional Mayan embroidery unravels into a contemporary geometric enclosure; above it hangs Jacob Johns’s (Hopi) “Water is Life” banner that speaks of freeing the Snake River, a reference to our threatened salmon and orcas because of the many dams on the Snake.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

yəhaw̓is on view through August 4 at ARTS at King Street Station located at 303 S. Jackson Street, Top Floor, in Seattle, Washington from Tuesday through Saturday, 10 A.M. to 6 P.M. and First Thursdays, 10 A.M. to 8 P.M.

For information, visit www.seattle.gov/arts/experience/galleries/arts-at-king-street-station-gallery. Films and other exhibit all over town check https://yehawshow.com.

Bright As Ever by Paul Hunter

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Aug 2019 20:40:16 GMT

Once Evaleen feeding chickens

all around her in the yard tossed

the diamond out of her wedding ring

so quit wearing the eyeless thing

even to wash dishes weed the garden

stuff their Thanksgiving turkey

which had to bother Charlie

it wasn’t the money it was

what-all the shiny thing meant

as near eternal as they’d likely get

so for several years killing a hen

for dinner once or twice a week

out behind the barn he’d cut

the craw from the gizzard

dig the gravel there spread it out

on a piece of white paper he kept

folded around his reading specs

down the front of his overalls

till one night that sparkler bright as ever

turned up there it was inside a life

since the evening she’d lost it where

once the hens were in for the night

he’d looked hard with a flashlight

for hours on his hands and knees

knew if it was there he’d a found it but

said you know how quick a hen can be

once a thing catches her eye

Paul Hunter

These and twenty-some others grew out of a long poem about shy country people finding love, a piece called “Luminaries” that first appeared in his third farming book called “Come the Harvest” (Silverfish Review Press, 2008).

Who the Hairdo is For by Paul Hunter

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Aug 2019 20:39:30 GMT

In bed with her with curlers

the night before the big day

eighth grade graduation

for their oldest girl who also

slept in the pink foamy things

after fidgeting and sighing

stirring half the night

Charlie asked her to undo

all she was holding together

for later for the effect that

she wanted to be perfect

said who is the hairdo for

anyway Evaleen said okay

went to the bathroom and

left the door wide so he

could watch while she

unwound each lock of hair

shook and combed it out

for the shine bounce and flair

for him not some old PTA

Paul Hunter

Still Tuning Up by Paul Hunter

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Aug 2019 20:38:10 GMT

On the porch new farmer and new wife

what with supper dishes done and dried

settle into silence both let be

to hear the twilit pond’s full chorus rise

and usher in the summer prodigal

with every living creature home at last

every thing that wintered in the muck

or trailed the southern flight now back

awake to sing however loud and long

its overture to interrupted life

now Charlie lays a finger to her wrist

and in the dark her blind hand catches his

like the final bird of daylight strong

but sure it has no business out this late

about to settle for a quiet place to rest

that both agree and in that subtle touch

without another gesture trundle off

to bed beyond the night still tuning up

its purple bruise just fading in the west

still breathless in the dark not cooling yet

Paul Hunter

The Italians at the Aquarium by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Aug 2019 20:37:00 GMT

I’m reminded that I was not born in Seattle by just about every conversation I have with someone who was. Almost immediately I feel “East Coast.” More to the point, East Coast Italian, different in tone and temperament in ways I didn’t fully understand when I was younger.

After years of trying to clarify this feeling, I still find it difficult to explain why Italians communicate the way we do, especially to people unaccustomed to passionate debate as a way to, oh, I suppose the best word to use is, bond.

The first time I had dinner at my in-law’s table, I was afraid to open my mouth. I had no idea how to speak so softly about things I read in the newspaper. Used to waves of personal opinion rippling through even deeper waves of expressive reaction, I was shocked to sit with people, intoxicated people, who seemed to be content in the shoals of current events.

I long for conversations with more heat and hand waving. The dinner table in my childhood home was a competitive place. Everyone talked at once, interrupted each other, said things someone took offense to on purpose.

What fun!

The other day I walked to the aquarium because I just finished reading “The Soul of An Octopus.” I tell you this because it wasn’t the octopus I wound up studying. It was a group of Italians.

And yes, I heard them, before I saw them. If that is what you are thinking.

But if there are intentional coincidences, and most days I trust there are, I believe this one occurred to remind me of a huge part of my personality I neglect now that I (try to) live by a more-Seattle code of ethics. Or what I jokingly call (but only to East Coast friends) BIDAN: Bring it down a notch.

If the desire to be in the company of your biological tribe is one of the most overwhelming of human connections, I was reminded of where my qualities originate. Watching the group talk and touch and embrace each other freely, I had never felt more distant from the city in which I reside. I felt an urge to run up to them and say, “I am Italian, too!”

Thankfully I stopped myself.

I followed them into the undersea dome. I wanted to hug them. I wanted to hold on to this family with such a strong intensity that, when I couldn’t, I walked past them feeling deprived, devastated, deflated.

So I called my friend Vicki who was born in Seattle. She had no idea why I was calling, and I didn’t bother to say, but as soon as I heard her voice, I felt grounded.

And it strikes me that talking, talking—however fast, drawn-out, cool, or impassioned—is still the best way to deal with complicated emotions when basic longings fall flat.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli has published seven collections of poetry, three works of non-fiction, and her forthcoming novel, “The Star Struck Dance Studio (of Yucca Springs),” is to be published in September, 2019 (Chatwin Books). For more information about her and her work, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Water’s Edge: Landscapes for Today by Chloé Dye Sherpe

Debbi Lester — Tue, 12 Mar 2019 23:51:46 GMT

In its third biennial “Bellingham National 2019 Juried Art Exhibition and Awards,” the Whatcom Museum utilized the skills of experienced art historian and curator Bruce Guenther. The theme for this year’s exhibition is “Water’s Edge: Landscapes for Today,” which includes 71 artworks by 57 artists from around the country. As you may expect, Guenther references Bellingham’s location as inspiration for the show’s theme and title, but he also writes in his introductory text that the exhibition “was an invitation for artists to share their observations and feelings about humanity’s ever-changing relationship to nature and life at water’s edge…” Through many different artistic mediums, these artists each grapple with our connection to nature using the landscape as their method of communication.

The exhibit is not arranged chronologically or by sub theme, so it is fascinating to think about why Guenther placed artworks next to each other. A particularly striking arrangement includes Natalie Niblack’s “Watershed” (oil on canvas), which is flanked by Naomi Shigeta’s “Sky meets Sea” (oil on panel) and Amy Ferron’s “Over our Heads” (acrylic paint and paper on wood). Niblack’s visually imposing painting depicts a large explosion in the top two-thirds of the picture plane, with a trash-filled ocean below. The flames are painted in extraordinary detail and loom over the viewer. She has also drawn a grid in the white background behind the plume of fire and smoke. Is this her attempt to create an underlying structure beneath the swirling flames? Interestingly, Shigeta and Ferron also utilize straight lines to create structure in their paintings. Shigeta writes in her statement that the painting, especially the distinct vertical lines, “reflects the challenge in keeping balance.” Ferron creates her landscapes by first cutting paper with rotary cutters and X-acto knives and then pasting the pieces together. The result is a mosaic landscape reminiscent of the geometric structures of Nature: tectonic plates, molecules, and others.

Connections between Nature, Art, and Science are abundant in the exhibition. There are many photographs, including two tintypes by Alexandra Opie, included in the show which have long been used by scientists to document the natural world. Lynn Skordol printed on a vintage map to create “Map 4” to illustrate how humans have changed the natural landscape over the years. Vanessa Mayoraz’s “Progressions of pernicious change” almost appears to have been taken straight from a science lab. She writes that her “work concerns itself with understanding and decoding our reality,” which beautifully demonstrates the “power of place” that Guenther writes about in his introductory text.

Guenther awarded three cash prizes to artists in the exhibition. The Second Place winner was Natalie Niblack. First Place went to Philip Govedare’s vibrant, oil on canvas painting titled “Artifact.” Like other artists in the exhibition, Govedare also contemplates the impact of land use and his paintings are charged with doubt and anxiety about the condition of the landscape. His use of bright red signals alarm. In contrast, the Third Place winner, Patti Bowman connects her encaustic “Wave I” to the effect of gazing at the ocean. The painting purposefully lacks structure to orient the view, which gives the affect of an endless sea or enormous wave filling the picture plane with blue water and white foam.

While all three award winners are based in Washington State, the exhibition drew many artists from all around the country. And even though all the artworks are 2-dimensional, the exhibition does not lack in variety of mediums or artistic styles. If you are interested in representational paintings of the landscape, you will find several. If you are looking for abstract paintings seeking to find the essence of nature, Guenther has included many with this exact aim, but they utilize different methods for seeking the “spirit of nature.” The exhibition consists of many paintings, but photographs and prints are also in abundance. There are even several fiber artworks, including Krista Kilvert’s “Altered Landscape” (dye sublimation on polyester) which moved with the air flow as I opened the door to the gallery.

As I was leaving the gallery, I looked up at the second story to see a canoe through a cut out in the wall. The canoe is part of the “People of the Sea and Cedar” exhibition and seeing the object beautifully connected both exhibitions through the “power of the essential element Water to life,” as Guenther writes in his text. I suggest visiting both exhibitions while you are at the Whatcom Museum.

Chloé Dye Sherpe

Chloé Dye Sherpe is a curator and art educator

based in Washington State.

“Bellingham National 2019” is on view Wednesday through Sunday from 12 to 5 P.M. through May 19 at the Whatcom Museum’s Lightcatcher Building, located at 250 Flora Street in Bellingham, Washington. For more information, visit www.whatcommuseum.org.

Editoon by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Tue, 12 Mar 2019 23:50:10 GMT

Stuff by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Tue, 12 Mar 2019 23:32:09 GMT

I was flipping through a magazine when a line jumped out at me: “We fall in love with objects not only for what they are, but for what they allow us to believe we can become.”

It was three summers ago when I spotted a set of six vintage long-stem aperitif glasses at the Bigelow Block Sale on Queen Anne. I picked one up. I blew on it, though it wasn’t dusty. I set it back down. “Ah,” I said, more of an exhale than a word. I didn’t want to seem too interested.

I continued to walk up and down Bigelow because, as any shopper knows, joy is in the pursuit, not in the prize.

Unless the prize is six vintage long-stem aperitif glasses that belong to a woman who wears a turquoise pendant, turquoise rings. Her love, her pride, for her home was obvious, but her car still had Arizona plates. All this meant to me was that maybe, just maybe, she was moving back to the desert and I’d be able to get a really sweet deal on the glasses.

The second time I passed the glasses, I knew I had to have them, a response I have never been able to talk myself out of when it hits, and near the corner of Boston and Bigelow it hit hard.

I told myself I’d gift one to each of my friends, but every December I convince myself my friends would probably not love the fragile stems as much as I do.

The oddest thing about seeing the glasses is that during all the years I was actually looking for vintage long-stem aperitif glasses, I could never find one. Not at a rummage sale. Not at Goodwill or Value Village.

I was remembering all this, when the glasses caught my eye for the third time. The way they gleamed felt like a sign—nothing smaller than a billboard.

But this is not what made me walk closer.

My own mother had aperitif glasses, but I can’t remember ever using them, and I have no idea what happened to them. The glasses brought back a whole stage of my girlhood. Suddenly I was no longer an adult writer with deadlines of her own, but thirteen again scribbling, “So, Diary, I met this boy today and he is sooo cute.”

When I finally decide to buy the glasses, the sale is slowing down, with some people folding up their tables already, but there were my vintage glasses, unsold, flashing me knowing smiles. I imagined that along with those smiles would be tête-à-têtes cozy and intimate, so many things to talk about.

Some of my friends keep telling me that it’s getting too expensive to live in the city, that they need to down-size and move to god-knows-where, so I’ve decided I don’t want to burden them with any more “stuff.”

And though I would never label a vintage long-stemmed aperitif glass as “stuff,” I know there is a personal fine line between treasure and tchotchke.

Besides I need the entire set now that I do believe I have developed into someone who will serve aperitif at her small, but stunning get-together.

Even if this is Belltown, circa 2019, basically an Amazon campus, which must hold the record for the fewest vintage long-stemmed aperitif glasses.

But I’m okay with that. I have become.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli, writer, speaker, and dance teacher, lives in Seattle. Her forthcoming novel, “The Star Struck Dance Studio (of Yucca Springs)” is to be published in September, 2019 (Chatwin Books). For more information about her and her work, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

“Alfredo Arreguín: Life Patterns”

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 Jan 2019 18:45:11 GMT

Hats off to the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art, one of our outstanding regional art museums. Its current feature exhibition of the work of Alfredo Arreguín glows on the walls in the midst of our dark winter days.

Alfredo Arreguín populates his wonderland of jungles and seascapes with animals, fish, insects, and birds. Then he embeds in this dense matrix of colors and shapes the faces of well known political activists, writers, poets, friends, and occasionally, himself. The faces deeply disguised within the vast details of the paintings, point to Arreguín’s belief in the harmony of nature, the balance of life, and the crucial place that we have within it, rather than outside it. His work has never been more timely or important.

Arreguín’s several themes, nature, Madonnas, and portraiture overlap and intersect. In every detail of these intricate works, he contradicts the angry rhetoric of racists creating arbitrary divisions in our beautiful world.

Leaping salmon and whales remind us that the survival of the Southern Resident pod of orcas is hanging in the balance. As the whales dwindle in response to environmental degradation, and the salmon fail to complete their migration upstream because of dams, Arreguín’s paintings celebrate natural processes and inspire us to protect our Salish Sea.

Arreguín’s life story is unusual. He was born in Morelia, Michoacán Mexico, as an illegitimate child, and passed from one relative to another. On a few occasions, he had the opportunity to be immersed in the jungle, experiences that made a deep and permanent impression on him. He also had enough educational opportunities to learn art as he moved from Morelia to Mexico City. But by extraordinary serendipity he was invited to live in Seattle by a family he met when they were lost as tourists in Chapultepec park. As a result, he came to the U.S. in January 1956, and gained citizenship with their sponsorship. After serving in the army in Korea (where he introduced himself to Asian art), he attended the University of Washington, earning two degrees, then found his way as an artist by the mid 1970s in the style that he still practices.

He began to appear in major exhibitions almost immediately. The National Museum of American Art acquired his work in the early 1990s. “Life Patterns” includes works from Bainbridge Island Museum of Art’s permanent collection, promised gifts, and loans from private collections and the artist himself, for a total of almost fifty works for this 50 year retrospective.

Arreguín began honoring Frida Kahlo many years before she became a pop icon. They share a love of folk art, peasant expressions, nature, music, and the sensuality of life. Arreguín transmits folk art patterns and their motifs in one layer of his dense jungle tapestries, but more than that Frida as well as Arreguín embraced the spiritual significance of ordinary people’s beliefs in Mexico, beliefs that survive transformed to this day.

Likewise Arreguín’s love of literature and language pervades his paintings, sometimes literally in his homages to his Seattle friends Raymond Carver and Tess Gallagher, other times more subtly as in his homage to Pablo Neruda. Also look for his portraits of indigenous environmentalists, well known activists, and revolutionaries.

In addition to this featured exhibition, the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art is also showing a traveling exhibition of 53 artists’ books titled “Borderland-Arkir Book Arts Group/Iceland which addresses the concept of land. It is supplemented by a selection of the Artists’ Books from the Collection of Cynthia Sears, the visionary founder of the Museum. Artists’ Books are a particular passion of Sears. She has also promised two paintings by Arreguín to the Museum from the Sears-Buxton collection, and already donated the signature Arreguín painting “Salish Sea” of 2017.

In addition, don’t miss Kait Rhodes multimedia glass sculpture of a red polyp titled “Bloom,” and the exhibition “Heikki Seppa: Master Metalsmith,” thirty metal works, both jewelry and sculpture by a giant in the field. Finally, to celebrate the Museum’s 5th anniversary, there are selections from the intriguingly diverse works donated to the Museum’s permanent collection (which includes another painting by Arreguín.)

So within this fairly small space, Bainbridge Island Museum of Art offers an experience for everyone, world class artists and an embrace of many media, both experimental and classical. Even in the bistro there is an exhibition—Pamela Wachtler’s paintings and monotypes “Impressions of Place.”

It is hard to believe that the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art is only five years old. What a success it has become and what a gift to our art community. Only a short walk from the ferry, it is free of charge and open seven days a week.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

“Alfredo Arreguín: Life Patterns” is on view through February 3 at the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art located at 550 Winslow Way on Bainbridge Island, Washington. Open daily 10 A.M. to 6 P.M. For more information, visit www.biartmuseum.org.

2019 Predictions Editoon by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 Jan 2019 18:42:50 GMT

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 Jan 2019 18:39:51 GMT

More

We have friendships for many different reasons.

And for many of us, this has little to do with reducing our relationships to likes and followers. We are looking for…more.

I have terrific women friends. Wise, wonderful, and fun (for the most part).

And I have James. His most admirable quality is that he is without pretense.“What’s on your mind, darling?,” he’ll say, flashing a smile, which I believe is the most generous way to begin a conversation, before lowering his gaze as if he’s about to hear one of life’s sacred secrets.

Or, you know, whatever is bothering me.

“You have to keep a bit of mystery to yourself.” We were talking about how drunk everyone is on selfies “in the same way the Russians guzzled the vodka,” he said, “and look what happened to them.”

There are few conversations in life when, regardless of the subject matter, when it’s as if all your thoughts and emotions are aligned with all of your friend’s thoughts and emotions. Our whole conversation reminded me of the day I was waiting in line at Whole Foods and chatting with the guy behind me. We were talking fruit in season, that kind of thing, except he kept looking at his phone.

I tried to overlook it, be cool, be current, but it always feels like being put on hold. Even now I think of him talking and scrolling at the same time, and I see a gutless way to communicate. I wanted to shout we do exist without our phones.

Because we do. We really do. WE are the real thing. And these days it seems like most of us are missing it.

I came right out and asked him what is so important that he has to be in on it even as he lays produce on the conveyor belt. It was one of those ridiculous things I hear myself say sometimes, knowing I’m being brash, but I say it anyway.

And that’s when his girlfriend (wife?) jumped in, “This is just how it is now.”

As if I knew nothing. At any rate, she reminded me that since I do have more years behind me, I’ve attained more success, too, more independence. So I can enjoy a little harmless chitchat, and, okay, a little harmless flirting, without checking in. My flesh may be softer but my attitude is firm: If I’ve learned one thing, it’s how one shared idea, opinion, or observation can lift us out of ourselves and make everything around us seem more, dare I use the word, connected.

And, yes, I may very well be hoping for a miracle. But if you are shopping at Whole Foods you are certainly paying enough for a miracle.

So I say thank goodness for James, who is one of the most successful business men I know, yet he still knows how to leave his phone off for however long it takes. Life may be going on at a hectic pace around the two of us, but he’d never let something as expansive and beneficial as our friendship be dwarfed by something small and addicting as a phone.

Oh, I am thrilled to know James is free to take a walk later. He will pick the route and I will take his arm.

And we will talk.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli’s Write of Way has been a part of Art Access since 2004. For more information about her and her work, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Three Poems by Paul Hunter

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 Jan 2019 18:37:00 GMT

Believe You Me

Old-timers in the Depression when they were young

never thought things would get so bad so quick

wondered how they could go so far wrong

rambled around tried a little of everything

built a hutch to raise rabbits to sell till

they got sick eating rabbit couldn’t sell a one

tried keeping chickens in the cellar a night or two

then they stole a little rusty chickenwire

to fence them in around their old dead car

they thought would never start again until

they got evicted with those hens smell and all

drove off one winter night with the windows down

. . .

As For Today

Doing the same things over

in season a farm life goes by

a certain order an expectancy

mowing hay to rake and turn

several cloudy days to dry

pulling a wet calf into lamplight

that now with the start of her

too late to go back to bed

too stirred for radio news

slow boiling water for coffee

as for today raking leaves

out from under the slow dying

maple that could be felled

cut and stacked but not yet

that even so might spring back

. . .

With the Farm Gone

What’s left but this oasis this

cluster of sheds and outbuildings

surrounding house and barn once

hard to build uneasy letting go

the home now they’re thinking of

jacking off its foundation onto

a trailer to tow away park on a lot

the barn to maybe pull apart

to label stack and sell out-of-state

to someone to put up with fields

that still reach away forever with

cows so it looks halfway right

and here with fencerows torn up

scraped away now all one field

plumbed and wired subdivided for

new owners what they like to call

Sherwood Acres A Leisure Development

with the woodlot already logged off

to make the down payment on

each new home’s cathedral ceiling

set smack in the center of

its one acre lot landscaped by

a bulldozer that’s carved undulations

along a winding deadend drive

that flattened the outhouse and filled it

and the well with handmade rubble

a stone fence picked out of fields a little

every spring to let the plow ease by

Paul Hunter

Paul Hunter is a Seattle poet and fiction writer who works on farming articles and reviews for Small Farmers Journal. He recently published, Clownery, a book of autobiographical prose poems.

“Peacock in the Desert: The Royal Arts of Jodhpur, India”

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Nov 2018 16:08:53 GMT

“Peacock in the Desert: The Royal Arts of Jodhpur, India”

Seattle welcomes from Jodhpur, the capital of colorful Rajasthan, the largest collection of objects from a royal kingdom ever to leave India! “Peacock in the Desert: The Royal Arts of Jodhpur, India,” on loan from The Mehrangarh Museum Trust, fills the fourth floor special exhibition galleries of the Seattle Art Museum. But it starts with an immersive wedding installation on the third floor!

The installation, based on a royal wedding procession of the “homecoming” of the bride, includes an elephant mannequin with a gilded ‘howdah’ and elaborate adornments, as well as horse mannequins with full regalia and jewelry. The bride would be hidden from view in a curtained palanquin. Video projections present the procession of the 2010 marriage of Yuvrain Gayatri kumari Pal from the former royal family of Askot in the Himalayan foothills to Yuvraj Shivraj Singh son of the current Majarajah. A wall of famous “paag” or turbans contain many layers of symbolism and make the most of the double height gallery.

The current Maharajah His Highness GajSingh II ascended to the throne at the age of 4. Adapting to many changes in the status of the former Princely States, he has succeeded in reinventing his role as a private citizen. Reflecting his ability to innovate while honoring tradition, one major theme of this exhibition is “tradition and continuity.” The royal homecoming procession is one example of that.

At the entrance to the fourth floor gallery stunning photographs present the landscape in Marwar-Jodhpur as well as the history of the Rathores who ruled from the 13th to the mid 20th century. In the same gallery a dramatic gilded palanquin evokes royal processions and a large cradle for Krishna makes a reference to spiritual loyalties.

As we enter the “The Rathores of Marwar” paintings depict the descent of the Rathore kings from the Hindu god Rama as well as worship of the Goddess Devi and many portraits of the Maharajas.

“Conquest and Alliance: The Rathores and the Mughals” presents the long relationship with the Mughals both in battle and in court, through intermarriage and cultural exchanges. For example, the builder of the Taj Mahal, Shah Jahan, is the son of the marriage of Akbar’s son and a Rajput princess. In this gallery a full scale 17th century Indian court tent Lal Dera fills the space, alongside references to military weapons and other objects exchanged or altered by the many years of serving in Mughal campaigns all over India.

The wedding installation links to the theme of the “Zenana: Cross Cultural Encounters” the role of women as bearers of culture. Far from simply being enclosed in the “Zenana” or women’s quarters, royal women brought new cultural traditions when they married into the Jodhpur court. The Zenana here features a full pavilion, as well as textiles, jewels, and dresses and invokes the musicians, dancers, and artists who lived or visited the women of the court. A personal shrine to Krishna made of silver includes a small statue of the deity: it was the focus of a daily ritual.

The “Durbar: Rathore Court” marks the era after 1707 when the Rathores were liberated from Mughal control as the Mughals weakened. Many artists came to Jodhpur from the Mughal Courts leading to a flowering of creativity in painting, textiles, tents, arms, and jewelry.

In a sequence of alcoves, a selection of devotional paintings introduces Krishna and his familiar frolics with gopis, but don’t miss in this gallery the trademark watercolor of the exhibition, “Shiva on his Vimana” (aircraft!—a huge bird).

The last section of the exhibition “The Raj” presents the final diplomatic and cultural exchange of the princely court, with the British Empire. All of the princely states worked with the Raj, rather than resisting it. We see this most obviously in the portraits and photographs of the Maharajahs of this era, with dress and jewelry that bring together traditions from India and Great Britain.

Also showing cultural exchange is the Umaid Bahwan palace where the family now lives, designed in the 1920s by Henry Lanchester, an English architect, who combined Art Deco and Indian motifs. A large part of the palace today is a hotel, another innovation of the current Maharajah. He has been a major catalyst for tourism in Jodhpur by renovating the Mehrangarh Museum, not to mention sending this exhibition to the United States (it is making only three stops).

“Peacock in the Desert” is a perfect title for the exhibition. The exhibition, like India itself, is full of elaborate objects, stunning color, and fascinating history. To expand our experience, the museum has organized a film series, a Diwali family festival, presentations on South Indian court dance and saris, and a program on the “Songs of Rajasthan.” Check the museum website for more details.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications. “Peacock in the Desert: The Royal Arts of Jodhpur, India,” is on view until January 21 at Seattle Art Museum, located at 1300 First Avenue in Seattle, Washington, Friday through Wednesday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. and Thursday from 10 A.M. to 9 P.M. For more information, visit www.seattleartmuseum.org.

"Surge" Exhibition at the Museum of Northwest Art | Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Nov 2018 16:05:52 GMT

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Nov 2018 16:02:05 GMT

Impossible

Last week, I arrived in Port Angeles to teach a choreography class. I’ve known the director since she struggled with the idea of opening a studio. Her dance journey has been like witnessing a beautiful becoming.

It’s been a long drive from Seattle. I’m eager to stretch, but I’m so taken by what happens next it literally stops me in my tracks. A little boy watches his sister’s ballet class as intently as someone viewing their own version of joy. He copies every move the girls make. I know his excitement, his readiness, as well as I know my own.

His mother is lost in her phone. So I tell the boy that I hope he takes class, too. This prompts a sudden lift of mom’s chin. I say what I am thinking anyway, “Boys make wonderful ballet dancers!”

“Not in Port Angeles,” she said, as if ballet isn’t something her son should get too close to. The boy looked at me, at his mother, back at me. He jammed his fist into the palm of his hand. It was like watching a leaf wilt on the vine.

I’ve grown used to arriving in studios where I can feel as if every move I make is not just visible to the parents but spotlighted. But even so, I know—and knew then—that I had to say something more. It wasn’t an overwhelming feeling, more like a ripple in a larger pool of ripples. But I could not have predicted what was about to come out of my mouth.“You are a natural born dancer!”

The boy smiled happily, if tentatively, stopping for a quick look at his mom who seemed a little stunned. The truth is that all children are natural born dancers. It’s only later that we learn to suppress the desire to move to the music we hear.

I know what it means to simply accept what I am called upon to do: teach a good class. And I do this. But I suppose what happened that day is that the belief that only girls should take ballet leaned a little too far in. Until a huge part of me screamed, “Don’t say that! Dancing is for everyone!”

I would not have put it like this, of course, but I had a deep sense that this bias would help shape this boy’s future.

There is a magic inherent in a dance studio, in being surrounded by people who look like they’ve found what makes them feel most alive. I think this is what the boy wanted for himself, to move enjoyably through space. But I suspect he may have to learn to do it in other ways, most likely on the ball field.

And I cannot know if playing ball will make him as happy as dancing seemed to make him. Any more that I can know why his mother was so offended by it.

But if I let myself remember what must have been happening in this little boy’s mind to make him look so happy, I suspect I found his mother’s response asked of me something that I found impossible to give—silence.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Sanelli, a writer and speaker, lives in Seattle. She is a regular contributor to Dance Teacher magazine. Her latest book is A Woman Writing. For more information about her and her work, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

"duck, tree, reflection" by Alan Chong Lau

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Nov 2018 15:53:08 GMT

duck, tree, reflection

the cold shimmer

of winter

a glass window

in which

the shadows

of a tree

trembles

a lattice of shadow

in which a duck

must see

her own reflection

as she moves

her feet

under this web

of water

Alan Chong Lau

Alan Chong Lau is a poet and painter exhibiting his art locally at ArtXchange Gallery in Seattle, Washington.

“In Red Ink”

Debbi Lester — Tue, 04 Sep 2018 17:06:49 GMT

RYAN! Feddersen reaches out both geographically and conceptually for the intriguing show “In Red Ink” at the Museum of Northwest Art in La Conner. She breaks down boundaries of media, chronology, and above all clichés.

John Feodorov’s “Dance of the Colonizers,” made up of clips taken from the 1949 film, “On the Town,” exposes the racism of Hollywood as sailors team up with “girls” at the Museum of Natural History in New York City to mimic “savages. Caricature of caricature frequently appears in this exhibition. Andrea Carlson whose affiliation is the central Canadian and East Coast Anishaabeg/Algonquin, sends up the absurd cowboy and Indian stereotypes of dramatically leaping horses and men. Her style of pseudo cartoon, with heavy outlines and brilliant color, underscores her parody of popular culture.

Natalie Ball literally cuts up clichés in her large collaged art work that include river rocks, crow feathers, wool, and lodge pines, an intentional use of traditional Indigenous materials, along with European style painting, charcoal and oil stick on canvas. The central figure appears to be an “Indian” collaged and sewn together from mismatched pieces. It has the expressionist directness of a work by Jean-Michel Basquiat.

Also collage-like and humorous, but entirely painted, is the series of works by Ka’ila Farrell-Smith (from the same tribal affiliation as Natalie Ball, Modoc, Klamath) with her three large “bundle” paintings painted on plastic exhibitionbanners. The term “bundle” is applied to various entities “Time,” “Chief,” and “IAIA Students.” IAIA stands for Institute of Indian Arts in Santa Fe, a renowned Indian Art School. A bundle of sticks appears below them, amusingly transposed as the group of students who themselves echo, in their clothes, a mix of the contemporary and traditional.

Northwest artists Tanis S’eilten and Joe Feddersen both provide humor with less caricature and more politics, S’eilten by her crazy medium in “Totem and Tabu,” a Freudian book title, with pink shoes, pink suitcase, and neon referring to the stereotype of Native sexuality. She inserts the rip off of Native cultures with an old postcard of the stolen totem pole that came to Pioneer Square as a literal totem. Joe Feddersen’s show stopper, “Charmed,” a wall of symbols cast in glass, gives us a delightful mix up of high tension wire towers, petroglyphs, “teepees” and various other “symbols” that can be read as either caricatures or real objects.

On a serious note, John Feodorov’s second group of works reinterpret both media and content. Weaver Tyra Preston created special plain white Navajo rugs for him on which he painted with some trepidation given the rugs’ powerful importance as metaphor of land and culture. The four “Desecrations,” refer to pollution on the land: a coal plant, pipe lines, a yellow radiation house and fracking cracks in the earth.

Other serious works include the photographs of Matika Wilbur that document contemporary tribal members in a long running project. Amy Maleuf (Metis, another Canadian affiliation), whose” Iamthe caribou/the caribouisme” offers two small braids of caribou and her own hair that refer to the reciprocity of humans and animals. With the dramatic summer of Tahlequah holding her dead baby Orca for 17 days, we are all painfully aware of the threats of extinction to Orcas and other animals. In the medium of glazed ceramic Erin Genia addresses toxic oil leaks in “Facing/Not Facing: Toxic Devastation from Oil.”

RYAN! Feddersen herself has a rye sense of humor, an impatience with historical stereotypes, a deep commitment to redefining what we mean by contemporary Indigenous art, and a generous spirit that reaches out into the community. Her show reflects these qualities. Curated in collaboration with Chloe Dye Sherpe of the Museum, it gives us a refreshing new point of view, while also making us think about the history of indigenous misrepresentations.

We are so fortunate to have contemporary Native artists who speak to both their heritage and to our contemporary world about the state of the earth and the colonialism that has led us to where we are now. Humor traditionally masks politics and urgency. “In Red Ink,” a term that can mean emergency, editing out, deficits, and highlighting, all at once, gives us a chance to understand where we are now and where we can go, with the guidance of these creative artists.

Speaking of that creativity, look out for “yəhaw̓,” an exhibition of 200 indigenous artists sponsored by the Office of Arts and Culture and the Na’ah Illahee Fund, opening at King Street Station in January 2019.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

The Museum of Northwest Art located at 121 First Street in La Conner, Washington, is open Tuesday through Saturday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M., and Sunday through Monday from 12 to 5 P.M. For more information, visit www.monamuseum.org

Double Exposure: Edward S. Curtis, Marianne Nicolson, Tracy Rector, Will Wilson

Debbi Lester — Tue, 04 Sep 2018 16:50:50 GMT

We all think we know the photographs of Edward Curtis from a handful of frequently reproduced images that offer us romanticized, nostalgic views of Native Americans from the turn of the twentieth century, a time when Native peoples were thought to be vanishing. Curtis set out to preserve their traditional way of life, when it was already almost destroyed by assimilation efforts by the US government.

This summer, on the 150th anniversary of Curtis’s birthday, the Seattle Art Museum along with many nearby museums and cultural centers, is reexamining his work, his legacy, and his relationship to contemporary native culture and art.

At the entrance of “Double Exposure” at the Seattle Art Museum, a voice in Lutshootseed and English welcomes us, as we are immersed in the stunning installation by Marianne Nicholson. Two back to back glass panels, etched with native imagery, and a light inserted between them, cast shadows on the floor. Ḱanḱagawi (The Seam of Heaven), metaphorically presents the Columbia River, in its beauty and disruptions. The name means “sewn together.” The two pieces of glass suggest the breaks caused by dams and borders, while the light and shadows offer possible healing as the treaty between Canada and US comes up for renegotiation.

“Double Exposure” features 150 historical images by Curtis, a selection from various chapters of The North American Indian, created between 1907 and 1930. The book is available online at http://curtis.library.northwestern.edu and well worth reading even a short excerpt from the detailed information that originally accompanied the photographs.

Curtis created 40,000 photographs of more than 80 tribes, but they were meant to be seen in the context of tribal history, customs and much more. His accomplishment is staggering. His assistants also made 10,000 wax cylinder audio recordings of music, a few of which we can hear in the exhibition. We also can watch his pioneering film from 1914(!) “In the Land of the Headhunters” starring Naida as the bride. Her descendant holds the Curtis photograph in Will Wilson’s tintype.

The stunning photogravure images, created on copper plates, glow on the wall. We revel in Curtis’s eye for composition, and his technical facility with a complex photographic process. Curator Barbara Brotherton offers detailed and nuanced labels. In some cases these images are posed works that followed Curtis’s romantic perspective, in others they document historical practices that had mainly been passed on through oral traditions.

For more immersion into Curtis’s technical prowess, Flury & Co, our local Curtis specialists offers “Edward Curtis Photographs in Copper” (On view through September 30) featuring 30 copper plates, never before displayed, from the original North American Indian publication. Flury & Co is a like a small museum in itself. The family have rights to the sale of Curtis prints and plates, memorabilia and manuscripts, acquired directly from the artists descendants living in Seattle.

In “Double Exposure,” we also can experience native commentary on Curtis. First, there is a new way to insert videos into an exhibition, the app “Layar.” As we scan a Curtis photograph of a canoe race, a video appears with an interview with a 16 year old youth who participates in contemporary canoe journeys. He speaks vividly of the endurance required to paddle a canoe as a team for 10 hours straight.

This dramatically layering of the Curtis photograph with contemporary interviews by native speakers makes a dynamic intersection of past and present. Will Wilson’s large tintypes come alive as we scan them and hear from the contemporary person photographed, a poet, a state politician, an artist, a filmmaker, a drummer, a dancer. Tracy Rector’s experimental films record contemporary natives speaking of the threat of environmental contamination as well as the preservation of rituals and traditional practices.

The exhibition at the Seattle Art Museum is one part of “Beyond the Frame: Being Native” a collaboration of 20 native groups and cultural institutions reexamining Curtis in a contemporary context. Just up the street from the Seattle Art Museum, the Seattle Public Library offers “Protecting the x əlč: Indigenous Stewardship of the Salish Sea” (On view through August 15). It has two parts; the first room emphasizes Curtis’s photographs of traditional practices such as fishing and harvesting (including historical artifacts); the second room presents contemporary life as in the flourishing canoe journeys, the success of the dam removal on the Elwha River, and contemporary resistance to industries, such as the Lummi defeat of a coal terminal on Cherry Point. Concluding the exhibition is a video with Brian Cladoosby president of the National Congress of American Indians and Chairman of the Swinomish Indian Tribal Community, speaking about their pioneering plans to resist the effects of climate change.

For a complete list of the exhibits and events affiliated with “Beyond the Frame: Being Native” as well as information on contemporary native life see the website. https://www.beyondtheframe.org. Look out in particular for the exhibition of 20 contemporary native artists, curated by RYAN! Feddersen with Chloe Dye Sherpe, “In Red Ink,” at the Museum of Northwest Art in La Connor that opens on July 7. Also don’t miss RYAN! Feddersen’s amusing installation at the end of “Double Exposure” in which we take on the role of “post-human” types such as “Humans of the Glass Offices” and “Vanishing Human Types: People of the Outdoors,” echoing Curtis view of natives as the “vanishing race.” It’s online at http://posthumanarchive.site.seattleartmuseum.org.

We are fortunate here in the Northwest to have a vibrant contemporary native art and cultural flowering that is gaining increasing visibility throughout our region thanks to the collaboration of traditional institutions with committed and articulate tribal groups in Washington, Oregon, and Canada.

Susan Noyes Platt

Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com and for local, national, and international publications.

Seattle Art Museum

1300 First Avenue, Seattle, Washington

Flury & Co

322 First Avenue S., Seattle, Washington

Museum of Northwest Art

121 N 1st Street, La Conner, Washington

FEMAIL: AMPM (2.0) at Bellevue Arts Museum

Debbi Lester — Sat, 11 Aug 2018 04:28:22 GMT

The Man & The Myth: The Epic Works of Michael C. Spafford by Madeline Reeves

Debbi Lester — Fri, 04 May 2018 01:56:05 GMT

The Man & The Myth: The Epic Works of Michael C. Spafford

What does it mean to separate a artist from his work? Is it truly possible to view art in a vacuum, separate from any outside historical context or influence? Are the stories behind the art separate from the stories within it?

These are all questions that were percolating as I went to witness the colossal collection of Michael Spafford’s work that is currently on display at Greg Kucera, Woodside/Braseth, and Davidson Galleries. While I arrived full of questions, I left with a profound respect for both the depth of Spafford’s work and the ideas he is trying to unravel within it.

At its heart, Spafford’s work is about storytelling. Not his own stories per say, but rather the retelling and depicting of ancient myths. He interprets the tales in a variety of mediums, each more nuanced than the one before. In oils, he is bold and sometimes even primal in his expressions. If you look closely at the paintings, you can occasionally find where his fingertips traced the tales into the canvas. In watercolor, he is more subtle, but by no means subdued, carrying ancient archetypes and his strong linear forms across each expression. The collection goes on to include works in charcoal, collage, and sketches to form an immense array spanning nearly six decades that proves that Spafford is impactful in any medium.

The work is as intense as it is expansive. While some collections of this scale might contain only a few pieces that truly captivate, each piece of Spafford’s does its part to draw you in. This is not to say that all of the pieces are all particularly inviting. Many of the canvases come off as eerie, while others feel more bold and visceral, largely in part to the artist’s affinity for the color red. They are all however, consuming in some capacity, bringing each story they contain to life in a variety of renditions and sizes. In fact, it is Spafford’s unique use of both canvas and scale, and the way in which some works are cut, peeled away from the surface, or designed in obtuse shapes and pieced together, that makes the work feel as if you could climb inside and suddenly find yourself within the artist’s mythical world.

Some of the pieces are striking simply because of their size, while others are because of subject they contain. All of the work shares a common thread in the depiction of Greek myths, many of which containing characters both human and animal. Half man, half bird, Icarus takes a spiraled flight. In bold blues, red, and black, the chimera meets its fateful end. Men battling serpents, Leda laying with the swan, Europa and the bull, the mighty minotaur waiting in the maze...so many of these pieces trace the lines and connections between man and beast. Looking at them, one starts to wonder, what is it that brings Spafford back to these stories time and again. On the surface, mythology appears to be the common thread, and yet, I found myself questioning: Where does Spafford see himself in these stories and struggles?

As I continued through the collection, I came to realize it isn’t just the artist that sees himself in these stories. In a way, mythology is one of our oldest forms of expressions, and by nature, stories like these are means to which we better understand ourselves and our common connections. These stories in particular explore the idea of both our humanity and our animality, and how intertwined the two truly are. We like to see ourselves as a species far evolved. And yet in modern day, looking at the bloodshed and beasts in Spafford’s work, you realize that our kind is only slightly less impaired by impulse and instinct than the creatures depicted in these stories from long ago. Reflecting on these tales of man and animals, make one start to question how distinct and divine we truly are from our fellow animal forms.

While some may see the content of Spafford’s work as no more than depictions of tales from a far off ancient time, I think the artist is calling us to question something that lives beneath the surface of these stories. He is calling us to see the connection between past and present, between reality and recreation. He is wanting us to consider the thread that binds us to our most visceral self, and in turn these stories from the past. It is this questioning that makes this work continue to have a profound and primal way of pulling one in during the present day. Perhaps that is why Spafford and his paints return to these tales again and again, ever blurring and building the connections between the man and the myths that came before.

Madeline Reeves

Madeline Reeves is a Pacific Northwest writer and consultant. For more information about her and her work, visit www.fearlessintraining.com.

Davidson Galleries

313 Occidental Avenue South

Seattle, Washington

Greg Kucera Gallery

212 Third Avenue South

Seattle, Washington

Woodside/Braseth Gallery

1201 Western Avenue

Seattle Washington

Cascadia Art Museum by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 May 2018 16:50:54 GMT

"Figuring History: Robert Colescott, Kerry James Marshall, Mickelene Thomas" by Susan Noyes Platt

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Mar 2018 06:00:58 GMT

Keep an eye out for satire in the Seattle Art Museum’s new exhibition “Figuring History.” Robert Colescott, Kerry James Marshall, and Mickelene Thomas all share a deep irreverence for traditional Euro American history as they rewrite familiar stories and turn clichés upside down and inside out. But first, immerse yourself in the sheer virtuosity of these artists. “Figuring History” the theme presented by Catherina Manchanda, curator of the exhibition and modern art curator at the Seattle Art Museum, emerges from brilliant formal games with color and space.

Fortunately, because the paintings are large (in the tradition of history painting,) there are not many of them, which makes it possible to fully experience their aesthetics, their satire, and their rewriting of history. The show encompasses three generations of African American artists. Robert Colescott (1925–2009) turned to monumental figures inspired by both Leger and Egyptian art (he lived in Cairo for several years). He was directly affected by the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s; Kerry James Marshall, born in 1955, celebrates middle class black life starting in the 1990s with its undercurrent of impending danger. Mickelene Thomas, born in 1971, brings us to the present moment with her assertive, no holds barred paintings of black women.

Colescott’s first rewriting of history, “George Washington Carver Crossing the Delaware,” 1975, outraged many people with its repertoire of cliché black face figures filling the boat of the iconic representation by Emanuel Leutze’s “Washington Crossing the Delaware.” Intriguingly, this painting is more straightforward than much that followed. Colescott layers satire, caricature, and political and historical defiance. You can’t always decipher all of his references, as his mature style of loose, brushy, overlapping figures purposefully obscures the identity of many of his figures. Looking at “Afterthoughts on Discovery,” for example, Columbus is obvious in the foreground, a conquistador behind him, a slave, a native American, two skeletons, perhaps Lincoln, a Spanish priest, but what about the five people on the upper left. Are they identifiable, symbols? Or are they actual people? The same can be said for “Knowledge of the Past is the Key to the Future: Matthew Henson and the Quest for The North Pole,” 1986. African American explorer Matthew Henson who accompanied Peary to the North Pole in 1909, is rescued from oblivion as the central figure here. Around him are Peary, a slave, a white slave trader, a Native American, and a collection of other people including Salome presenting the head of John the Baptist, a half black half white woman, and a prostitute with bright green shoes and bag. So we wander through the painting, wondering how they fit together, do they fit together, does it matter? Colescott provides a virtual catalog of skin colors and types, high and low, famous and anonymous. He mixes up all the boundaries. Perhaps that is more important than a coherent single point in time.

Two tightly selected series present Kerry James Marshall here along with a few other well known paintings. Manchanda did well to fill a room with his spectacular “souvenir” series. They glitter in tones of gray, while honoring the terrible loses of the Civil Rights Era. Marshall’s work draws on every source from kitsch to classical, he plays with us, drawing us into the spaces he creates. In contrast, “The School of Beauty, School of Culture,” 2012, represents a crucial aspect of Marshall’s work, his exploration of black middle class life. Nothing is more iconic that the black beauty salon and this work offers realism, pop art references, and a hologram representation of a white blond in the foreground (a look back to what black women used to desire?), now eclipsed by absolutely self-confident black women with stunning hairdos. (For another view of this subject, see the Al Smith show “Seattle on the Spot” at the Museum of History and Industry until June 17, featuring a black beauty school in the Central District as well as other themes that reinforce the idea of ”Figuring History.)

Don’t fail to spend some time with Marshall’s “Vignette” series as well: he layers seemingly simple statements of love with pointed political references.

Mickelene Thomas’s glittering canvases of confident black women envelop us. Thomas, like Colescott and Marshall, sometimes redefines famous paintings. Here she transforms Manet’s “Dejeuner sur L’Herbe” into the fabulous “Le déjeuner sur l’herbe: Les Trois Femmes Noires,” 2010. Thomas’s games of space are outrageous and fascinating, they pull us in and push us out; they interrupt predictable perspectives; they adeptly juxtapose modernist squares of colors with complex patterns. While Marshall depicts a shimmering curtain in reflective glitter that closes off the space behind in “Memento V,” Thomas’s shining rhinestones copiously distributed on her paintings actually push us back. That push back in Dejeuner sur l’herbe reinforces the bold, but unavailable, women at its center .

Take time with these stunning paintings, explore their complexities, and pay attention to their new histories of life in the US. It refreshes the spirit amidst the current degradations of our public politics.

Susan Noyes Platt
Susan Noyes Platt writes a blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com. She writes for local, national and international publications. Most recently she has curated several exhibitions on the subject of Migration.

“Figuring History” is on view through May 13, 2018 at the Seattle Art Museum, located at 1300 First Avenue in Seattle, Washington. Hours are Wednesday, Friday through Sunday 10 A.M. to 5 P.M.; Thursday 10 A.M. to 9 P.M.; and closed Monday & Tuesday. For more information, call (206) 654-3100 or visit www.seattleartmuseum.org.

“Portraiture” by Lauren Gallow

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Mar 2018 05:47:01 GMT

The genre of portraiture doesn’t get a lot of love these days. Come to think of it, it never really has.

In the Royal Academy—the post-Renaissance prototype for today’s art schools and museums where the best of the best European artists trained—portraiture was second on the hierarchy of genres. Any artist who wanted to paint “important” works in the academy was producing History Paintings, depicting mythological or religious subjects to
convey some kind of higher ideal or moral value. Portraiture was important —it sat above landscape painting and still lifes on that academy list—but it wasn’t number one. In general, Western portrait painters were respected for their technical skill and ability to produce a
recognizable likeness of a person, but not so much for their ideas or creativity.

And so it has been for the last several centuries. Portrait painters have rarely made a splash or even a ripple in the trajectory of art history—can you name any portraitists off the top of your head? Recently, however, portraiture has made a comeback. Barack and Michelle Obama’s presidential portraits were unveiled recently, throwing a wrench in the historically conservative and— I’ll say it—downright boring collection of the last 200 years of presidential portraits. Kehinde Wiley’s depiction of Barack in a lush garden of green leaves and pops of colorful flowers and Amy Sherald’s portrait of Michelle in a bold patterned dress against a bright blue background have been a breath of fresh air. How refreshing to see portraits that buck conventions, toss off the unspoken requirement of literalism, and attempt to say something about the personalities of these important people. Portraiture is back.

Just take the current show at Foster/White Gallery, aptly titled “Portraiture.” The show brings together three painters whose work expands and questions the nature of portraiture as a genre. Erin Armstrong, Carlos Donjuan, and Julia Lambright prod and push at the boundaries of portraiture—somewhere in the middle of my time with the paintings, I found myself asking, what makes a portrait a portrait? Just as Kehinde Wiley and Amy Sherald offered a courageous new answer to this question with their Obama portraits, the artists in “Portraiture” proffer up three similarly bold responses.

California-based painter Erin Armstrong tests the parameters of portraiture with
a body of work where the visual identity of her sitters is all but obscured. Bright splashes of color and bold floral patterns surround and define her subjects, sometimes encroaching on, but never overshadowing, the human forms she depicts. It’s the form, the container that stays in tact—the context and the contents transmute. Boundaries are strongly defined, but what lies within or just without that edge is amorphous.

For Armstrong, the frontier of identity is anything but settled. It’s wild and blooming, neon lights and floral wallpaper, bright and budding and just a little bit cheeky.

Armstrong’s figures embody an identity or a character, but the defining physical features are concealed or abstracted. One subject covers her face with a bouquet of bright blue tulips. Another has an orange stripe for an eyebrow and a head composed of turquoise, yellow and purple stripes. The face—the place we often look first to locate identity—is the focus, but there are no distinguishing features to be found in Armstrong’s portraits. Instead, we are left with a container, a form filled with a sensation or a color or a bouquet of bright blue tulips.

Smaller in scale but richer in symbolism are the delightfully ambiguous paintings of Carlos Donjuan. Based in Dallas, Texas, Donjuan works from his personal history as a first generation American to address notions of belonging. Fascinated from a young age with the concept of alien identity, Donjuan’s portraits toe the line between standard and strange. Here, portraiture addresses the place of the person in the land of the collective. While Armstrong locates identity within a vessel of ever-evolving sensations, Donjuan finds it in the act of assemblage. In Donjuan’s paintings, delicately rendered strands of hair are tucked behind a mask of geometric patterns and leopard print. Human faces are abstracted to triangles and circles, which then become the composite parts of the chorus of friendly creatures populating his works. Identity for Donjuan is a kit of parts that can be endlessly reconfigured and mixed and matched. We all wear masks, he seems to say. Some are friendly, some are funny and some are foreign. They all speak to the impossibility—the absurdity—of ever truly blending in.

The third artist in the exhibit, Julia Lambright, dives even deeper into the layered facets of identity in the genre of portraiture. Born and raised in Russia, Lambright works in a traditional egg-tempera painting technique which she learned from masters in Russia and the United States. A notoriously unforgiving medium, egg-tempera is a technique ripe with historical associations. Lambright describes her work as “excavating the strata of the past,” building up layers of symbols and textures to compose the iconic figures who populate her paintings. For her, identity is about history—it can be built up and unearthed through the layers of time.

Their methods and influences are quite different, but all three artists in “Portraiture” bring similar questions to the table: where do we locate individual identity? And how does the body in concert with its context work to convey this sense of self? At a moment in history when identity—whether gender, racial or national—holds more political relevance than ever, it seems fitting that artists are using the genre of portraiture to play with these definitions. Because, the truth is, portraitists have always used their medium to communicate carefully orchestrated messages about
their sitters. They just haven’t always been quite so honest about it.

Lauren Gallow
Lauren Gallow is an arts writer, critic, and editor. You can read more of her work at www.desert-jewels.com/writing.

“Portraits” is on view through March 24 at Foster/White Gallery, located at 220 Third Avenue South. The gallery hours are Tuesday through Saturday 10 A.M. to 6 P.M. For further information call (206) 622-2833 or visit www.fosterwhite.com.

Little-Known Artist Histories by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Mar 2018 05:35:04 GMT

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Mar 2018 05:32:01 GMT

That’s Just Ken

My friend Ken and I are on our second loop around Green Lake. It’s sunset, “the hour of truth,” Ken says.

And I can tell when his truth is not so much about to surface but burst. This generally means I’m about to get a history lesson. What’s lovely is that I can practically see Ken’s wheels turning backward in time and that he’s a little surprised by how good remembering makes him feel.

And that’s good enough to make me feel good, too.

On election day, 2016, we walked along Waterfront Park. “I should write a song about this day,” he said. “A sad tune about misery and shortsightedness because that’s what it feels like to turn on the TV.” We laughed. Harder than we would have if anything was actually funny.

Today, Ken’s lesson is about Thanksgiving. I never knew it was an English harvest celebration held the first week in October. Or that the reason why ours is on the third Thursday in November is that the U. S. Congress, in 1941, passed an act saying so. Seems the federal workers, “who live for holidays,” pointed out that October had Halloween; December had Christmas; January had New Year’s. Something had to be done about November. And the third Thursday sounded so…right. Congress agreed.“Well, why wouldn’t they?” Ken says.

Next, we talk about friendships past. “It’s good to reflect before charging ahead into the new,” Ken says, thinking more about tax policy, I’m sure. But he can’t help himself.

But what rushes into my mind is an old friend who-broke-my-heart. “She certainly taught me that it’s possible to keep someone close while letting them go,” I say.

Ken calls this kind of attachment an emotional deep state. “When habits rule, not our brains.” But he would think of love like this, wouldn’t he? So I remind him that I’d recently spoke at my first national conference and he hadn’t even asked me about it yet. “Some friend,” I say.

“You’re brave,” is all he says.

“Brave? No way. If you knew what I looked like in the greenroom, I doubt you’d think I’m brave. I picked every piece of fuzz off the floor. And it’s weird because I’ve chosen performance anxiety since I was five when I’d stage puppet shows for the neighborhood.”

“You just knew you wanted to run your own show,” Ken says, “and earn your own pennies.”

“Sadly, that’s the part that has stayed the same, pennies for pay.”

We talk about cold remedies. This exchange went something like: I say my Chinese friend gives me herbs that smell terrible, and he says his sister calls chicken soup nature’s antibiotic, and I say my Filipino neighbor, Marlin, swears by slow cooked beef tongue.

“Ew,” I said.

“No, ew!,” she yelled. “Just do!”

I love Marlin. What I know about the kind of friendship we share — how it isn’t all that easy to just do it sometimes, but do it we must — I learned from her.

“Now that kind of attachment is a good medicine and a good example of bipartisanship.”

I spent the next couple of minutes thinking, this is Seattle, this is Ken, this is how Ken’s mind works.

Ken saves the world. For me, at least.

Mary Lou Sanelli
Sanelli’s latest book is A Woman Writing. She is speaking at Village Books in Bellingham, Washington on April 14th, at the Seaport Bookstore in La Conner, Washington on May 10th, and at the General Federation of Women’s Clubs International Convention held June 22-26 in St. Louis, Missouri. For more information, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

The Time. The Place. Contemporary Art from the Collection.

Debbi Lester — Mon, 08 Jan 2018 04:48:16 GMT

November 18, 1883 was called “the day of two noons.” It was the day that standardized time was instituted. At exactly noon on this day, four continental time zones were established in North America. It was called “the day of two noons” because at mid-day, people had to stop what they were doing and reset their clocks back to noon in order to get everyone on the same page of time.

The new exhibit at the Henry Art Gallery—“The Time. The Place.”—features over fifty artworks from the museum’s permanent collection, many of which seek to disrupt this sense of a standardized, linear time. Here, time is presented as layered and cyclical rather than a straight, organized line. Historical markers are nevertheless present in this survey. Artworks mark distinct moments in the history of the 20th century, including the Vietnam War, the AIDS crisis of the 1980s, and the emergence of modernist design mid-century. However, there is a push and pull between these two conceptions of time, fixed versus fluid.

Many artists in the show seek to bend time and turn it in on itself, denying its omnipresence, its oppressive consistency. And yet, at the same time (see—even I can’t escape it), the exhibit itself seems to insist on a standard marking of time. “In celebration of the Henry’s ninetieth anniversary”—every piece of didactic material about the exhibit uses this as the justification for mounting such a show at the Henry, and points out that the majority of the works have been acquired by the museum in the last twenty years. Wandering through the galleries, though, this clean-cut sense of a linear, divisible time all but dissolves.

The opening piece in the main galleries is “Ibi Sum.” What appears to be a clock is lying flat on a pedestal in the middle of the room. Except, this clock has only a single hand and no numbers. And it doesn’t seem to be ticking. In fact, it’s not a clock at all. It’s a compass. This compass is programmed to point to artist Kris Martin wherever he is, based on a geotracker Martin carries with him at all times. Even after death, the compass will continue to point to Martin’s grave. Transcending physical presence, transcending time, the compass will forever point. For Martin, time is a trick, a disguise. Time will pass, it will end eventually. But, the compass clock will continue its work, diligently pointing.

For me, the measure of a successful artwork is when time stands still while I’m experiencing it. These are the works where I can lose myself and forget that forward march of seconds, minutes, hours. Several pieces in the show conjured this experience for me, the most successful being the video works. What a thrill to discover that the Henry has in its collection videos by Bill Viola and Gary Hill, among others. I watched Bill Viola’s “Anthem” video piece with rapt attention, searching for any hint or trace of Seattle, wondering how this piece in particular came to end up at the Henry. What was the connection? How did it land here, in this time and this place, to be the opening work in the Henry show? Of course the answer was not there, in Viola’s clips of industry and commerce interspersed with the slow-motion scream of a young girl. The only answer being what Viola has always insisted—that human vulnerability stands outside of time or notions of its progression.

But where I really lost myself was in the second video room, a piece by Svetlana and Igor Kopystiansky titled “Speak When I Have Nothing To Say, After L’Eclisse (The Eclipse) by Michelangelo Antonioni.” The video is an edited scene from Antonioni’s film “L’Eclisse” where the artists have removed the dialogue and rearranged the shots so that any attempts to follow a linear narrative are thwarted. What starts off as confusing quickly becomes meditative and almost hypnotic, the sound of heels clicking back and forth on tile floor and a table fan lazily buzzing a soothing backdrop to the characters moving wordlessly across the screen. Here, time is a circle, there is no beginning and no end. There are no satisfying placeholders or landmarks to latch onto—only the silent despair of two characters who circle around one another, looping and repeating until they just can’t anymore.

This sense of a repeating loop, where time is more malleable than fixed, is a comforting cloak that drapes over the exhibition. It circles and doubles, as in Richard Long’s “Puget Sound Driftwood Circle” (driftwood arranged in an almost perfect circle) or Angela Christlieb and Eve Sussman’s “How to tell the future from the past, v. 2”, where video of forward and backward movement is seen side by side.

It is comforting, this conception of time, because it removes the promise and the pressure of progress. It reminds us that nothing in life follows a single line. Seasons cycle around and around, lessons take practice and more practice to learn, change happens in fits and starts and never all at once. Sometimes going backwards is necessary to go forwards, and sometimes the day holds two noons. A heartening reminder at this time, this place in history where so many things feel positively upside down.

Lauren Gallow

Lauren Gallow is an arts writer, critic, and editor. You can read more of her work at www.desert-jewels.com/writing.

“The Time. The Place. Contemporary Art from the Collection” is on view at the Henry Art Gallery, located at 15th Avenue NE and NE 41st Street in Seattle, Washington. The lower level galleries close on March 25. The upper level galleries remain open until April 22. Hours are Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday from 11 A.M. to 4 P.M. and Thursday from 11 A.M. to 9 P.M. Visit www.henryart.org for more information.

Humaira Abid: Searching for Home at Bellevue Arts Museum

Debbi Lester — Mon, 08 Jan 2018 04:45:02 GMT

In the New Year by Diane Walker

Debbi Lester — Mon, 08 Jan 2018 04:40:34 GMT

In the New Year

Be patient, and trust

that in Spring the sap will rise again,

and once replenishment begins,

this thick skin that you’ve cultivated

to protect you from the storms

will no longer be enough

to contain the hope that grows in you,

and will begin to peel away.

That slow excruciating tearing

redeems itself

by carrying away the scars

of old cuts you once endured;

will leave you fragile, vulnerable, glowing;

overflowing with new life.

Each stage has its discomfort:

the constraints and constrictions of winter

give way to the defenselessness of spring.

Soon you’ll begin again to dread

the painful severing of autumn —

even summer aches with anticipation.

Diane Walker

Diane Walker is a poet, artist, and actress living in the Northwest.

To view her work, visit www.contemplativephotography.com.

What if God by Paul Hunter

Debbi Lester — Mon, 08 Jan 2018 04:39:13 GMT

What if God

What if God were the everything

not mere perfection also imperfection

not just the broadcaster of trees

but where the seeds land find a way

underground aloft a place to stand

a leaning a decay in time a falling

not just the wind that rises at dark

that sets them waving at nothing

but the squeak of the porch swing

made of oak something not nothing

that’s held its place a long time

how it sings putting up with a body

hears the knot in the knotty pine sighing

through the night through the rain

out from the heart of the grove

that deep-down ache its lost limb

Paul Hunter

Paul Hunter is a Seattle poet whose latest book is “Clownery,” in lieu of a life spent in harness (Davila Art & Books, 2017), an autobiography in prose poetry.

Andrew Wyeth: In Retrospect

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Nov 2017 03:56:56 GMT

In August 1949, LIFE Magazine published a four-page spread on Jackson Pollock with the headline, “Is he the greatest living painter in the United States?” This was virtually unheard of – never before had a magazine like LIFE given over so much real estate to a visual artist. Let alone to someone as provocative as Pollock, nicknamed “Jack the Dripper” for his novel style of drip painting.

That same year, the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York purchased a painting by Andrew Wyeth, a contemporary of Pollock’s. In a unanimous decision, the museum’s board purchased Wyeth’s modest-sized painting from a New York gallery for $1,800 – then considered a major sum for a painting. That work, “Christina’s World,” still hangs in the permanent collection at MoMA.

However, not long after buying it, MoMA seemed to cast the painting aside. Today, “Christina’s World” hangs on a wall in a back hallway leading to the bathrooms. If MoMA’s treatment of the painting is any indication, Wyeth has become an outcast, a figure on the periphery of American modernism.

How did this happen? How did Pollock become the star of modern art history while Wyeth was relegated to the sidelines? In an exhibition of over 100 paintings and sketches, “Andrew Wyeth: In Retrospect” at the Seattle Art Museum seeks to bring Wyeth back to the forefront. Though for many, he never really left.

Over the course of his 75-year career, Wyeth was by all accounts a very successful painter – his works were hugely popular with the American public, who crammed into his exhibitions at museums and galleries throughout the late 20th century. “Christina’s World” has become one of the most recognized images in American art, as much an American icon as Grant Wood’s “American Gothic.” Wyeth’s portrait of Helga Testorf entitled “Braids” from 1977 has even been nicknamed “The American Mona Lisa.” In fact, a case could be made that Andrew Wyeth was the greatest living painter in the United States during the mid-20th century, not Pollock.

Many critics certainly felt this way. As one critic wrote in 1963, “In today’s scrambled-egg school of art, Wyeth stands out as a wide-eyed radical. For the people he paints wear their noses in the usual place, and the weathered barns and bare-limbed trees in his starkly simple landscapes are more real than reality.” For those who felt alienated and confused by the increasingly abstract nature of American modern art, Wyeth represented a breath of fresh air. His paintings begged – and still beg – to be read like books. Their stories and characters spill out beyond the frame, traveling between canvases in a twisting, turning, ever-evolving narrative. His evocative scenes of spooky farmhouses, empty fields, and mysteriously shored boats read like scenes from a movie – one where the dramatic tension has been cranked all the way up.

The SAM exhibition sets the stage for this eerily epic, sometimes salacious narrative to unfold. Opening with an introduction to Wyeth’s characters and scenes, the exhibit’s first room features a portrait of Wyeth’s wife Betsy next to a second portrait of his longtime neighbor Karl Kuerner. The rolling hills and Victorian farmhouses of Wyeth’s hometown of Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania are also introduced – a place that looms large throughout his work, standing almost as a character itself.

Explaining these people and places and laying bare his sources, the exhibit offers a new depth to Wyeth’s work. For many viewers, Wyeth’s characters may come to life here for the first time. When viewed alongside the preliminary sketches and wealth of expository material unearthed by curators Patricia Junker of SAM and Audrey Lewis of the Brandywine River Museum of Art, the people and places in Wyeth’s paintings become multilayered and complex. The exhibition also explores oft-overlooked aspects of Wyeth’s work, such as his fascination with film and the stories of his many African-American subjects.

Ultimately, what the exhibition makes clear is that this narrative aspect of Wyeth’s work is what continues to draw people into his strange world. It is a narrative dripping with drama – mysterious deaths, secret mistresses, and dark familial tragedies. It is the narrative of Andrew Wyeth the person. It is the story of his life and the people and places he saw along the way – carefully and painstakingly observed in his meticulously crafted paintings.

More than that, though, it is the story of Wyeth’s inner world. The exhibition reveals that far from the dispassionate illustrator he is often accused of being, Wyeth was in fact filtering his world through a very opaque lens. A lens of desire and grief, longing and confusion, ownership and helplessness. To look closely at his paintings is to distinguish this lens, to see how it shaped Wyeth’s own perceptions of his world. It reminds us that we, in turn, bring our own distinct lens to the people and places we encounter. Like Wyeth, we are each crafting stories about the experiences of our lives. This is what makes us human.

This reminder of our shared humanity helps explain Wyeth’s continued relevance today, 100 years after his birth and despite continual shunning from the art world. While the high modernists of MoMA ultimately put their money on abstraction and artists like Pollock, it doesn’t make Wyeth’s realist style any less valid or meaningful. “Christina’s World” may still be hanging next to a bathroom – MoMA wouldn’t even lend it to be included in this show – but the painting remains one of the most captivating images in the canon of American art, and Wyeth one of its greatest artists.

Lauren Gallow

Lauren Gallow is an arts writer, critic, and editor. You can read more of her work at www.desert-jewels.com/writing.

“Andrew Wyeth: In Retrospect” is on view through January 15 at the Seattle Art Museum, located at 1300 First Avenue in Seattle, Washington. Hours are Wednesday, Friday through Sunday 10 A.M. to 5 P.M.; Thursday from 10 A.M. to 9 P.M.; and closed Monday & Tuesday. For more information, call (206) 748-9287 or visit www.seattleartmuseum.org.

Editoon by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Nov 2017 03:49:18 GMT

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Nov 2017 03:47:14 GMT

There Goes the Neighborhood

I was remembering something I heard the other day. Two women were sitting on the bus discussing how much Seattle has changed. “When they tore down the Lusty Lady,” one of them said, “I thought to myself, now there goes the neighborhood.”

I whipped out my pen. This probably crosses all kinds of old-school lines for some, but when I see or hear something that affects me, I don’t reach for my phone. I’m a writer. I don’t see the point of not writing. There’s still something to be said for letting emotional reactions fill the pages of a notebook.

Then I overheard: “No, I’m not doing eyelash extensions. I have a lot of self-doubt. But not about my eyelashes.”

I was all ears. Excessively-long eyelashes are everywhere lately, so I love it when someone has the guts to push back against the latest trend that makes us feel like our faces are a problem to be fixed.

My friends and I talk a lot about this, how sometimes we just have to push back against popular trends, beauty and otherwise, when we know things have gone too far.

Take this morning. At two in the morning I pushed back. I pounded on my neighbor’s door.

Wait, did I say “neighbor?” Because I don’t have a neighbor. I used to have a neighbor. His name was Dean. We shared a wall for a six years. We looked out for each other. I was surprised, outraged, when his landlord served him notice in order to turn his apartment into a vacation-rental.

Apartment by apartment, my Belltown building has become less of a vertical neighborhood and more of a hotel.

I was working in San Francisco when vacation rental regulations were a city-wide debate. In the Mission, I went to listen to a group of Latinos talk about losing their hotel jobs. Not to work in hotels, not to have hotel jobs, is an incomprehensible way to live for these working people. VRBO/Airbnb is affecting their livelihood in ways — many ways — that I hadn’t thought about.

Talk about coincidence. On my way home, I stopped at a bar in Noe Valley where a man argued, “No one’s going to tell me I can’t rent my place in the city by the week while I’m at my ranch in Wyoming.”

Now, there were at least three other things this man said that made me see how his argument summed up perfectly all the contradictions and inequities of contemporary life. How those with less charmed lives, without a spare house, or even a spare room, still need to work in exchange for a paycheck.

Still, I doubt the man who is buying up condos in our building in order to turn them into short-term rentals would consider himself someone who is contributing to the lack of affordable housing, but, in a less talked-about way, he is. And it’s funny, because the Airbnb promotional materials like to boast how you get to live “in a real neighborhood.”

The trend is everywhere.

When my friend and her infant son needed to find an apartment in Port Townsend, there were only four long-term rentals available. Yet, on the same town’s vacation-rental websites, there are hundreds of listings.

And, try as I might, I cannot see a real neighborhood in that.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Sanelli, author and speaker, lives in Belltown. Visit www.marylousanelli.com

Poetry by Mike Dillon

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Nov 2017 03:46:02 GMT

Paul Horiuchi

Northwest Master – 1906-1999

In his new country, after long struggle,

after enough money finally trickled in,

the artist built a home on a Seattle hill

looking over Lake Washington

to the erect snows of Mount Rainier.

Mount Fuji, in his childhood world,

rose beyond Lake Kawaguchi. He’d come full circle.

The Japanese have a word, natsukashii,

for a longing that runs deeper than mere nostalgia.

Immigrants and exiles of all times understand.

And so he made his life among natural affinities:

the intricacies of saltwater, rocky shores, misted pines.

Salmon as sacred to the Puget Sound tribes as to the Ainu.

Kuroshio, the Japanese current, brushes the West Coast

where Basho is also at home.

Every year the now honored artist returned to Japan.

Near the end, in Seattle, he wondered aloud

if he dreamed in Japanese. The boy who left home

at fourteen had arrived at a borderless country

where there was only one lake. One mountain.

Mike Dillon

Indianola, Washington

Museum of Northwest Art by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Tue, 05 Sep 2017 19:03:04 GMT

Poetry by Alan Chong Lau

Debbi Lester — Tue, 05 Sep 2017 19:00:52 GMT

why i can’t always paint

i have completed

my mountain hermitage

there was to have been a waterfall

outside my window

but my brush faltered

each sheer plunge of water

refuses to flow

rather hangs

in mid-air

resembling chunks of concrete

it must be my american influence

the top of the painting

seems endless

white space

holding on

to pins of air

a wall of silence

so immense

it covers the sky

Alan Chong Lau

Alan Chong Lau is a poet and painter exhibiting his art locally at ArtXchange Gallery in Seattle, Washington.

Yayoi Kusama: Picturing the Self, Infinitely

Debbi Lester — Sun, 02 Jul 2017 16:12:19 GMT

I have a confession. At the time of this writing, I have not seen “Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors” at the Seattle Art Museum. In fact, I’ve never seen Kusama’s work in a museum or gallery.

And yet, I have seen it. The images of Kusama’s work precede her. They’re everywhere: I’ve seen them in my art history books, on the Internet, in the barrage of promotional materials from SAM over the last few months. Oh, and of course, on Instagram.

Kusama’s Infinity Mirror Rooms, the artworks for which she has become best known, are a selfie-lover’s dream come true. The rooms are fully immersive spaces where visitors enter one or a few at a time, close the door behind them, and are surrounded on all sides by mirrors. Often, the spaces are filled with sculptural objects like her signature polka dot pumpkins or stuffed tubers. Once inside, these intimate spaces can simulate a feeling of being in the infinite (or so I’ve been told). One of my friends even described his first time in an Infinity Room as a “cosmic experience.”

Kusama made her first Infinity Mirror Room in 1965. And she’s continued making them. Today, a kind of frenetic craze has built up around them. Kusama is also a prolific painter, sculptor, performance, and video artist, but right now, her Infinity Rooms are all the rage.

When the exhibit was at the Hirshhorn in Washington, D.C., earlier this year, the museum broke all kinds of attendance records, with 32,500 visitors in the first week alone. In Seattle, the buzz has been building for months, and when advance tickets for the SAM show went on sale last month, they sold out in less than 24 hours.

What’s the draw? What is it about these Infinity Rooms that’s getting people to stand in line for hours to get inside one of Kusama’s mirrored rooms, knowing they might only be allowed 20 seconds once they’re in? Why the hype?

I think the answer has something to do with social media, and a lot to do with Instagram. It’s not a stretch to say that Kusama’s Infinity Mirror Rooms have become an Internet sensation. Search the hashtags #yayoikusama or #infinityroom and you’ll get over 400,000 posts—hundreds of thousands of selfies and video shorts of people standing in these expansive-looking spaces, surrounded on all sides by sparkling lights or pumpkins and polka dots. Someone at the Hirshhorn even broke one of the pumpkins in an Infinity Room back in February, reportedly because he was distracted while trying to take a selfie. Everyone wants to get their photo inside an Infinity Room. Because let’s face it, they photograph pretty dang well. That’s how Kusama intended it.

Kusama is known for her embrace of the camera, unabashedly promoting herself and her work through images. Much like her fellow pop artists Andy Warhol and Keith Haring, Kusama has found a popular following that lives outside the traditional boundaries of the art world. Her astute understanding of the powers of publicity has lead to her immense popularity—in 2014, museum attendance records identified her as the most popular artist in the world. Over the course of her 65-year career, Kusama has worked hard to craft an identity that can be easily dispersed and digested in a culture of images.

Today we often look to images to locate our sense of self-identity, but for Kusama, this duplication and mirroring is a means of melting away the boundaries of self. It is a means of merging with the infinite. In the 1960s, this line of thought had a lot to do with that era’s counterculture movement. Her early performances from that time were just as much about making a political statement as they were about making art. Then, Kusama’s fantasy of a shared body and erasure of individual difference could be read as a means of fighting against the flattening effects of capitalism. “Become one with eternity,” she wrote in 1968 for her first “Self-Obliteration” performance. “Forget yourself. Self-destruction is the only way out…”

But today, Kusama’s work and the craze for its reproduction in selfies is hitting a different note. Rather than expanding social consciousness or serving as a vehicle for political commentary, it just feels flattening. Her work is being reduced to an image, and not in a good way. Snap a pic inside one of her rooms, post it to your Gram, and watch the likes roll in. Kusama’s Infinity Rooms have become yet another example of our unquenchable thirst for the easily-consumable image.

But perhaps this is what Kusama’s work has been about all along. From the beginning of her career, she’s been exploring reproduction as a means of self-dissolution. And isn’t that exactly what the selfie is doing today? We are duplicating ourselves, ad infinitum, on that tiny screen on our phones. Our identities have become a series of images and profiles that live on the Internet—on Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, Snapchat. More so than ever before, our conception of self lives in a reproduction, in an image.

Kusama’s work asks us to examine this reproduction, to question where the reality lies. Her Infinity Rooms beg to be photographed, but as soon as we do, we’re faced with our own reflection—we see ourselves taking a picture. Seducing us with the promise of the perfect selfie, Kusama forces us to catch ourselves in the act of looking. At ourselves.

Lauren Gallow

Lauren Gallow is an arts writer, critic, and editor. You can read more of her work at www.desert-jewels.com/writing.

“Yayoi Kusama: Infinity Mirrors” is on view through September 10 at the Seattle Art Museum, located at 1300 First Avenue in Seattle, Washington. Hours are Monday, Wednesday, and Friday through Sunday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M.; Thursdays from 10 A.M. to 9 P.M.; and closed Tuesdays. For more information, call (206) 748-9287 or visit www.seattleartmuseum.org.

Schack Art Center by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Sun, 02 Jul 2017 16:07:09 GMT

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Sun, 02 Jul 2017 15:53:12 GMT

Then, Only Then

I tell you something that I’m tired of?

I’m tired of people whipping out their phone to share photos, no matter how hard I try to ooh and ahh at every image.

It’s not often that I get to see my friend Lynn. She’s independently wealthy and travels a lot. I’m not, so I work a lot. The last time we met one thing was clear: Lynn’s latest adventure is her phone.

“Why are you taking pictures of that?” I asked.

“To share with my daughter.”

“It’s a salad. Surely she’s seen one before.”

“To show how pretty it is.” And, like that, she begins to scroll through a million salad photos. Okay, that’s a teeny exaggeration. But there were many. So many, in fact, my first thought was, there’s silly, and then there’s ridiculous. But never mind. Obviously my fatigue is beside the point.

Or maybe it is the point.

Because it prompts the other side of my brain to kick in, the questioning side. My favorite dance teacher once said that most people are followers. “But an artist’s job is to question everything.”

Honestly, that was all, positively all, she had to say. I’ve questioned copy-cat behavior ever since. It used to drive my mother crazy. “Can’t you just go along with it like everyone else?” she’d say, often. About so many things.

“No. Mom. I. Cannot.”

I still believe the best reason to come together for dinner is to ignore the rest of the world, not to include them, and I said as much to Lynn.“Lynn, I want to share stories about what we’re doing and what we want to do next, not listen to pings.”

Oh, I miss uninterrupted conversations! We are designed for fewer interruptions, I think.

Plus, I’ve learned to trust myself when she just knows when something is wrong, when, no matter how much money it makes for some, it’s just not better for everyone, especially people with addictive tendencies. You figure this out pretty quickly when your friend who’s fought long and hard to give up alcohol (and pot ... and pills) is snapping photos of everything around you instead of talking to you.

Finally, she put her phone on the table face up. I reached over and put it face down. “You seem different,” she said. “As much a stickler as ever, but more relaxed.”

My mind raced, flicking through what she just said for some little prize to make my point. I wish I could say this isn’t stickler behavior, but it is.

“Well,” I said, “this always-on/never-off thing is too much interference for my stress level, so I leave my phone in my purse. Are all the photos really necessary?”

“Well, they don’t make me happy, but they don’t make me any less happy.”

I thought this was such a real thing to say, that it spoke of such personal honesty.

“Well, there you go,” I said. “Now that your phone isn’t having more fun than we are, I get to hear you say the kinds of things I love you for.”

“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re right! I’m brilliant.”

Then, then, laughter and intimacy began to catch up to us.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Sanelli works as a writer and speaker. Her latest book is A Woman Writing.

For more information, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Painting as a Form of Love by Paul Hunter

Debbi Lester — Mon, 01 May 2017 17:07:04 GMT

Painting as a Form of Love

Brush in hand the painter

first dances in surroundings sees

signs of feeling in flight at a touch

tracks its motion deep into

stirred weedy thickets skips away

caught in an illusion a denial

spread flat in its particularity

what is it he seeks but to reach

around blind touch the living

catch what he can as it flees

where he makes a quick sketch

to find one true line a caress

as an entrance to love then

paints it all out rapidfire

underpainting all in grays

that will bury each stroke

beneath others he means to refresh

with color as each stroke is lifted

turned wet to the light of its being

and coaxed to the surface set free

—homage to Rob Herlitz

Paul Hunter

Paul Hunter is a poet, farmer, teacher, and shade-tree mechanic. His new book CLOWNERY: In lieu of a life spent in harness, is kind of an autobiography in prose poems.

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Mon, 01 May 2017 17:05:36 GMT

Different Time, Same Story

It’s hard to explain to people today, when it seems that everyone wants to be Italian, that our neighbors once targeted my family.

We’d only lived in Connecticut a few weeks. Because, by God, my father wasn’t about to raise his kids in the big, bad apple. And then, in broad daylight, someone painted “DIRTY WOPS!” on our garage door.

I think the way in which I perceived myself changed the very moment I saw those words.

My mother thought it was one of the neighbor kids. I remember her saying something like, “kids do crazy things.”

I didn’t believe it was a kid at all, but I didn’t argue. Not on your life. My opinion was called talking back. So I kept silent about a certain neighborhood grownup who shook his head whenever our car drove by. Even at my young age, I could detect his contempt for all the European problems he never had to face. And for all the Europeans he did.

My father has said that imagining the “American dream” was the only thing that got him through the Second World War. But he didn’t carry the streets-paved-in-gold generic illusion. He defined the “dream” as living in a peaceful country. I’ll never forget the look that came over him when he saw the slur on our door, as if part of his dream had been ground out like one of his cigars. As if he’d finally witnessed something he’d been afraid of all along.

It was a different time then, of course, when lots of us still believed that the police always did the right thing, and so my father might have pretended to agree with my suggestion to call the police, but he never did. “It’s nothing,” he said, “a joke.” And then he got out the hose and a scrub brush.

And now I wonder: do we all see what we want to see, or can handle seeing, and make light of the rest just so we don’t have to turn a small but obvious cruelty into something much bigger?

That night, I heard my dad cry for the first time. I felt his tears would wash me away. I buried my head in my pillow.

My mother cried too, but I was used to that.

There was another clue that my father was a little less secure in our new neighborhood than he let on. He likes to say that everybody in this country loves to eat, but nobody wants to farm. He was proud of his garden, yet he planted it in our shady backyard, not in the sunnier front. See, all of the men in our neighborhood wore suits to work. My father left the house in overalls. He still does.

And today, with all the renewed discriminatory rhetoric we face, well, I hope something else my dad likes to say is true: this too shall pass.

It’s the little memories that have the largest effect.

I have my reasons for why I didn’t change my name once I married. But the memory of my father scrubbing our garage door is one of the strongest.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Sanelli works as a writer and speaker. Her latest book is A Woman Writing. For more information, visit www.marylousanelli.com

"The Outwin 2016: American Portraiture Today" by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Mon, 01 May 2017 17:00:14 GMT

Cascadia Art Museum is a Dream Come True! by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Mar 2017 18:07:09 GMT

Archipenko: A Modern Legacy

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Mar 2017 17:22:31 GMT

Ukranian-born American sculptor Alexander Archipenko set out to do the impossible. He sought to represent movement in sculpture. In “Archipenko: A Modern Legacy,” on now at the Frye Art Museum, the artist’s lifelong quest to expand the definitions and possibilities of sculpture raises a larger question about what it means to be an artist. About what an artist’s role in society can be.

For Archipenko, the role of the artist was one of provocateur. Of driving forward and instigating social change through artistic production. Aligning himself with avant-garde artistic and literary groups quite early on in his career and all through it, Archipenko consistently experimented with what the sculptural form could (and couldn’t) do.

Walking through the exhibit at the Frye, which is organized chronologically—(the historian in me rejoices!)—visitors can trace the evolution of these experimentations in his abstract figurative sculptures. The moments where Archipenko really nails it, where the single curve of a hip or outline of a shoulder can suggest the most graceful saunter or the most delicate repose, are made all the more successful when seen next to the drawings and sketches where he was working out these ideas.

At the beginning, Archipenko’s more modern, abstract sculptures are juxtaposed against an equal number of works adhering to more classical representations of the human form. A lifelike, white marble sculpture from 1921 effortlessly reads as a figure: the face is abstracted and one arm is truncated, but the all-too-familiar form of the reclining female nude is easy to discern. In case you still had doubts, just read the title: “Reclining.” Case closed.

Right next to “Reclining,” however, is “Walking” from 1912-18, a bronze sculpture that gestures at the human form, but abstracts and breaks it apart as much as constructing it. Here, Archipenko pushes the boundaries of what signifiers are needed in order for a sculpture to read as “human figure.” A vertical rectangular form at the bottom suggests “leg,” while the hourglass shape above reads “torso,” and the circular form on top suggests “head.” Much like the Cubists with whom he was often associated, Archipenko questions the very forms of representation themselves. “How much can I abstract the shape of the body,” he seems to be asking, “until it no longer reads as human at all?”

While many of Archipenko’s sculptures walk the line between representation and abstraction, many fall over into pure abstraction, where the human form is hardly recognizable at all. In “Boxing,” the sculpture is so abstract that the title might be the only way to discern what he is representing.

Forms and masses meld together and are barely readable as two figures dueling. In the middle of the sculpture is a hole—Archipenko’s trademark move. Putting negative space in the middle of a sculpture, the medium that is supposed to be about form and mass. This is what Archipenko is known for: sculpting the void. Representing nothingness. In so doing, Archipenko seems to be asking, “What are we trying to do here, anyway?”

Because the larger question informing Archipenko’s work is not so much about representation vs. abstraction, positive vs. negative space, movement vs. stasis. It’s about what the artist can do. It’s about how far an artist can push the boundaries of representation, can push the limits of what’s acceptable, and still be understood.

Archipenko’s most successful works are the ones where he stretches these limits to their max, reducing the form down to its most essential parts, stripping away the layers of excess. “Torso in Space” from 1935 is nothing more than two curves and a line. But it nevertheless reads as a torso in the clearest, most modern way. Here, Archipenko proves that testing the boundaries of what’s possible can yield highly elegant results.

We know that the history of Western art is a history of vanguard movements. It is a history of artists pushing the limits of what’s acceptable in art making. We remember those artists who went against the grain, who questioned their culture and tried to critique it in some way. Picasso, Monet, Rodin, Van Gogh, Warhol. We tend to forget it now, but all of these artists were considered radicals in their owntime. Add Archipenko to that list—his experiments in sculptural abstraction parallel that of Brancusi or Boccioni.

What Archipenko and the rest of these artists tell us is that the status quo will always be there. There will always be rules and guidelines about what is possible or acceptable, in the world of art and in the larger culture by extension. It’s the role of the artist, the cultural provocateur, to challenge this status quo. To test its limits and possibilities, to experiment and question. Or, in the case of Archipenko, to blow a hole right through the middle of it.

Lauren Gallow

Lauren Gallow is an arts writer, critic, and editor. You can read more of her work and learn about her immersive art project “Desert Jewels” at www.desert-jewels.com/writing.

“Archipenko: A Modern Legacy” is on view through April 30 at the Frye Art Museum, located at 704 Terry Avenue in Seattle, Washington. Hours are Tuesday through Sunday from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. Admission is always free. For more information, call (206) 622-9250 or visit www.FryeMuseum.org.

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Mar 2017 17:21:17 GMT

Here We Are

I’m not unlike many professional artists. My work means piecing together a career from teaching, publishing, speaking fees, grants, honorariums, and applying to choreograph in far away places, which satisfies my addiction to traveling, and my love of dancing. Dancers are my mobile community. Wherever I go, here we are.

I’m in KeriKeri, New Zealand, first studio on a North Island tour.

And it’s not every day that I get to teach Polynesians, so, quickly as possible, I’m going to write this and press SEND. I’m sitting outside a private home, pilfering the wireless. My lodging doesn’t have internet, possibly what I like best about it.

Talia walked into the studio slowly, but I didn’t get the feeling it was because she is bigger than most people, only that she comes from a humid place in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and slowly is just how people move due to the heat.

“I know nothing about your kind of dancing,” she said, “I worry I make fool of myself.” But as soon as she started moving her hips, it didn’t take long to see how there is nothing slow about her dancing.

“Hula is an amazing dance form,” I whispered to the director.

“We have a lot of Samoan dancers,” he said. “We had to have our floor reinforced.”

I liked Talia right away. When I think more about why, I consider all the people who are moving to Seattle lately with lots of money and, oftentimes, airs to match. But Talia has the nature of someone who’s had to work physically hard to earn her place in the world, and I can identify with that.

“I got the sugar,” is how she put it, meaning she is diabetic and suffering from peripheral edema caused by bad diet and excessive salt and/or sugar intake. A lot of Polynesians, I’ve found, have a hard time giving up Spam for whole grains, fruits, and vegetables.

I’m fascinated by Talia’s jet black braid winding into a bun on top of her head; by her long skirts in all colors of the rainbow worn by people back home in a parade maybe, but not out and about, not in Seattle anyway…except maybe in Fremont; by the way she places her hand in front of her mouth as if trying to hide her laughter because she naturally wants to laugh off her errors more than the rest of us. What she does next is rub one hand over her stomach while the other rubs the small of her back, as if she is literally trying to rub out the mistake. It’s the funniest thing.

We talked about her sons who went to America to serve in the military; how she had her first baby at fifteen, nine others after. Nine! “Catholic, that’s why,” she said.

While the director is speaking, Talia says softly, “Fa’afafine,” raising her eyebrows. Later, she explained how Samoan’s don’t believe there is any such thing as “homosexual.” Fa’afafine is simply a third gender, well accepted and “celebrated in my culture,” she said, just as a stripe of sunlight washed over the tattoo of a gecko slithering up her thigh.

No one could have choreographed the effect any better.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Sanelli’s latest book is “A Woman Writing.” She is speaking at Town Hall Seattle and joined by dancers from Cornish College of the Arts on April 27, 2017, 7:30 P.M.

For more information, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Poetry by Diane Walker

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Mar 2017 17:12:53 GMT

Art’s challenge

The sacred challenge of art — even graffiti —

is to remind us of our commonality;

that whatever our gender, race, or creed, we share so much:

eyes to weep as well as see — or look away;

ears to listen or close; mouths to smile or curl in disgust;

arms to hold, resist, or fight; hearts to love or wound…

Diane Walker is a poet, artist, and actress living in the Northwest.

To view her work, visit www.facebook.com/contemplativephotography

or www.contemplativephotography.com.

Poetry by Diane Walker

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Mar 2017 17:10:39 GMT

The painter’s lament

Whenever someone asks,

“How did you get from here to there;

How is it that you saw the possibilities?”

it’s easiest to tell the truth —

I honestly don’t know:

I sat and stared

and then followed my heart;

I let my chosen colors do their work,

and tried to balance light and dark;

to allow it to become

whatever it was born to be.

Creating art

is a quite bit like parenting,

except —

the outcome’s slightly more

in your control.

Diane Walker is a poet, artist, and actress living in the Northwest.

To view her work, visit www.facebook.com/contemplativephotography

or www.contemplativephotography.com.

Corita Kent at the Portland Art Museum by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 Jan 2017 03:58:14 GMT

Divine Ammunition: The Sculpture of Al Farrow by Lauren Gallow

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 Jan 2017 03:34:33 GMT

Divine Ammunition: The Sculpture of Al Farrow at Bellevue Arts Museum

Over 50 years ago when Eisenhower gave that speech, violence had reached a tipping point in the United States, and across the globe. World War II brought death and human conflict at a scale the world had never seen before. Nearly 70 million people died as a result of that war. As a result of human violence and combat. At that particular historical moment, making guns had become more important—and more financially lucrative—than ever before.

We make guns, but what do guns make? Do they make violence, or do they make stability and structure? And who decides? These are just a few of the questions Al Farrow asks with his show, “Divine Ammunition,” on now at the Bellevue Arts Museum. Farrow meticulously crafts sculptures of religious structures and devotional objects—scale models of mosques and cathedrals, along with menorahs, reliquaries, and icons—all out of guns and ammunition. For him, guns make religion.

A scholar of both religion and war, Farrow has long been interested in the historical connection between violence and religion. In “Divine Ammunition,” he seems most interested in the forms and objects that emerge from the two—objects like guns and reliquaries. Bullets and flying buttresses. Church domes and Uzis. In Farrow’s work, the forms of violence and religion become almost interchangeable. You might not notice that the dome of one of Farrow’s mosques is made entirely out of intricately arranged copper bullets, or that a cathedral buttress is actually a handgun. But look closely, and the munitions reveal themselves.

As Farrow reminds us, it is in objects that we as people come to locate intangible concepts like war and religion. Violence lives in our guns, the tools we use to inflict it. Religion resides in cathedrals and mosques, the structures we build to house it. Religious identity lives in menorahs and reliquaries, the devotional objects we use to invoke it.

With his work, however, Farrow questions all of this. For him, guns are no longer tools of violence, but instead are used as building materials. They become the foundation of the synagogue or mosque. They are creative rather than destructive. Stripped of their firepower and force, Farrow’s spent ammunition and dismembered guns are left only to their forms, becoming bronze circles and cylinders, miniaturized roof tiles and building columns.

Of course, we know that guns don’t make violence and churches don’t make religion. Humans make these things. It is we who are responsible for our technological advancements, for our industrial developments. It is we humans who figured out how to make double-barreled shotguns and double barrel vaults. And it is we who determine to what use these objects and forms are put.

Hearing Farrow talk about the process of acquiring his materials—spent ammunition and hundreds of thousands of guns and munitions parts—one is reminded of this very fact. “I used to be very anti-gun and unsympathetic towards the American gun community,” Farrow notes. “I’ve shifted on that, though.” Now, he says, he is more understanding of the various uses to which armament can be put. “I’ve come to realize,” he says, “that gun culture and gun collecting is not so much about violence.” It’s about the object and the appreciation of its historical and cultural significance. Guns are not so far from antiquities and artifacts in that way.

“I am a part of that culture now, gun culture,” Farrow admits. His use—artistic creation—is just one of the many uses to which guns and ammunition can be put. The same object can be an instrument of destruction or of creation. It can kill and it can save. And as Farrow reminds us, creation and destruction will always be intimately intertwined—it’s impossible to have one without the other. The danger, though, is when we cloak that destruction and violence in the shroud of something generative, like religion. Because, as Eisenhower reminded us so many years ago, military strength can bring great power and possibility. But the real power comes in how we choose to use it.

Lauren Gallow

Lauren Gallow is an arts writer, critic, and editor. You can read more of her work and learn about her immersive art project “Desert Jewels” at www.desert-jewels.com/writing.

“Divine Ammunition: The Sculpture of Al Farrow” is on view through May 7 at the Bellevue Arts Museum, located at 510 Bellevue Way NE in Bellevue, Washington. Hours are Tuesday through Sunday from 11 A.M. to 6 P.M. For more information, visit www.bellevuearts.org.

Tabaimo: Utsutsushi utsushi by Susan Noyes Platt, Ph.D.

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 Jan 2017 03:03:43 GMT

Tabaimo: Utsutsushi utsushi at the Asian Art Museum in Seattle, Washington

The fascinating exhibition by the world renowned artist Tabaimo at the Asian Art Museum tells us that the world is not what it seems. Behind mundane objects, in a clothing chest, in a toilet, in a bedroom, lurk other forces, other realities, other creatures, even escape to magic spaces.

The exhibition, which the artist also curated, includes four new videos that respond to works in the Asian Art Museum’s permanent collection. Tabaimo invented the tricky title of her show, “Utsutsushi utsushi” based on the underlying idea of “utsushi” copying or studying a master artist’s work in order to not only understand it, but to grasp its deeper spiritual meaning, to connect across time to it and to honor it. She has turned the concept into an active verb, as becomes clear in viewing the exhibition. She does not just explore the style of the historic master works that she chose for the exhibition, she expands on them, imagining a narrative that takes place inside or beside, or above or below them.

Tabaimo’s work perfectly suits the present moment: uncertain, unsteady, unsafe, unpredictable, but it is also deeply poetic. The artist began by paying homage to her mother, Tabata Shion, a ceramic artist, who inspired the unusual title of the exhibition. Tabaimo’s mother practices “utsushi” as a ceramic artist. The exhibition begins with her work juxtaposed to her master, the artist Ogata Kenzan from the Edo period in Japan.

Tabaimo practiced her own “utsutsushi“ with specific historical works in the collection of the Asian Art Museum, all of which are included in the exhibition. The most straightforward example, and perhaps the thematic heart of the exhibition (although it appears in the last gallery), is Tabaimo’s video in response to the Museum’s unique early seventeenth century six part panel “Crows.” The original awes us with its brilliantly conceived “murder” of crows (as a group of crows is called). The artist discovered that the crows were so subtly drawn, that she actually had to trace them for her own work, “Crow.” In her video a gold wall opens up into a receding space, as crows fly into it, or land above it. But crows also pop up, and fly into several of the other works in the exhibition. You can look out for them.

For another “utsutsushi” her point of departure are two hanging scrolls of “Dragonflies” and “Butterflies,” detailed naturalistic ink drawings and verses, the result of collaboration among over 70 late Edo artists. Tabaimo “liberated” the dragonflies and butterflies in her video, formatted like the scrolls. Now they fly free and disappear from view. But she explored the original work carefully as she recreated the creatures.

At the beginning of the exhibition, she pairs two 16th century Chinese wooden chests and a video called “Two,” 2016, which appears on the back of a transparent wall behind the chests, so that their silhouette frames the video. Here we see what I referred to in the beginning, the forces lurking behind the mundane. Initially we see a chest full of bed covers, but then an arm reaches out from a pillow! And it goes on from there. I won’t spoil the experience with too much detail.

“The Obscuring Moon” develops a narrative for a shadowy woman who barely appears behind a screen in an original print by Hiroshige. Tabaimo places her in the center of an elusive story. But she carefully emulates Hiroshige’s colors, and we are treated to a roomful of his prints in order to enjoy that connection.

Another reference to women is “aitaisei-josei,” a story of suicide, based on a seventeenth century story and a modern novel, “Villain,” by Yoshida Shuichi. Tabaimo creates connections between Ohatsu and Kaneko Miho, the main female characters of the two books, through metaphor and symbolism.

Among the pre-existing work, each surprises us in a different way. Most amusing is the “Public ConVENience,” 2006, a three walled walk in with projections of life size Japanese public toilets. The characters come and go with many unexpected actions.

“Hanabi-ra” gives us what appears to be a representation of a man covered in flowered tattoos and “haunted house,” on loan from the Asia Society, is a large screen city scape with unpredictable scale shifts, and narrative jolts. Tabaimo utsushi’d the spirit of the voyeuristic aerial cityscape from a 17th century Japanese painting that details the daily lives of city dwellers. We see the original example in the next room.

This exhibition is another Asian Art Museum coup, a cutting edge artist in our wonderful “other” museum in Volunteer Park. Just to give you an idea of Tabaimo’s status, she represented Japan in 2011, at the Venice Biennale, and her work is in the collection of Asia Society in New York.

Don’t fail to go, as the Asian Art Museum will be closing when it is over, for two years of remodeling and expansion, its first real remodel since it was built in 1933.

Susan Noyes Platt, Ph.D.

Susan Noyes Platt, Ph.D. is an art historian, art critic, curator, and activist. She continues to address politically engaged art on her blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com.

“Tabaimo: Utsutsushi utsushi” is on view through February 26, Wednesday and Friday-Sunday, 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. and Thursday from 10 A.M. to 9 P.M. at the Asian Art Museum, located in Volunteer Park at 1400 East Prospect Street in Seattle, Washington. For more information, visit www.seattleartmuseum.org/visit/asian-art-museum.

Simple as It Is by Paul Hunter

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 Jan 2017 03:01:56 GMT

Simple as It Is

The heart is lopsided as a grin

first thing Monday morning

at a patch of sun on the floor

simple as it is

barefoot being stepped in

and at the sink the hands make

a leaky old cup drinking from

that wets your chin

dribbling down your shirt front

that only acts like it’s broken

holding every drop you need

and then some

Paul Hunter

Paul Hunter is a Seattle poet whose most recent farming book is “Stubble Field,” (2012, Silverfish Review Press). These pieces hint at another farming collection—“One More Spring.” He has an autobiography in prose poems—“Clownery”—due in January, and is still a fair shade tree mechanic, if he works on a car with no brains.

Farming for the Answer by Paul Hunter

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 Jan 2017 03:00:11 GMT

Farming for the Answer

Given time and space alone

in soft dirt afoot in the field

after the known round of chores

what is there more could you want

than be paid like a king when

even now asked your opinion

there settles a silence a pause

as the living things of your world

each lift their slow grazing heads

wave all their long greening arms

gather themselves in your presence

and wait for the answer to come

Paul Hunter

Living on as if a Burden by Paul Hunter

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 Jan 2017 02:57:50 GMT

Living on as if a Burden

Toward the end of every living thing

ripe a moment beautiful that

decay sweetens in toward the pit

that on the way sheds perfection

until the skin scarcely matters

where reluctant or fierce to be done

its age that has borne the crumbling

that tells mostly gone what has been

falls away saying so far so good

Paul Hunter

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 Jan 2017 02:56:43 GMT

It Matters

Hardly anyone writes thank you notes anymore. But there are two I’ve been meaning to send. And I’ve learned to identify the feeling inside that knows when it’s not okay to send an email or text. I know there are people who say it doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t think that’s true. What’s true is that it’s easy to stop remembering what matters.

It’s not like I believe there is nothing like the good ol’ days, I don’t. In too many ways they weren’t. But each day I’m trying (vigorously!) to balance my embrace of change with the unwise dark, dark side of embracing too much of it, blindly.

I was twenty-three when I taught my first beginning adult dance class. It was an effort and a half to keep myself from moving too fast, but I always enjoyed the challenge. For recital, I chose music slow enough for students with less experience to gracefully make their way through.

Except, clearly, it was still too fast.

Two of my students, Leslie and Chen, were the best sports and the worst…well, the only good thing you could say about their technique was that they tried. At recital time, I choreographed a simple sequence for them, cross walks in a circle, but who was I kidding? It would be cute for children to do this, but it was 50/50 whether people would love adults for trying, or drop their heads in pity.

As recital drew nearer, Leslie and Chen’s smiles tightened to mirror what they were feeling inside. When I asked if they’d like to run the ticket sales at the door instead of performing, I could tell they were as relieved as I was. “We’re all best at something,” Leslie said with her arm around Chen’s shoulders.

One evening I heard Leslie say to Chen, “You say she’s your friend, but when I hear you talk to her, you don’t even sound like yourself.” It was such an intimate yet dicey thing to say, I remember turning my back to give them privacy.

“What do you mean?,” Chen said.

“Like when you said you thought Aaron (the only man in class) was weird, just because she thinks so, when you don’t even feel that way. You love Aaron.”

“I don’t like to make her mad,” Chen said.

“So what if she does get mad, if it’s how you really feel? At this age, you decide one of two things, to tell the truth the way you see it. Or tell hers.”

I didn’t know if Leslie was referring to Chen’s mother, sister, daughter, or friend, but I guess I no longer needed to know.

“I’m not like you. I don’t need to be right all the time,” Chen said.

“No, but does that mean you need to be invisible?”

Chen walked away. A few seconds later, she turned back to say, “You coming?” But her voice was warm when she said it. I have a photo of them taken at recital. Chen’s arms are clasped around Leslie’s back. She is peeking out from under Leslie’s right shoulder and they are both laughing. The look on their faces told me things about friendship I was just beginning to understand: that there is dependable honesty between friends…if we are lucky.

I suppose there are some conversations you never forget, and don’t ever want to. Leslie and Chen prepared me for a lifetime of risky truth-telling, one of the most difficult demands of all on a friendship. In that sense, they turned out to be my teachers.

And what’s lovely is that I finally get to thank them properly. Pen to paper. Next to nothing on my part, but it matters.

Marylou Sanelli

Sanelli’s latest book is “A Woman Writing.” She is speaking at Town Hall Seattle (joined by dancers from Cornish College of the Arts) on April 27, 2017, 7:30 P.M. For more information, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

BAM Biennial 2016: Metalmorphosis by Lauren Gallow

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 Nov 2016 01:37:39 GMT

Bronze. Aluminum. Silver, gold, and copper. Iron. Cast iron. Steel. Forged steel, mild steel, stainless steel.

When I first saw the theme of this year’s BAM Biennial at the Bellevue Arts Museum—“metal”—it didn’t occur to me how many variations of the material actually exist in this earthly realm. It is one of the most base materials available to artists today. Forged from the ground itself, mined and dug up and extracted from the earth, metal possesses an inherently primordial quality in its very makeup. The flip side, though, is that metal, perhaps more than any other material, conjures a sense of the metaphysical, the cosmic, the supernatural. Metal means alchemy, that ancient sorcery of transforming lead into gold. Metal means magic.

The 49 Northwest artists included in this year’s BAM Biennial “Metalmorphosis” explore this and many more of the paradoxes intrinsic to metal. It is both liquid and solid, soft and hard, stable and malleable. Metal has a long history in this region, as local Northwest tribes have made good use of the abundance of copper here for centuries. The maritime industry in the Northwest has also helped generate a large population of metalworkers and tradesmen here. Our region has a history of exploiting the technical possibilities of metal, ultimately resulting in the establishment of the aerospace industry here in the early 20th century.

Functionally, metal has a history of driving technological innovation and progress. Artistically, however, historians have long been fascinated with the question of how metal in particular has driven artistic breakthroughs.

For many artists in the show, one gets the sense that metal and its infinite possibilities and associations are driving the form. Chris McMullen’s “Haystack” is a prime example of this—the giant wall-mounted steel rods and bronze bearings come alive when you turn the crank at the bottom. Undulating and swelling in time as you crank, the piece recalls a writhing insect in its movements, a sharp departure from the mechanized heaviness of the piece in stillness.

For other Biennial artists, however, metal is merely means of solving a problem or visualizing an idea. Kirk Lang’s “Constellation Series” uses a light beamed onto thin metal cutouts to cast shadows on the walls behind. The metal forms rotate and move, breaking the shadow image apart and bringing it back together as gears silently crank. The mechanisms producing this movement are clearly visible, but the magic of the image produced by the shadows somehow remains otherworldly.

Some of the most successful pieces in “Metalmorphosis” are the ones that explore the expansive, volumetric qualities of metal. That capture its ability to be both formless and any form at all, flowing through space like soft waves as in Ruth Beer’s work, or bolstering the fortress doors of a cabinet, as in Maria Cristalli’s “Perfect External Disorder.”

Maria Phillips’ piece “Mapping Monotony” immediately captures your attention upon entering the exhibit, certainly in part because of its scale. But then, its texture. Incomprehensibly whispy pieces of steel dot the white wall, cascading down in tufts and patches of metal that beg to brushed and combed. When I heard another gallery-goer describe the image as “snow-covered grasses,” I did a double take. The white wall now stood in as snow, with the metal tufts reading as plant-like protrusions. That is the beauty of metal—it can take any form we dream it to be.

Catherine Grisez similarly explores the malleability of metal in her collection of pieces, titled “Dignifier,” “The Compromise,” and “Surrender,” which all attempt to treat copper as a kind of skin. Melting off corners and sliding down edges, the works alternately resemble gooey caramel and that weird spray-foam insulation. Grisez is able to instigate the odd feeling that comes when you can’t tell what something is made of by its form. Her forms hint they should be something they’re not. These pieces, made out of copper, should say, “Hard.” But the forms—squishy, layered, melted-ice-cream-like shapes—say, “Soft.”

Many artists in “Metalmorphosis” take a different tact, drawing not on the forms of metal, but on its association with machinery and mechanization—the technology that has helped us go faster and stronger as a society. However, rather than blindly embracing this forward movement, several of the Biennial artists question whether this is necessarily “progress.” David Keyes, in his work “Classicism Fleeing the Onslaught of Modernism,” features cast-bronze classical figures being flattened by the printing press. Literally—the piece incorporates a cast iron roller from an actual 19th-century printing press. Keyes makes us wonder how much our reliance on technology and mechanization has similarly flattened our culture, reduced as we are to looking at screens.

Andrew Fallat’s kinetic sculpture, “Novelties in Simulacra,” is beautiful in its reminder of how clumsy this technology can actually be. Metal gears, levers, and weights clank together awkwardly, in no sort of rhythm and with no clear purpose. Coming to life at random times, I was in the other room when all of a sudden I heard it begin to move and ran to see what all the ruckus was. There is something ancient and imperfect about Fallat’s work, despite the gears and pulleys pleading of their modernity.

Perhaps this is the ultimate beauty of metal. As much as we pull and ply it into modern forms and shapes, it will always be ancient and base. The artists in “Metalmorphosis” remind us that this material, in its infinite uses and formal possibilities, will always speak of its original home. It will always bring us back down to earth.

Lauren Gallow

Lauren Gallow is an arts writer, historian, and editor. You can read more of her work and learn about her immersive art project “Desert Jewels” at www.desert-jewels.com/writing.

“Metalmorphosis” is on view through February 5, 2017 at the Bellevue Arts Museum, located at 510 Bellevue Way NE in Bellevue, Washington. Hours are Tuesday through Sunday from 11 A.M. to 6 P.M. For more information, visit www.bellevuearts.org.

Everything has been Material for Scissors to Shape by Susan Noyes Platt, Ph.D.

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 Nov 2016 01:10:00 GMT

The title of this stunning exhibition at the Wing quotes from Pablo Neruda’s “Odes to Common Things” which celebrates scissors in every imaginable way including cutting clothes for people from the cradle to the grave. In “Everything has been Material for Scissors to Shape” Stephanie Syjuco, Surabhi Ghosh, and Aram Han Sifuentes, create dramatic textile-based installations that comment on history, mythology and the exploitations of commodity culture. Adding resonance to their work, Portland-based Guest Curator Namita Gupta Wiggers incorporated historical selections from the Museum’s permanent collection into the exhibition.

As we enter the first gallery, “A Hair’s Breath, the Unfurled Sea” by Surabhi Ghosh, forms a canopy the length of the gallery, then drops down and flows over the floor. The artist painted the homespun khadi fabric with a pattern that suggests the waves of the sea on the ground and the scales of a flying serpent above. At one end the fabric ends in a curtain of long blue threads that resemble hair. On the wall is an unpainted Khadi bag, its raw cotton physicality reminding us that Khadi connects to Gandhi who spun it, wove it and wore it and encouraged all Indians to do the same, as a means of resistance to colonial rule. Great Britain took India’s cotton at bargain rates, then sold it back as fabric at exorbitant prices. Today, khadi has near sacred status, it cannot be sold or exported, but Ghosh managed to bring the fabric back in her suitcase.

While the celestial snake Ananta supports the universe above our heads, the rest of the sweeping fabric refers to a dramatic story about Draupadi, the central female figure of the Hindu epic Mahabharatha. Draupadi asks Krishna to save her honor after she is sold in a card game and forced to disrobe and dishonor herself: her sari becomes endless, the long blue threads suggest her hair that is also protecting her. Celestial serpents, magic saris, and anti colonialism, all connect in this installation.

Stephanie Syjuco’s self portraits “Cargo Cults (False Villager)” seem to present a young woman dressed in traditional “native” garb, while actually the artist has purchased all of her clothes and adornments from import stores like Pier I. Syjuco creates the “look” of a “native,” from the fake traditional fabrics and objects, then returns all of them to the store. Around her neck in one photograph, she wears door numbers inverted, that look like a tradition-laden symbolic necklace. The term “cargo cult” refers to post World War II Pacific Islanders who gained status by acquiring commodity items dropped on them from the sky to support troops stationed there.

Facing the photographs and further playing with the theme of authentic/inauthentic, baskets from the Wing collection range from ancient and valuable containers to unidentified woven baskets that might actually be cheap imports. The creative display underscores the charisma of museum techniques that can endow objects with authenticity just by means of arrangement and lighting.

In the third gallery, Aram Han Sifuentes created “A Mend, A Collection of Scraps From Local Seamstresses and Tailors,” 2011-2013 with the cut off legs of blue jeans. Its sagging gapping forms suggests a weak wall with holes in it, an incomplete quilt, an incomplete story. The artist collected the story of each workers who cut jeans. She listed the people that she interviewed in a small chart which outlines how many years they have been in the US, how many worked as a seamstress, their country of origin, and what work (in many cases a profession), they had in their country of origin. Also paired in this display are archival interviews with garment workers recorded by Wing Luke Museum in 2001, from textile workers in the Pacific Northwest, women who created the clothing that has made us famous.

Finally, an interactive exhibit offers viewers an opportunity to create their own embroidery based on historical stitches.

The combination of hands on activity, stunning contemporary art, and connections to Asian Pacific American history is vintage Wing Museum. The museum pioneers community-based exhibitions, chosen and curated by community members, such as the second show on display, “Naga Sheds Its Skin” about Khmer Americans, their history, their language, their contemporary presence in the United States, and the horrifying statistics on their deportations.

Also on exhibit is Part III of the Bruce Lee exhibitions, “A Day in the Life of Bruce Lee,” which opened on October 1. Martial artist Bruce Lee defied racism in Hollywood and in his life. His gravesite here is an ongoing shrine and performance focus for people from all over the world. (There is a new biopic about him raising new accusations of racism from his daughter).

Opposite the Tsutakawa Gallery, the permanent display “Honoring our Journey,” presents painful histories (best known of which is the Japanese incarceration during World War II), and contemporary culture in the US of some of the fifty- one (!) ethnic groups included in the Museum.

Finally there is the historical tour of the other side of the 1910 museum building, the East Kong Yick building, the preserved living quarters and cultural center for hundreds of immigrants.

This remarkable museum in the International District is one of my favorite destinations in Seattle, both for its remarkable contemporary art exhibitions as well as its pioneering museology techniques that engage people of all ages and backgrounds.

Susan Noyes Platt, Ph.D.

Susan Noyes Platt, Ph.D. is an art historian, art critic, curator, and activist. She continues to address politically engaged art on her blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com.

“Everything has been Material for Scissors to Shape” is on view through April 17, Tuesday through Sunday from 10 A.M. through 5 P.M. at The Wing Luke Museum of the Asian Pacific American Experience, located at 719 South King Street in Seattle, Washington. For more information, visit www.wingluke.org.

Matched Makers: Northwest Artists Couples by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 Nov 2016 01:05:23 GMT

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 Nov 2016 01:04:17 GMT

All This

I’ve learned to be wary of women who walk up to me with a frown that is not mean, necessarily, but it’s not generous either. And while the downward curve of her mouth would seem perfectly normal had I just addressed, say, terrorism, my talk was about how we can better accept and support each other. Here she comes, I think, arms locked, question loaded. I’ve triggered something. She wants to take me down a notch, there is contempt in her eyes.

“That was cute,” she said.

I just stared at her. And if my mind could have abandoned my feelings, it would have. I could feel a slow hiss seeping out of my pride, like when my bicycle tire rolls over a thorn. I’d just given a talk at the State Capitol for a group of visiting writers. Cute was not what I was going for. I thank God my skin has grown thick.

“So, where do you see yourself going with all this?” she said.

“All this?” I said.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

I have a limited tolerance for this generic question. I never know if it’s a need to instruct or to compete, but the two always seem joined in people like this. They can’t seem to fathom that life can be less conventional and more entrepreneurial than they know it to be.

I wanted to say, this is my soul you are talking about, not an investment portfolio. What you are asking is beside the point.

What I did say was, “It hardly matters,” and, after a pause, “because if I’ve learned anything, it’s that there is no brass ring five years from now, because there is no brass ring. ” It was one of the rare times when the words came to me without my having to wait until three in the morning. Mostly because of good advice I received from a colleague: “If you think everyone in the audience is going to be kind, you really need to consider doing something else. But if you stick with it, it’s good to have a few good comebacks up your sleeve. There is nothing more difficult than being clear and honest when you are taken aback.”

Now, I wish I’d also said: “You know what? When I’m putting myself out there, I’m not the least bit concerned with five years from now, or even tomorrow. I have to be wholly in the present to be effective.”

Today, I’m lucky to know people who’ve been at this business of writing and speaking much longer than I have, who get paid far more than I ever will. (I can still hope!) And I’m always surprised when, in the green room, they seem just as worried as I am that they will, to quote one, “flounder like a fish and sink like a stone.”

I once had so much to prove—to others, to myself—but not anymore. Now, I just want to be around people who find meaningful work reward enough, who have carved out careers with everything they have, raked their insides raw with the effort, who know what it takes to create a creative life, who understand that having work we love is “all this.” And much more.

Because the moment is all we have. And it’s everything, all at once.

But there will always be the naysayer who wants to snatch it from us because, I suspect, they haven’t had one of their own to celebrate in far too long.

Marylou Sanelli

Sanelli’s works as a writer and literary speaker. Her latest book is A Woman Writing. She is speaking at Town Hall Seattle on April 27, 2017 at 7:30 pm. Visit her website at www.marylousanelli.com

Chuck Close Prints: Process and Collaboration by Susan Noyes Platt, Ph.D.

Debbi Lester — Mon, 11 Jul 2016 21:13:40 GMT

Nothing is as it seems in “Chuck Close Prints: Process and Collaboration” at the Schack Art Center in Everett. First, although Close has spent his entire career creating art based on close up frontal portraits, the exhibition is not about portraiture. Second, the subjects of these portraits, his friends, matter little: we see the same faces over and over frozen in time. Third, super-realism, Close’s 1980s “label” as a contemporary artist, also sends us in the wrong direction.

To understand and enjoy this show, start with the odd looking “jigsaw woodblock” hanging on the wall near the entrance. Each large piece is a different color. It provides an immediately understandable example of the imaginative approach to traditional techniques and processes — that is the real subject of the show. The jigsaw woodblock, together with other techniques, leads to a dizzying centrifugal woodcut portrait of the artist Lucas Samaras, a proof with fauve colors almost obliterating the face. Although Close begins with a photograph, he departs from photorealism in every imaginable direction. In the case of the jigsaw woodblock, he challenged master printmaker, Karl Hecksher, to create a print from a multicolored painting. Frequently the experiments in printmaking, as in the case of the jigsaw woodblock, come from master printmakers endeavoring to realize Close’s intense and original concepts. Thus the term “collaboration” in the title of the exhibition.

“Keith/Mezzotint,” 1972, Close’s first print, presents a seventies guy (big eyeglasses, hair sweeping over forehead), but the fragments of the portrait nearby reveal the intricacy of each detail of the face. When Close created this large print in the early 1970s, the old master medium of mezzotint was out of fashion. Even as an emerging young artist, Close always decided to take a challenging path, turning away from his facility as a painter, a colorist, and an abstract expressionist. In the late 1980s, when he was struck with paralysis, that state of mind saved his career and enabled him to continue to work in ever more complex experiments in media and process.

Chuck Close was born and grew up in Everett, Washington, but this exhibition marks the first time his works have been shown there. Created in 2003 in collaboration with curator Terrie Sultan, “Chuck Close Prints: Process and Collaboration,” has traveled the world. The Schack Art Center version spans from 1972–2014.

Included in the exhibition are almost 90 wood cuts, silkscreens, lithographs, paintings, tapestries as well as test charts, pulp paper samples, linoleum, and a brass “shim” to create one of my favorite prints, “Georgia,” 1984. Made of air dried handmade paper, its texture suggests an offbeat experiment, inspired, according to the curator, by an accident of chunks of pulp paper falling on the floor. Each segment of the metal shim is labeled with a number referring to the many toned gray scale in the print.

Every accident is an opportunity for Close.

The exhibition distinguishes European oil-based printmaking, used for “Lucas” and “ukiyo-e” water based prints. (I have always thought that the term ukiyo-e referred only to the subject of pleasure women in Japan). Yasu Shinbata took three years to create 120 color woodblocks for the print based on the oil portrait of “Emma” from 2002. You can see a few of the woodblocks in the exhibition.

The tapestries also amaze. Called Jacquard tapestries, they combine the automated loom, created in the late 18th century by Joseph-Marie Jacquard, with contemporary data and electronics to create stunningly subtle tapestries in gray scales as well as a five hundred color self portrait of the artist.

One of the joys of the exhibition is that it demands that we slow down and immerse ourselves in order to grasp its complexities. Simply looking closely at a single print, such as “Alex, Reduction Block,” 1993, which has a long backstory about the process, I found myself mesmerized by the fine details. In a way, they are a return to the abstraction that Close rejected so early in his career.

Be sure to go to the back of the last wall upstairs to see the woodburytype prints, a luscious black and white process that predates photography.

Dive in and take your time. Explore. Chuck Close never stops exploring, and here is your opportunity to join him in that adventure.

Susan Noyes Platt, Ph.D.

Susan Noyes Platt, Ph.D. is an art historian, art critic, curator, and activist. She continues to address politically engaged art on her blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com.

“Chuck Close Prints: Process and Collaboration” is on view through September 5, Monday through Friday from 10 A.M. to 6 P.M. Saturday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M., and Sunday from noon to 5 P.M. at the Schack Art Center, located at 2921 Hoyt Avenue in Everett, Washington. For more information, visit www.schack.org.

Are We There Yet? by Joel Sackett

Debbi Lester — Mon, 11 Jul 2016 20:37:24 GMT

On a quick road trip from Bainbridge Island to Roslyn, I had the pleasure of visiting the studio and darkroom of Glenn Rudolph. As we sat on the deck and drank almost too much coffee, we geeked-out on old school shoptalk; films and their processing, 50 year old medium format cameras, optical qualities of German lenses, and where all roads photographic lead, to the Light.

“I’ve always been fascinated by the transitional light of the Northwest climate. Combining this with real-life props makes the world an interesting place to work,” said Rudolph.

His work is non-fiction, close in spirit to documentary film, but he conjures much more than the facts. “I feel like I am still part of the WPA photo project from the thirties, with a twist of Constable, Turner, Ryder, Blake, Giorgioni, Titian, and the entire history of Western painting mixed in.”

And then we moved from the deck to the workspace to look at the series of images headed to an exhibit at Gallery One in Ellensburg, “Are We There Yet?”

Rudolph began photographing the Milwaukee Railroad about 30 years ago. The Milwaukee was the last transcontinental railroad to reach the West Coast in 1908. The western division was torn out and sold for scrap in 1980. “I was curious where it ran. It had a distinct look with its trolley poles marching all the way to Harlowton, Montana.”

Describing his work, Gallery One Executive Director Monica Miller states “Using light as his primary medium, Glenn has captured the story of the disappearing railroad and the people and objects that coexist with the spaces left behind.”

These days Rudolph is more likely to run into mountain bikers than hobos when he and his wife walk the grade near Cabin Creek or Beverly. The biker’s eyes widen when he gives them a short history of where they are riding. These incredible images are sure to open your eyes to that history too, making your next hike or road trip in the area that more meaningful.

John Holmgren’s body of work uses rivers and man-made structures to highlight boundaries. Through his photo-montages we rediscover our relationship with the natural environment. We are taken on an expedition to somewhere, sometimes unidentifiable yet always defined.

In collaboration for the past two years with Nick Conbere, “River Relations: A Beholder’s Share of the Columbia River Dams” investigates the presence and impact of hydro-electric dams on the Columbia River. They ask how aesthetic relationships can offer compelling ways to consider human construction that alter natural forces, re-shaping the flow of a river.

I asked about their influencesin this layered/collaborative approach. Holmgren stated, “We are inspired by a variety of past works that interpret landscape and experience, ranging from 19th century Romanticist paintings to documentary photography and historic cartography. Our collaboration documentation and interpretation aims to explore parallels among various places and histories along the river, suggesting patterns and relationships, and facilitating documentary, metaphor, and allegory in considering the presence of the dam.”

Holmgren takes the photographs and Conbere adds the drawings, line, and language. This is a fascinating approach to multi-layered, narrative work. Two artists, collaborating in different mediums, on the same page.

Not surprisingly when I asked him if he had any particular affinities with contemporary artists he said, “Robert Rauschenberg and Mark Klett,” while emphasizing that he was more influenced by writings about water and the sciences.

The works of Glenn Rudolph and John Holmgren/Nick Conbere give new ways to enter into the history and geology of our region.

Upstairs in the Eveleth Green Gallery, a group show of travel photography includes local and international sites taken by photographers from this region including Nick Bosso, Styler Crady, Lynn Harrison, Chris Heard, Philippe Kim, Ona Solberg, and Laura Stanley.

Chris Heard and I had something in common, we both studied with Henry Wessel Jr. “He taught me so much about photography, yet encouraged me to do my own thing which was, and always has been, more landscape oriented,” said Heard. He kept his approach to the landscape very simple with 35mm black and white film, then interpreting what he sees through digital processing and printmaking, using fine art papers and glazes. “As I create my prints, I am more in mindof the drawings of Georges Seurat and traditions of mezzotint prints than I am in the process of traditional photographic imaging.”

A drive to Ellensburg to see “Are We There Yet?,” most likely is sure to lead to many more road trips with fresh eyes on Washington State history and geology.

Joel Sackett

Joel Sackett is a photographer and writer living and working in the Northwest.

“Are We There Yet?” is on view through July 30, Monday through Friday from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. Saturday from 11 A.M. to 4 P.M., and Sunday from noon to 4 P.M. at the Gallery One Visual Arts Center, located at 408 N Pearl Street in Ellensburg, Washington. For more information, visit www.gallery-one.org.

The Painter’s Journey by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Mon, 11 Jul 2016 20:13:53 GMT

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Mon, 11 Jul 2016 20:00:07 GMT

Lisa

It would seem odd to write about something other than dance, since June is pretty much considered recital month all over the country. And not only because I dance. Dance studios provide something everyone wants: confidence. That’s all a studio is, really. A place to practice confidence.

And I thought I knew what I was going to say about dance before I sat down. It was only once I began that I could see who lies at the heart of my story: Lisa.

Lisa always did know how to get me talking.

I remember the day Lisa found her way to my beginning class in Belltown. When it was over, she looked at me and said, “You don’t recognize me do you?”

I looked at her more closely, studied her eyes, and there she was: the Lisa I knew in high school!

“I figure I can talk about losing weight all I want, but maybe it’s time to actually do something about it. But I was afraid to come to a dance class. Because, well, look at me.”

“You just need to get back in shape, it won’t take long.”

“I don’t know,” she rolled her eyes. “You have the quintessential dancer body. I hate you.”

That’s when I knew we’d be friends again. My next thought was how no one had ever called me a quintessential anything before. And that I must be doing a pretty good job at hiding all of my insecurities.

I did sneak a sidelong glance of her body. Something I hadn’t seen in class came into focus, a dancer’s body, rusty, yes, but visible…underneath the Lycra. I imagined her concentration narrowing before absolutely killing a pirouette.

I wanted to say as much. But I decided to wait a few classes, see if she stuck it out.

Wait! My insides protested. Why hold back? My mother was skimpy with compliments. If someone gave me one she’d say something like “it’s going to swell her head to the size of a watermelon.”

But one sincere compliment can do wonders for a student’s confidence.

Lisa looked down at her legs. “I don’t think wearing black hides the pounds as much as people think.”

“Do you mind if I ask you something? Did you ever study ballet?”

“How can you tell? I mean, by the looks of me now.”

“I can see it, it’s there. Beautifully so.”

She scooted a little closer, “I took ballet for nine years before I became a veterinarian.”

“I knew it!”

“But I’ve gained, like, a hundred pounds since then. It’s going to be an upward battle.”

“It’s a battle you can win.”

She stood up, stretched her arms over her head, and I noticed that she’d appeared taller to me than she really was. Maybe because she is one of those people who make you feel like only your best self will do.

I thought how her work had become helping animals and mine helping people to dance, and how we both must have learned at a young age how much easier getting through life would be if we tried to make things better for others along the way.

She didn’t say anything for a moment. I didn’t either. But we were both clearly, openly there.

Marylou Sanelli

Marylou Sanelli works as a writer, speaker, and dance teacher. Her newest book is

A Woman Writing. For more information visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Beyond Aztlán: Mexican and Chicana/o Artists in the Pacific Northwest

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 May 2016 02:54:42 GMT

Aztlán, the mythical place of origin of the Aztec people of Mexico became a political “nation” at the height of the Chicano movement in the 1960s. As an act of defiance, Chicanismo took a term of denigration and declared instead the proud identity of Mexicans in Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona, California, and Nevada, lands that the U.S. took from Mexico in 1848. But the term and “el Movimiento” ignored activist Latina/os outside the Southwest.

“Beyond Aztlán” refutes that limitation as well as challenging any essentialist “Chicano” identity. Curator Professor Lauro H. Flores, Director of Ethnic American Studies at the University of Washington points out that Spanish artists accompanied the earliest explorers to the Northwest in the late 18th century, an area originally known at Nueva Galicia. Atanasio Echeverría y Godoy created 200 drawings on an expedition with Botanist/explorer José Mariano Moziño. A few facsimiles of his detailed work are included in this exhibition.

The exhibition then leaps forward to the freely painted abstract expressionist paintings by Boyer Gonzalez Jr., chair of the School of Art at the University of Washington from 1954 to 1979. Alfredo Arreguín took classes with Boyer, but turned in a different direction, based on his exposure to Japanese art and his love of the complex natural world of the jungle. Arreguín immerses portraits and animals in intricate layers of color and pattern. “Migration,” his newest work, incorporates salmon flying through the sea as a wall of waves (inspired by Hokusai) descends on them. Arreguín might be offering a metaphor for the current challenges of human migration. Another variant of abstraction by Fulgencio Lazo links geometric abstraction with indigenous symbolism. His palette of oranges, reds, and blue/greens invokes the warmth of his native Oaxaca where he lives part of the year.

Among the realist artists, ardently feminist and anti-capitalist Cecilia Alvarez fills her portraits with specific but, cloaked, references. “La Rumbera Mayor,” the artist explains, “speaks of the mixing of the races/cultures creating a power image of a woman of color. Also, she is the symbol of creating healing music”.

The tight details in Alvarez’s paintings starkly contrast to the soft edges in the paintings of Jesús Guillén. After a full day of backbreaking work in the fields, he sympathetically painted representations of farmworkers. One of his daughters Angelica Guillén organized a two night poetry festival “¡Xicanismo Afire!” that accompanied the opening of the art exhibit. Particularly poems like those of Ramon Ledesma, who grew up as a migrant worker, resonated with the visual art.

Alma R. Gómez’s large paintings celebrate her family with indigenous and natural symbolism in “Las Tortolitas del Rio Grande” and with matter of fact everyday details in “Los Compadres.” As in Gómez’s paintings, many poets emphasized the crucial importance of family for farmworkers.

In another approach to realism, Daniel DeSiga’s “Cultivando,” places us on the ground looking up at the farmworker, bathed in a halo-like blazing sun, as his hoe thrusts toward us.

Other artists affiliate with Surrealism. Arturo Artorez’s undecipherable images provoke discomfort; José Luis Rodriguez Guerra’s dark palette and dramatic lighting evoke a supernatural world; and the pencil drawings by Jesús Mena Amaya suggest the disjunctions of automatic drawing.

Two photographers experiment with their media. Paul Berger plays with avant-garde irony in his “Double RR Puppet” (referring to Ronald Reagan) and Daniel Carrillo explores nineteenth century techniques like daguerreotype and ambrotype.

Finally, three sculptors, spanning several decades, range from humorous to mysterious. Rubén Trejo’s “Cheech” has a bomb for a face (suggesting the comedian’s explosive personality). In contrast, “La Llorona,” (The Weeping Woman), represents an iconic Mexican figure of a mother crying for her lost children. The twisting green metal and painted wood combines a modernist base with a jalapeño-like body and a hot red pepper head that emphasizes her agony. Cast modified cement sculpture by Mark Calderon suggests deep poignancy in “Regalis,” a child’s torso facing the wall. The youngest artist in the exhibition, George Rodriguez creates stoneware sculptures that combine humor, realism, kitsch, history, the past, and the future.

In short, this group exhibition brings together some of the many dynamic artists among contemporary Mexican/Chicana/o art in the Northwest. It reveals the diversity in life experiences as well as in style, media, background, training, and expression within the limiting label “Chicano” or “Mexicano.” The last museum exhibition of “Chicano” art in the Northwest was over 30 years ago. Let us hope that “Beyond Azteca” stimulates new exhibitions of these exciting artists sooner than that.

Susan Noyes Platt, Ph.D.

Susan Noyes Platt, Ph.D., art historian, art critic, curator, and activist. She continues to address politically engaged art on her blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com. As a curator, her focus is art about immigration, migration, and detention.

“Beyond Aztlán: Mexican and Chicana/o Artists in the Pacific Northwest” is on view through June 12, Sunday and Monday from noon to 5 P.M. and Tuesday through Saturday from 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. at the Museum of Northwest Art, located at 121 South First Street in La Conner, Washington. For more information, visit www.monamuseum.org.

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Wed, 04 May 2016 02:19:39 GMT

Lucky Charms

The beauty of a lucky charm is that it doesn’t have to make sense to anyone else.

Mine include shells and a stone with the word INSPIRE inscribed.

The shells recall the year I taught dance throughout the Caribbean and how afraid I was at times. “But it’s good to be afraid,” they remind, “you pay closer attention when you’re afraid.”

The stone is from a friend who said I inspired her daughter, Rose. “Really?” I said, “Because I remember thinking you wouldn’t like what I had to say.”

Why did I say it anyway? For the same reason I keep my shells close, to remind me how fear is a huge part of it.

And by “it” I mean my work, the most essential part of my life.

But saying this is what I was afraid of. It would have been safer to say not that my work is the most essential part, but second to love, family, the kind of thing people say all the time.

I wondered, too, if I should have directed Rose toward a higher paying career to help drive the economy. But my driving advice is more: inch along until you find the work you really want to do.

You may be thinking, “What, are you kidding me? That won’t pay the bills.”

But I’ve come to believe that money is overrated. Too little is horrible, but less is not the end of the world. I don’t know how much of this insight comes from being a woman or an artist, or both, but I can’t stop trying to figure out the conflict between what we really want and what we’re told we should want. And why it so often keeps us from pursuing our dreams.

I told Rose that if we have the courage to do what we love, it’s our best career choice. But in order to continue, most of us can’t fall prey to owning all the things people buy to try and ensure their happiness.

After college, I worked as a waitress…until I threw a drink at a patron who said an inappropriate thing with his hand on my behind. I’m glad I was fired. Because the money was good. I might have stayed too long and not got on with my dream of opening a dance studio.

Well, obviously dance studios don’t pay all that well, either. So I found an affordable town to move to. My life moved on. And so did Rose’s.

Rose dreamed of becoming a writer. But she went to work for the huge, thrusting, economy-driven tech world dedicated to making more and more stuff we don’t need. The last time I heard from her? February 2014. She gave reasons why she had no time to write.

So often I’ve wondered what would have happened if she’d kept at it? If she’d allowed herself to go without mortgaging a condo and all the trendy furniture to fill it?

I know how delicate a balance between passion and a lofty paycheck is. I also know how many well-paid people I meet who can’t remember the last time they felt excited about their work.

Recently I came across a display of stones like mine. And I was thrilled to find my favorite noun inscribed: PERSISTENCE.

I lost touch with Rose.

But I keep my eye out for that book she always wanted to write.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli works as a writer and literary speaker. Her latest book is A Woman Writing. For more information visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Anne Gould Hauberg by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Tue, 03 May 2016 22:21:00 GMT

Kehinde Wiley: A New Republic

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 Mar 2016 19:13:34 GMT

Kehinde Wiley: A New Republic

Michael Jackson looks down at us from his seat on a magnificent stallion in the first gallery of the Seattle Art Museum’s stunning exhibition “Kehinde Wiley: A New Republic.” Looking closer we see subtle references to Jackson’s famously changing color: from rear to head, the horse actually changes color from brown to white and, in the sky, a white and a brown putto place a garland on his head. Wiley actually met with Jackson and the singer chose the Rubens equestrian portrait of Philip II of Spain as the basis for his portrait (in the original the horse is brown and includes voluptuous women with a globe in the sky). Wiley titled his painting “Equestrian Portrait of King Phillip II of Spain (Michael Jackson),” making his provocative purpose clear. The 16th -17th centuries were the height of colonization and the slave trade, so placing Michael Jackson in the seat of power of that time provides an intense contradiction and brilliant upending of history.

Kehinde Wiley characterizes black masculinity in our contemporary media culture as “structured, manufactured and consumed” to create a “conspicuous fraud.” He repositions black men and women from their traditional role in “grand manner” paintings as slaves or servants or in our media as victims or perpetrators of violence. In Kehinde Wiley’s paintings black people become heroes and saints. Most of his models are ordinary people, rather than celebrities, making the transformation all the more dramatic and pointed.

He embeds this driving purpose in painting and sculpture that overwhelms us with beauty, scale, and technical virtuosity. As he acknowledges the risk of aesthetics obscuring meaning, he encourages us to look beyond our first glance to the many understated jokes and surprises in the details of the work.

The artist jump shifts from one historical format to another, keeping us dazzled by his references, but disrupted by his reinterpretations.

Among the portraits, “Mugshot Study” 2006, based on a wanted poster the artist found in the street, stands out as a point of departure and foundation for the more elaborate works. Wiley here simply enhances a traditional mugshot, humanizing the young man with classical chiaroscuro. Under the portrait we see the assigned criminal number of the young man, almost invisible in white on white—a reference to who gave him the number and his status in a society that incarcerates millions of black men.

A roomful of “Religious Subjects” glow with gold leaf on small private altars, echoing the format of Hans Memling’s fifteenth century portraits of Flemish merchants. Here contemporary young black men hold emblems of power, their names declaring their identity.

Wiley began his project by finding volunteers in the streets of Harlem, what he calls “street casting,” although he presents only beautiful people (he also found models at a casting studio). Unlike for example, John Ahearn and Rigoberto Torres’s plaster portraits of ordinary people in the barrio, Wiley’s focus is on physical beauty, even perfection, set in precisely quoted historical formats. If we are going to consume black men, he suggests, let us consume them as a supremely special experience based on elite status, rather than as criminals or victims or sports stars.

As we are bathed in the transparent colors of a room full of stained glass windows, beautiful black men as saints interrupt our expectations of religious clichés. These windows were created by skilled German artisans who have inherited the secrets of the centuries—old techniques of medieval stained glass windows, a format normally reserved for dead white saints.

Nearby, an alcove of small bronze portraits in the classical Jean Houdon style of idealized head truncated on a pedestal, features African and African Americans. Again interrupting an easy identification with an historical reference, the model for “Cameroon Study” had a shoe on his head. According to the artist, he based it on a shoe seller who balanced a shoe on his head as a way to advertise his wares. Such a surprise is vintage Wiley: a classical format tilts in a new direction.

Michael Jackson’s equestrian portrait belongs to the theme “Symbols of Power.” As a partner to that, Wiley created “An Economy of Grace,” portraits of women. Again he found random women to participate, but in this case they were elaborately adorned in Givenchy gowns, with sensational hair arrangements by the celebrity hair stylist Dee Trannybear. By far my favorite of the women’s portraits was “Judith and Holofernes” in which an imposing black Judith holds the white head of Holofernes (also a women) against a lush flower background. Wiley’s flower backgrounds have a way of wending their way in front of the figure, and most of them have metaphorical significance.

Aside from the triple bronze portrait “Bound,” of three women with huge braided hair intertwined, most of these portraits of women do not critique colonialism and its grand manner presumptions. Black women do not carry the same position as black men in our public media—we have Oprah for example. We think of black women as powerful, rather than as victims, as bearers of culture and home, as resistors to oppression, as fighters. Celebrity black fashion models date back several decades and Wiley’s insistence on lavish designer gowns and hair seemed to sit in that tradition, although perhaps the exaggeration of the hair and dress was itself a type of critique because it endowed these women as royalty not just objects of beauty.

Wiley’s painting and sculpture overwhelm us with their scale and meticulous detail (he works with a team in China these days). He floods us with sensory overload, then provokes us with the unexpected at every turn.

Susan Noye Platt, Ph.D.
Susan Noyes Platt, Ph.D., art historian, art critic, curator, activist, published “Art and Politics Now, Cultural Activism in a Time of Crisis” in 2011 emphasizing activist artists in the first ten years of the 21st century. She continues to address politically engaged art on her blog www.artandpoliticsnow.com. As a curator, her focus is art about immigration, migration, and detention.

“Kehinde Wiley: A New Republic” is on view until May 8, Wednesday through Sunday at the Seattle Art Museum, located at 1300 First Avenue in Seattle, Washington. For more information, visit www.seattleartmuseum.org.

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 03 Mar 2016 18:42:09 GMT

Close

Six years ago, I did a lot of research for a book I was writing about friendship. I wrote down things in one of those tiny notebooks I carry around, things like: “You don’t need a thick skin to have friends. You need a porous one.”

And there was a moment last night when I thought I was about to share this quote with someone. I was giving a talk at a Unitarian Women’s Retreat. During the Q & A, almost everyone likes to tell a story about their own experience.

One woman shared that according to an article she’d read, as many as fifteen percent of American adults don’t have a single close friend. “This means,” she said, whipping out her phone to do the math, except she couldn’t figure how to use her calculator, “well, anyway, a lot of people are friendless.”

“Sad, considering how well connected we are,” I said, very much facetiously, pointing at her phone.

“The author said she interviewed people who are turning to Siri for contact, but that’s not contact. Why should I care if a machine knows I’m lonely?”

And then the question went around the room: What do we mean by close?

“Someone who will offer to pick me up at the airport.”

“Someone who will sit with you when your mother dies and let you cry for hours.”

“I called my friend Lynette when my pressure cooker exploded,” I said. “Split pea soup everywhere. I couldn’t cope.”

“I don’t have a friend who would clean up split pea soup,” another said. “Close, but not that close.”

I had to think. Let’s see, I have at least three friends I can call when crises strikes. And a few more recent ones that I hope will be as long-lasting. But I’ve lost enough to understand that the closer friendships are, the more fragile they can become. Which reminds me of another truth I wrote in my notebook, “tread carefully.”

Another said she found it difficult to keep friends, that she tends to wind up disappointed. And because so many other women at so many other Q & As have expressed the same problem, I assumed, wrongly, that she was struggling with friendship in the long run because of an unrealistic perfection quest. I think of all the pain I could have saved if I’d just brought my expectations down a notch or two over the years.

I was about to say as much. And that in each of my closest friendships there has been at least one moment when we could have broken up, but we came through, stronger than ever. I nearly shared another quote, too: “Friendships are like marriages. We love each other, but we have to be able to hate each other sometimes, too. Even be bored by each other.”

Luckily, before I said any of this, I asked, “What do you mean by disappointed?”

She stared at me.

“What disappoints you?” I repeated.

And this was her honest, unabashed, and totally unexpected reply:

“You mean, like, when she slept with my husband?”

The room went silent. Then, oh, how we laughed! Her reply was so real, yet so unassertive, I’ve never forgotten it. The whole evening was intimate and special like that. That’s the most interesting part about the work I do: No matter how well I plan ahead — going over my notes, knowing my material—it’s usually something totally unplanned that makes the whole evening one of the more satisfying.

And the most interesting part of writing is that it’s like having those evenings back.

Marylou Sanelli

Marylou Sanelli works as a writer and literary speaker. Her latest book is A Woman Writing. For more information visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Voices from an Artist's Storage by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Wed, 06 Jan 2016 21:27:50 GMT

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Wed, 06 Jan 2016 21:19:33 GMT

Crustaceans in a Bucket

It’s Sunday, and I’m in my office, which is really just a little nook in my living room that doesn’t do justice to the word office. But it’s enough space for me.

My famous-writer-friend calls my office “cute.” And when she phones to ask if I’ll look in on her cat while she’s teaching at a writer’s conference in Prague, something I ordinarily would have felt perfectly justified hanging up on her for, I am happy to do it. My husband is on a business trip and I’m a cat person.

“Sure,” I say, trying hard to keep the jealousy out of my voice. “I could use the company.”

I slip into a silent funk. In a word, I am green.

But I like her. I’ve always liked her. When I think about her, I’m glad we’re friends, and as the years go by, I am more and more certain we will remain so. On the subject of friendship, it’s a pretty simple question I ask myself lately: Does the thought of her bring a genuine smile to my face or a wince?

A smile!

Unless I think of her in Prague.

Or her trust fund status.

Then, dang, it can feel as though the envy is never going to turn around.

But it does. Eventually. It seems I have this large capacity for spending half of my emotional energy in a state of self-doubt, and the other half in a burst of confidence, with a dancer’s flexibility for balancing between the two. Until I wonder what on earth I was so jealous of until I want to kick myself.

Have you ever seen sand crabs in a bucket? I’ll never forget the time I was walking the beach by the ferry terminal in Kingston and I came across a fisherman who stuck his hand into a white 5-gallon bucket full of crabs he said he used for bait. “Why don’t they escape?” I asked.

“They’re crabs,” he said. “They ain’t too smart.”

I watched as they scratched and scratched against the plastic, clawing over each other to get to the top, then as soon as one almost made it over the lip, the others pulled it back down.

If they were smarter, I thought, they’d work together to make a kind of crustacean chain, like actors leaving stage hand-in-hand. Claw-to-claw, they’d file up and out over the rim until the last remaining crab is safely on the other side.

I know why those crabs popped into mind just now. I’ve been caught in the scum of that bucket. I don’t want to spend one more minute feeling jealous of my friend. I’m glad there is no mirror in my nook. I would have hated to see myself scratching like that.

And sure, I’ve written before about how jealousy can work as a beacon, too, steering us toward something we desire. But, like gossip, a little of it is fine, but too much and you’re one schlep away from embitterment.

After a good long talking with myself, I gain control over my envies. The writer Daniel Gilbert calls this “babysitting our own happiness.” I just had to remind myself of the golden rule of a satisfied life, or “Comparing Leads to Unhappiness,” words that, ever since they flashed across my screen in the film, “Hector and the Search for Happiness,” I try to apply whenever I feel the sides of the bucket closing in.

Like my friend’s cat, I just like it better when the woman who babysits me is happy.

Plus, my friend always takes the time to write a real thank you note. With a stamp and an envelope! And you know how much I love that.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli’s newest book is A Woman Writing: A Memoir in Essays, What writing about writing taught me about determination, persistence, and the ups and downs of choosing a writing life. For more information and her author reading schedule, visit www.marylousanelli.com.

Viaduct Ice Chorus by Janet Knox

Debbi Lester — Wed, 30 Sep 2015 03:49:09 GMT

The Alaskan Way Viaduct sings a roaring in our ears,

her hoary freight bears down—rebarred and quaking

to crush—we stop our ears at stria screeching to break

something.

Sing a glacial aria. Picture her—she once rode

a surfboard ice floe ripping through solid water slipping

the firn, making breccia wakes, scraping

all matter of chattermarks.

Harmonize a glacier-blue blush—she was whole mother of forward

surge for half an eon, could not be stopped,

shadowed the glacier that swept this same Sound.

Now we cannot hoist her out of her chair.

Aphasia—she forgets the second verse.

Words freeze midbrain, coda becomes hum. She falls

in a crevasse, off-ramps sequestering carbon—so much

concrete we recant, we can’t watch icebergs calving fast ice.

She slows—cowers shifts direction like a white wind rose,

her petals shrivel in frazil.

She lies—this is not the full story.

Her tongue muddles in slush. Albedo lost, all reflection dulls.

Once their song clamored.

Now 99, glacier dwindle in cirques, caught in arête,

retreat since the last ice age, since the last

carbon storm.

Janet Norman Knox

Janet Norman Knox is a poet/playwright/performance artist who

bikes via the viaduct twice a day and shudders beneath its mass.

Her play, “9 Gs and the Red Telephone,” is forthcoming in

Feminist Studies, the first scholarly journal in women’s studies.

Visit the online journal at www.feministstudies.org.

In Its Baffled Emptiness by Paul Hunter

Debbi Lester — Tue, 30 Jun 2015 13:49:49 GMT

Used to be what you’d see

from back roads was random

bits of whatall going on

pig lot wood lot cattle grazing

whitewashed fences hay barns

corn cathedrals looping on and on

but now an open swath of road

ravels away in the moonlight

slow curves mown through the land

with ditches to gather the runoff

country in its baffled emptiness

lain open to invaders

with tumbleweed piling high

against barbed wire till one

windblown survivor spills over

Paul Hunter

Paul Hunter is a Seattle poet and letterpress publisher who carves hardwood blocks to go with his lead type. He won the Washington State Book Award for “Breaking Ground,” his first book of farming poems.

A Classical Solution to the Transportation Question by Janet Knox

Debbi Lester — Tue, 30 Jun 2015 13:46:13 GMT

Ode to the Seattle Viaduct

She's lying

on her side draped in Greek linen the color of concrete.

She flanks the waterfront, tides lapping her toes.

She lounges her cold

stone stare - not grin, not grimace -

the curve of cheekbone propped on elbow,

no hint of heat welling

from a pelvic floor - in fact, we're pretty sure

those pretty thighs are carved as one solid slab.

We're not clear what she desires,

but we've got a hunch

she'll get anything she orders.

She lunches on mussels dredged

from pilings, steamed or bristling,

canned in cars careening

up and down her spine craving

internal combustion engines

to vibrate her cement skin

exhaust dusting the spots

where she shines - because horses once sweated,

men once perspired to build this highway,

so she might glow with such gravitas

so elevated her position that she tests

the very fate she seals

as we dispense with all caution

and come hither.

Janet Norman Knox

Janet Norman Knox is a poet/playwright/performance artist who

bikes via the viaduct twice a day and shudders beneath its mass.

Her play, "9 Gs and the Red Telephone," is forthcoming in

Feminist Studies, the first scholarly journal in women's studies.

Visit the online journal at www.feministstudies.org.

"What should art criticism do?" by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Tue, 30 Jun 2015 06:32:58 GMT

Artist Interview: Grace Weston, Photographer

Debbi Lester — Wed, 08 Apr 2015 19:37:26 GMT

Grace Weston’s gorgeous, ironic, and often darkly funny photographs give the viewer both sensual and intellectual delights. Using miniature props, she creates vignettes of metaphorical psychological narratives, which she then photographs with vivid color and evocative lighting. The result is as alluring and hypnotic as a lucid dream, and as revealing of our subconscious fears and desires.

Weston is an award-winning artist whose work had been exhibited and collected widely in private and public collections in the United States, Europe, Scandinavia, and Japan. Her editorial clients include O, the Oprah Magazine; More Magazine; Discover Magazine; and several regional magazines.

Your artwork has so much story and depth. What are you exploring?

Grace Weston: I started to realize a number of years ago that my pieces are psychological. Like most people, or maybe I do it more than most people, I’ve got voices in my head. So much ties back to my being a kid—I was pretty isolated as a kid, and we lived in the woods. I’d run around the woods and have these out-loud conversations. It wasn’t imaginary friends, but just scenarios in my head of something

I would say to somebody. I had an active imagination.

In our society, there are so many contradictions, things that don’t make sense, or assumptions we make about one another or ourselves that are only assumptions. I love questioning that kind of thing or getting that out in a picture. An older, really straightforward example is the “Nitey Nite” picture where that little girl is in bed and she’s got three devils floating around her head. We’ve all had nights like that, haven’t we? I have. Where we’ve woken up, not being able to sleep because of anxiety, things I’m concerned about or worried about.

What are some themes you are interested in?

Grace Weston: I think making art is a lot about learning about yourself, and not in a selfish way, but in a conscious way. It’s a way to reveal things to yourself through the work. I think that helps the viewer discover things about themselves, too.

I know what the message is to me in my pictures, but I don’t like to spell it out all the way because the viewer can bring different things to it. Lots of times there are multilayers of meanings.

It’s almost as if we live on these two planes. We’re out in the world, interacting with people, doing our banking, doing our grocery shopping, keeping our lives together, having everything going, but I feel that we’re all walking around with our inner lives, too. It would be so interesting if we could really hear what everybody was thinking about in their soul. Not just their grocery list, but their questions about life, meaning, and connection, all of that. That’s what really interests me. And the fact that it is covered over with all the mundane things we do is fascinating to me, too.

Some of my pictures have an almost nostalgic, vintage look—the housewife, the 1950s father. It’s iconic. It represents a certain way things are supposed to look. I like when it’s the way things are supposed to look—but not. I like the idea that there’s this whole underground of feelings and thoughts and questions.

How do you get your ideas?

Grace Weston: Sometimes I find a prop that inspires me. Or sometimes I find a prop that I feel one day I’ll use, and I put it in a drawer of my props. It can be years later that it shows up. Sometimes I have an idea first and I keep a little sketchbook where I’ll jot it down. Sometimes I’ll get a title first, and I have no idea what I’m going to do with it, but I’ll write it down because it sings to me somehow. Sometimes I’ll sketch a little idea, and then I’ll have to find the props or make the set and prop that will support the idea. Things change when I’m putting it together. Sometimes it’s spot on to how I imagined it, but usually it evolves.

When I first started the vignette work, my first shot was human scale. It was a bird cage on a stand and a curtain. That set me in the direction of the narrative vignette, but that was the last time I did human scale. I have more control over smaller props—there’s less storage involved, I don’t have to have an assistant, and sometimes I can move things and reach them as I look through the camera.

What sustains you as an artist?

Grace Weston: Having a supportive partner has made all the difference in the world to me. I feel that I have an art career because I have somebody who believes in my work. As an artist, you have to risk and do things and approach things in your art, where, when you’re right in the middle of it, you think, my God, this is awful, or stupid, or doesn’t everybody already know this? Or it’s obvious or redundant. But I don’t think you’re working your edge at all if you don’t have doubts. It’s great to have someone who says, “You know what you’re doing, keep going.” That makes a world of difference.

Christine Waresak

Christine Waresak is Seattle freelance writer and the founder of the website Constellation617.

This interview is excerpted and edited from an interview that appeared on the website Constellation617: Interviews with Creative People. To read the entire interview and other artist interviews, visit www.constellation617.com.

Portland-based artist Grace Weston’s artwork is in a group show at The Shed Studio and Guest Shed Gallery located at 739 South Homer Street in the Georgetown neighborhood of Seattle, Washington. The Shed Studio and Shed Guest Gallery holds its Grand Opening on Saturday, May 9, from 6-9 P.M., during the Georgetown Art Attack.

For more information about The Shed Studio and teh Shed Guest Gallery, visit https://www.facebook.com/shedstudioandguestshedgallery.

To view more of Weston’s work, visit her website at www.GraceWeston.com or Wall Space Gallery in Santa Barbara, California’s website at www.wall-spacegallery.com.

Ceramics Invitational: NW Clay at Traver Gallery by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Apr 2015 22:26:42 GMT

Little Known Artist Histories by Edie Everette

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Apr 2015 22:24:42 GMT

Write of Way by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Apr 2015 22:10:34 GMT

Clara-fied

For as long as I can remember having known her, I’ve been wanting to write about Clara. I’ve been putting it off for nearly a decade because, for one thing, my fondest memory of her has to do with watering my vegetable garden. And I haven’t watered a vegetable garden in far too long.

But also, I just didn’t want to write a story about Clara that she could actually read. Clara was a very private person.

To boil it down, my husband and I used to rent a cabin from Clara on her farmland, better known in Sequim as The Old Rhodefer Farm. One month we came up short of cash and Clara suggested we paint the cabin in lieu of rent.

About a week later, with the scaffolding strewn all over the yard, Larry and I stood staring at our freshly-painted home, Clara joining us for once. But I noticed she kept looking down at my garden instead of at the cabin. Placing her hands on her hips, she looked directly at my pole beans and said, “Well, from here they don’t look that bad.”

How many people would say such a thing?

Sure, she’d pretty much ignored us until then. Sure, she’d lived in the main house for eighty years and felt she should have a say in what goes on next door, even what kind of beans I should plant. But it was nothing compared to the approval I felt when she finally walked over to stand with us. I felt our out-of-town-ness was finally being accepted. That we were finally being accepted.

I stepped closer to her.

She looked at me crossly. “Mary Lou, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Really? What’s that?” I braced myself. Larry put his hand on my shoulder.

“You should water your garden in the morning.”

I smiled. But not grudgingly.

“While the ground is still cool so the roots can handle the cold water.”

Was it true?

Somehow it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she wanted to share her lifelong knowledge, and it endeared her to me.

I said, “But I always thought it was better to water in the evening after the sun goes down, so ..."I had to think for a minute, "so the water doesn’t evaporate in the heat of the day.”

“No, the cold water distresses the roots when they’re still warm from the sun.”

Farming know-how has been in Clara’s family since Seattle was a logging camp, and everyone has a desire to share what they know with someone who’ll listen. So that’s what I did.

Larry hmmed. I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

But I was happy to take her advice. And use it. “Thank you,” I said.

As instructed, the next morning I watered first thing.

“You’ve been Clara-fied,” Larry said.

Sometimes I’d lift the hose over my head to reach Clara’s vegetables. When the spray hit, it made a splattering sound and I’d adjust the nozzle until there was a softer mist. I’d look up and see Clara reading the Gazette at her kitchen table.

I remember telling Larry that I didn’t want the watering to feel like a chore I had to hurry through, “like cleaning the bathroom,” I said.

“So don’t hurry,” he said, in the way men do when they sense a reflective conversation coming on ten minutes before, say, kickoff.

But I didn’t read anything into his clipped answer. I knew it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact that the scaffolding was still scattered about and Clara was about to crackdown.

Neighbors can teach you a lot.

Watering is a great way to start the day. The best.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Sanelli’s newest title, A Woman Writing (What Writing About Writing Taught Me About Determination, Persistence, and the Ups and Downs of Choosing A Writing Life) is forthcoming in September. For information, visit www.marylousanelli.com

2015 by Edie Everett

Debbi Lester — Sun, 04 Jan 2015 04:14:43 GMT

Sugar Birds by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Sun, 04 Jan 2015 04:03:49 GMT

The next time I’m back home in Seattle and someone at Whole Foods is reading a food label as if studying for their SATs, I want to remember this moment: I am in a tiny grocery on the island of St. Croix. My vegetable choices are limited. There are onions and there are potatoes. Both are moldy.

It is 98 degrees outside, only slightly cooler in. The owner looks as if he’d like to flog me when, after circling the aisles, I say, “Excuse me, where’s the beer?”

He pauses awkwardly and shouts, “This is a Muslim store. I am a Muslim. No beer!”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” I say, and then it becomes painfully clear it’s time for me to go.

St. Croix is one of three American Virgin Islands.“This island,” the director of the Caribbean Museum Center for the Arts (where I’m to be writer-in-residence for two weeks) says, “is the rougher island. If you want touristy, you go to St. Thomas. If you want upscale, you go to St. John. Here you have to watch yourself.”

“Okay,” I say.

“You might hear gunfire, but don’t worry, the drug gangs keep to themselves.”

“Okay.” I haven’t even unpacked yet.

“Use mosquito repellant, there’s Dengue Fever.”

I look down at my mosquito bites. “Okay.”

“And we’re sorry, but the air-conditioner in your room is broken, someone stole the copper compressor tubing.”

Oh shiiiii... “Okay.”

Frederiksted or “Freedom City” is the name of the town, named for the emancipated slaves from the sugar plantations who settled here. The mildewed ruins of the sugar mills only remind me of the brutal history of the island and the lives of abuse the slaves endured in the cane fields. Visually, it would take me much longer than a two-week residency to put all the misery behind me.

Basically, by day I’m in isolation. Good. I have 257 pages of new editorial notes to flush out. Completing a book is…well, I was about to say brutal, but I will have to find another word now that I’m surrounded by strong reminders of the real thing.

By night, I teach jazz in the universally-identical local ballet studio: Marley floor, mirrors, barre. Dancing is still the most enjoyable way of escaping real life.

“What kind of jazz?,” one parent asks, lightheartedly, “lyrical, contemporary, imperialist?”

“Ha ha ha.” In all my years of teaching, this is a first.

Not to change the subject too abruptly, but have you watched the food documentary Fed Up? Apparently, the food industry adds processed sugar to just about everything now and it’s the number one reason obesity is epidemic. It’s impossible to pass the dilapidated sugar mills here and not think of the world’s addiction to sugar.

Remember Darwin’s Beak of the Finch theory? Well, if you go to St. Croix today, you will see it in action. There is a variety of finch the locals call “sugar birds.” In nature, the bird is an insect eater, but the ones on St. Croix had modified their beaks within a few dozen generations to live on the sugar that was spilled around the mills.

One of these finches comes to the picnic table I sit at. It could hardly catch a bug now. Its bill is formed into a perfect half-circle to feed on the granulated sugar people still put out for them especially when a cruise ship docks for the day.

The finch turns its head sideways, lays it flat on the table, and rakes the scattered granules into a tiny pile it can scoop up.

“Check it out,” a man off the cruise ship yells.

The bird flies away. Only the sugar remains.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Visit Mary Lou Sanelli’s website at www.marylousanelli.com

Treasured Art and Friendships

Debbi Lester — Wed, 02 Apr 2014 21:12:28 GMT

Susan Grover and Richard Thurston opened Grover/Thurston Gallery in Pioneer Square in 1990, yet the concept started earlier. Like other budding artist representatives, the pair began by exhibiting work in their home. Some of the first art they collected was by Terry Turrell whose art, along with that of Anne Siems, is featured through the Grover/Thurston Gallery’s May 17 closing date.

Grover/Thurston Gallery has sustained a signature aesthetic that seems to have partly grown out of Mia Gallery (not to be mistaken with M.I.A. Gallery) which closed in 1997 and specialized in showing work by self-taught artists, a genre that is related to both folk and so-called “outsider” art. Turrell, who exhibited with Mia Gallery, is a self-taught artist – a tricky genre that rides a fine line between knowledge and innocence. Dip too far on one side and the work becomes pretentious, dip on the other and the work comes across as unintentional.

Turrell’s work — created out of wire, ceramic, wood, pencil, crayon, cloth, enamel, and oil amongst other mediums – rarely slips from the self-taught genre’s fine tightrope. He has written that he “strives to create compassion, humility, and humor along with a serious edge.” With hints of Alexander Calder, Alden Mason, and Jean-Michel Basquiat. Turrell’s depictions of cats, birds, and figures in subdued hues with shocks of bright colors, continues our region’s craft arts legacy in ways that we can be proud.

Keeping in tune with Grover Thurston Gallery’s folk art strain, Anne Siems has been inspired by “the European Masters, Early American Folk art as well as vintage and modern photography.” Her final exhibit at the gallery entitled “Old Growth” grew from hiking and photographing in the Pacific Northwest last summer. These signature large, square paintings depict Siems’ semi-transparent/transitional, historic girls posing with great stumps of old growth trees – double portraits that represent past and present. Like Sunday church hats the stumps, adorned with fungus, squirrels, and flora, seem to know just how astonishing they are.

“Susan and Richard’s was a fabulous gallery to start out with in Seattle,” wrote Siems via email; “They were my hub and from them my career got going.”

Part of the reason for Grover Thurston Gallery’s success is that the owners were disciplined. “In the whole time we’ve had the gallery,” says Susan Grover, “we’ve never represented more than 24 artists at one time. And we’ve represented artists that we cared about – we liked the artist and we liked the work. Work that we were interested in living with and collecting ourselves.”

Along with Turrell and Siems, the Grover/Thurston Gallery’s stable of artists included Adrian Arleo, Suzy Barnard, Deborah Bell, Patti Bowman, Rachel Brumer, Larry Calkins, John Dempcy, Joe Max Emminger, Judy Hill, Fay Jones, David Kroll, James Lavadour, Kenna Moser, John Randall Nelson, Marianne Pulfer, Inez Storer, Francesca Sundsten, and Alicia Tormey.

It is no surprise that after operating a two-person, brick-and-mortar business for twenty-four years that both Susan Grover and Richard Thurston plan on spending the next year on their respective travels. Yet they have enjoyed spending time with the art and artists they cared about. “There are some friendships,” says Susan Grover, “that I will treasure for the rest of my life.”

Edie Everette

Edie Everette is a Pacific Northwest writer and cartoonist. You can see her work at www.everettecartoons.com.

Anne Siems and Terry Turrell exhibits are featured through May 17 at the Grover/Thurston Gallery located at 319 - 3rd Avenue South in Seattle, Washington with the hours of Tuesday through Saturday 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. and by appointment. For more information visit www.groverthurston.com.

Write of Way

Debbi Lester — Wed, 02 Apr 2014 20:47:25 GMT

New Possibilities

Even if I consider picking flowers off potted succulents gardening these days, I realize there are many others who do not. As one friend with a reputation for frankness said, “Succulents need no maintenance whatsoever.”

To which I replied, “Like people, we gravitate toward plants we like.”

“Still, it’s hardly gardening.” (She is one of those friends, and I have a few, who likes to give me a hard time about living in a condo.)

“This summer I’m teaching dance in two countries of the third world, so any more gardening is out of the question.” That silenced her.

After that, she invited me, along with four others, to drive up to the Skagit Valley, and everyone of us was excited about driving north until the miles canceled every guilty thought we had about taking a weekday off from work.

How is guilt like this even possible?

We were a month ahead of the blossoming, but, as my friend put it, “we’re anticipating the color.”

I loved how the wide open fields of imminent tulips and daffodils gave us something to marvel at. More than how six of us fit into a Mazda2.

“You’re riding shotgun,” she said.

“Sounds perfect,” I said. And off we went.

As for how I used to garden? Well, for starters, I’d scatter poppy and daisy seeds (sure bets) and plant every bulb I could buy.

Early into my marriage, I planted a container of Night Blooming Jasmine against Larry’s advice. “Let me tell you something,” he said in a bit of a huff, “I might not know much about living with a women, but frost I know. The minute I see a plant that isn’t indigenous, I know what’s going to happen, and it isn’t pretty.”

I told him I’d read that if I placed it close enough to the house it would absorb the reflected heat off the foundation and eventually trellis over the doorway. “I can show you examples all over the city,” I said. “And why would our neighbor’s frost be any warmer than ours?” The next day he bought a heater to install overhead to protect what he liked to call my “potted pipe-dream.”

Nasturtium seeds were strewn everywhere, too, because, to me, this is how to plant, a little recklessly. Because no matter how perfect I try and make things, weeds are still going to reverse roles with the flowers as soon as I turn my back.

I remember Larry saying some women are turned on by strong abs, others by wealth and power, and others by tiny seeds in a packet sold by a nursery most of us have never heard of. Will it ever be even remotely possible to smell spring in the air and not think of him saying that?

I used to take refuge in my garden and if I could have talked to my plants the way I can talk to Larry, I would have told them that in their company, I always felt a hundred percent like my best self.

One last: Gardening taught me a lot about silence, too, things I never thought about before. I learned when to listen, and when to ignore my beds when enough is enough. I learned about peaceful silence. But also about livid silence when deer munch seedlings to the ground which leads to frustrated silence; and admiring silence like when I passed my tomatoes doing a pretty good job of pretending they’d ripen; and the sympathetic silence I felt when I had to leave that garden behind in order to dig into new possibilities.

New possibilities. Luckily, it still satisfies just to say the words.

Mary Lou Sanelli

First published in City Living Seattle. For more information, visit Mary Lou Sanelli’s website at www.marylousanelli.com

In a Darkened Countryside

Debbi Lester — Wed, 02 Apr 2014 20:44:18 GMT

In a Darkened Countryside

Stars waken slowly as day dies

again their distant lights arrive

to the mind as thoughts dawning

too faint to see past the day

with all its intersections traffic lights

its browbeating glare passing over

its obsession with work half-undone

its judgments to be gotten past

while there was light left to see

whether we did well or poorly

till with dark at last we rest our eyes

on sights beyond reach or reproach

in motion far out on the edges

pinpoints adrift mere smatterings

rumored neighbors all but overlooked

who still need to farm something like us

Paul Hunter

Paul Hunter’s most recent farming book is Stubble Field, from Silverfish Review Press. He is just finishing an autobiographical book of prose poems, called Clownery.

Still Life in the Physical World

Debbi Lester — Wed, 02 Apr 2014 20:40:51 GMT

Still Life in the Physical World

We desire this ripening —

green pears in southern windows,

shiitake mushrooms nested in a basket

from the corner grocery —

all the abundance of duty

and want.

No, what I want is more.

How our lives collide

like strange sketches,

your small talk no different

than a woman’s. You are

my double, the mirror

message I leave for

the visitor who pauses

in the hallway.

The mind creates the world,

but the body inhabits it,

draws all the edges we count,

such as index finger

tracing background air.

Or, say we walk beside the river

on this brilliant day. How different

to have hair defined by tree,

clothes outlined by water.

Still, there is always the body

displayed against sheets — pale

green or deep lavender. And

there is this, the best

any artist could ever do:

the body outlined by body —

arm across thigh, head

to belly; this is the portrait

we most desire, each of us

separate, revealed

by the other.

Gayle Kaune

First published in Still Life in the Physical World, Blue Begonia Press

The Day the Plein Air Painting

Debbi Lester — Wed, 02 Apr 2014 20:32:32 GMT

The Day the Plein Air Painting

class met it was hot,

exuberant, after months

of gray. I turned left

at the Jesus is Lord sign

and met six women,

at the Jesus is Lord beach.

Vermilion, orchre, cerulean blue,

the colors were all out that day,

and we learned to create

the palest wash, search the horizon

for light and shadow.

We painted on the muddy banks

of Chimacum creek, while heron

kept watch and eagles circled.

And we worked all afternoon

until the tide filled the creek

to overflowing.

Then we stripped off our clothes

and entered the water undefined

left the shadows of the trees

to become the light

in our very own landscape.

Gayle Kaune

First published in All the Birds Awake, Tebot Bach.

Gayle Kaune is widely published in literary magazines. Her chapbooks include, Concentric Circles, winner of the Flume Press Award and N’Sid-Sen-Star. Her books are Still Life in the Physical World, published by Blue Begonia Press and her latest, All the Birds Awake published by Tebot Bach. She lives in Port Townsend with her husband and a ghost dog. She paints occasionally, when she gets up the courage.

"This is 2014 the Year. . ." by Edie Everett

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Jan 2014 06:53:51 GMT

"A Little of Both" by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 02 Jan 2014 06:39:06 GMT

Back in November of 2009, Congresswoman Sheila Jackson-Lee, a Texas Democrat (which has got to be a pretty sticky thing right there), echoed the point that it was funny to call health-care reform rushed, "America has been working on providing access to health care for all Americans since the nineteen-thirties."

I have often felt the same way about writing.

Not that I, for a minute, compare writing, mine or anyone's, to the crucial issue of health care. I'm just struck by how often there is this misconception of time, how long it takes to accomplish certain things, how slow and arduous hard work really is.

For instance, you might think all my thoughts come to me as I write this, and in one sense, they do.

In another, they've taken all my life to uncover.

All that comes to me now is an intensified need to meet my deadline.

I’ll say this though, when I first began to write for you, I was determined.

But some of my earlier columns, well, kind readers, thank you for not pointing out how naive I was.

Well, actually, a few of you did.

In my defense, I was writing from a younger perspective. A glorious deficit, yes.

Still, I had to learn to surrender (and "surrender" is the only word) to the other - the smarter, more sure-of-herself other - within. And come on, surrender takes time.

Every writer talks about this "otherness," this voice inside that just knows.

Then comes the moment when there might be another way of saying something and I agonize, because I should. . .I shouldn't. . .should. . .shouldn't submit this to my editor.

But it’s only when this “other” insists, that I know it’s over.

"It's time," she will say. "Press SEND!" So, first and foremost, in my annual post-holidaze, which always make me overly sentimental, I want thank her. Our relationship has evolved nicely through the years. Though, like most couples, we still bicker about a thousand little things.

For instance, right now she reminds me that I've written a lot over the years about this end of the year transition that always feels monumental. . .maybe because columnists are always writing about it with a much broader brush than it really deserves, I don't know.

Still, I know that you don't necessarily have to be a writer to want to try, at least, to pinpoint why December is such a mixed bag of emotions.

2013 finished? It's impossible!

Eventually, though, it sinks in.

What next?

Out of the corner of my eye, the morning sun creeps across my carpet and everything about the way the sunlight stirs me.

"Spring is next," my otherness will say, "that’'s what. We just have to get through the longest, bleakest months, that's all."

To which I will answer, "Not a problem. Piece of cake."

On the bright side, there are things that can help. My new favorite is the spa at downtown's Olive 8. Oh my God, for the price of a manicure you can use the steam room, Jacuzzi, heated saline pool, and sauna. Plus, cocktails are served to you while you lounge in a terry cloth robe!

I was waiting for something dramatically warm to pop up in my neighborhood. It fills me with hope I can hardly wait to air. And I have a sneaking suspicion this will always be so.

This month, well, it's going to be merry, sure, why not? But it's still going to be winter raining down.

So why not think about steamy warmth and a well-stocked bar by the pool? Because there is nothing wrong with having a little of both.

Mary Lou Sanelli

First published in City Living Seattle. For more information, visit Mary Lou Sanelli's website at www.marylousanelli.com

Viva BIMA! by Kathy Cain

Debbi Lester — Mon, 01 Jul 2013 05:54:08 GMT

It was a bright and beautiful day in the rainy city. And it had been nearly two weeks since the last First Thursday so I was feeling a little art starved. Since NYC is crawling with tourists this time of year, not to mention the heat, humidity, and invasion of baby strollers from Brooklyn, I did what any other sensible art seeker in my shoes would do. I hopped a ferry and went to Winslow.

What? Okay, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but very soon, that's exactly what sensible art seekers are going to be doing now that the Bainbridge Island Museum of Art is open.

At the risk of giving you the impression that all the sophisticated art-crit vocabulary got knocked out of my head the moment I walked into this place, I just need to say that BIMA is so totally cool. Honestly, I tried to maintain my visitor-from-the-big-city demeanor but this place is hard to resist. The curved concrete, glass, and steel building designed by architect Matthew Coates is big and handsome - it kind of dares you to walk by - it's walking distance from the ferry. Take the first left turn and you're there.

I think that the best and most surprising thing about being inside BIMA is all the natural light that pours in everywhere. If you're one of those people who gets gallery fatigue from the lack of light and air in those cloistered spaces where art usually lives, then you’ll be pleasantly surprised by all the views of the outside world. If there ever was a museum that's ideal for seeing and being seen at the same time, this is it. A good place for both of those pastimes is the John and Lillian Lovelace Gallery on the first floor. It's a rare and delightful experience to be wandering through selections of Northwest art from BIMA's permanent collection while ferryboats float in and out of view and people stroll the streets of Winslow just outside the window. Especially when the collection is as much fun as this one is.

I like the pair of elegant but cheeky Philip McCracken sculptures - different versions of eternally suspended tension - that are sitting right next to each other. In one, a dangling stack of scissors, pliers, and a wrecking ball threaten the structural integrity of a delicate china plate; in the other, a drawn steel bow is loaded up with an arrow that's ready to fire but never does. There's also a painting by Max Grover ("Red Car Trip at Dusk"), a serene Harold Balazs steel sculpture, and Karen Hackenberg's incendiary "American Pie." I love the fact that many of the pieces in this disparate collection are staged in clever little narrative vignettes, like the Patty Rogers painting "Each in the Other's Heart" that hangs above Robert Spangler's chair that sits between a Philip Levine sculpture and a wedding crown by Hekki Seppa.

Upstairs in the Rachel Feferman Gallery you'll find "First Light," a regional group exhibition that's wild and wonderful, which is not surprising since it was assembled by BIMA Executive Director Greg Robinson, with the expert assistance a stellar list of Pacific Northwest curators that he rounded up for the occasion: Max Grover, Norie Sato, Cynthia Sears, Jake Seniuk, Janice Shaw, and Barbara Earl Thomas. If you recognize any of those names, I don't have to tell you any more. If you don't, then just trust me when I say that you’ll wander happily through this show with your eyes wide open and your brain buzzing.

It includes more than 50 artists, established and upcoming, from all over the Northwest, working in every possible medium. You should go to the BIMA website for the complete list (http://www.biartmuseum.org/exhibitions/first-light-regional-group-exhibition/), but I want to list a few of my favorites: Lucy Congdon Hanson's big kinetic "Spoon"; Chris Jordan's "Oil Barrels," a hypnotic modern mandala with a rusted oil barrel at the center looking for all the world like our poor planet Earth, which is hung next to David Kroll's haunting "Koi and Blue Flower Vase;" a drawing and dry-point etching by the endlessly amazing Carl Chew; Allen Moe's elegant pottery vessels that are startlingly enhanced by what I will only describe as unexpected accouterments; Steve Einhorn's timely Peace Piece ("Guns Into Ukes") musical contraptions (look for the vintage Packard hubcap); and "Fire Inside the Heart," a big, sexy painting by Linda Okazaki that's full of secret symbols. If you ever find yourself regretting your decision to skip the NYC art scene, sit down in front of "Roundelay," Heather Dew Oaksen's video installation and watch the subway cars shoot by for a while.

The views from the second-floor Beacon Gallery (or as I call it, the prow; sometimes I can't tell if this a museum or a luxury yacht) are even better than those on the first, but you’ll find yourself distracted from all that natural beauty by the unnatural beauty of "Sea 'scape" an installation by Port Townsend artist Margie McDonald. It's an invasion of fanciful and delicate marine creatures, made from recycled copper, yacht rigging wire, and fishing line, that look like the merging of sea-life and neural synapses. On opening day, this was still a work in progress so it's impossible to say what it will eventually look like, but McDonald definitely won my award for most creative use of gallery space thanks to the spidery sea stars that cling to and crawl out from the crevices in the glass wall panels.

On the ferry ride back to Seattle I felt a little turned around, like I was returning to the quiet island from an art adventure in the big city. That alone was worth the trip. And given how easy it is to walk on the ferry downtown and walk off the boat at BIMA’s front door, I’ll be doing it again soon because there’s still plenty more to see.

Kathy Cain

Kathleen Cain is a Seattle-based writer who has been spending an inordinate amount of time on the Bainbridge Island ferry lately.

Bainbridge Island Museum of Art is located at 550 Winslow Way East on Bainbridge Island Washington and is open dailty 10 A.M. to 6 P.M. Admission is free. For more information, visit www.biartmuseum.org.

For the Love of Art: Creating the New Northwest by Saylor Jones

Debbi Lester — Mon, 01 Jul 2013 04:11:57 GMT

Soon after their 1958 wedding Lucy and Herb Pruzan wanted to do something to make their house a home. The answer was artwork and their first acquisition as a couple was a 1959 abstract painting by C. Louis Hafermehl purchased at the Bellevue Arts and Crafts Fair. This was the start of something big, the beginnings of a stellar collection of regional artworks that the Pruzans are still adding acquisitions to.

Poet Theodore Roethke would have said that the Pruzans learned by going where they had to go. Since they could not afford works by then well known artists such as Mark Toby and Kenneth Callahan the couple began a journey of discovering lesser known artists by talking with dealers, attending openings, and befriending the artists themselves. "They acquired art," says critic Matthew Kangas who wrote one of the catalog's essays, "by looking and learning and educating their eyes."

This method of acquiring art out of curiosity and love versus ego and investment glues this collection together in so palpable a way that the collection feels like an extension of the couple's relationship.

Rock Hushka, Curator of Contemporary and Northwest Art at the Tacoma Art Museum, described the Pruzan's as a fixture of Seattle's art scene, "They are known for attending receptions in Seattle." Gallery owner John Braseth says that he thinks they have come to every opening but three at his gallery in the past 30 years. No wonder the Pruzan's needed to forgo getting another family dog in order to free up time! In the catalog Herb Pruzan is quoted as saying, "What we look for in art is the excellent use of materials and techniques." The couple has literally invested in the ability for artists to remain here and grow.

Hushka describes a subtle chronology in the way the exhibit is composed. Besides wanting visitors to experience what it must be like to live with the art and ideas, Hushka and preparator Cyrus Smith designed the exhibit to reflect how the Pruzans collected. "They started with figuration and abstraction," explained Hushka, "then moved to glass and ceramics, and they most recently have collected landscapes."

The latest acquisition in the show is a large 2011 painting by Nathan DiPietro entitled "Elwha." The dam, so much in the news of late, is seen in the background yet is at the painting’s center. A stream flows toward us flanked by large, what look like old growth, trees. Above the stream nurse logs have fallen crisscrossed, looking like the laces of Mother Nature's corset. It's a stunning work by a young artist, clustered with other landscapes from the collection.

A number of works here make the eighties look good.

Paul Horiuchi's "Blue Transition #2" from 1981 is as transcendental a Morris Graves. Andrew Keating's "Interval" from 1986, painted with his then signature Pepto-Bismol palette, is now a weird classic. Michael Ehle's large gouache on paper titled "Five Wise, Five Foolish" is a breathtaking example of the late artist's work.

Matthew Kangas' catalog essay describes how the co-founders of the University of Washington's School of Art "combined Paris atelier methods with a Bauhaus philosophy espousing the equality of all the arts; hence, courses in graphic design, ceramics, metals, and textiles." This explains a lot about the wealth of craft in Northwest art in general and the influence of that program on artists in this collection.

A sampling of the heavy hitters and their works represented could go something like this: Gaylen Hansen has never been so Guston-y! Jeffry Mitchell can do no wrong. Gene Gentry McMahon has a Country and Western singer's name (and a killer painting in this show). Claudia Fitch's fuzzy "Berry”"ogles Jamie Walker's minimalist pop sculpture "Handsome" across the way. Faye Jones' works are the closest thing to dreaming. Whiting Tennis made a sloppy, post-expressionist painting! Gloria DeArchangelis where have you been? Mark Calderon's refined skills can't hide emotion. Akio Takamori's "Actor" in porcelain and ink jet print allows us to magically compare something to itself. In David Kane's "Acme" blue collar climbs the stairs toward white. Howard Kottler's plate will surprise diners once the food is gone. Michael Stafford's sexy Hercules lives! Fred Bauer's 1970 "Super Cereal" is neon fortified while Eric Elliott's still life is gently visceral.

These artworks are moving toward history on a conveyor belt of time. I had a strange feeling walking through the gallery because enough time has passed that these artists have shifted from being my contemporaries - artists I saw at receptions or felt intimidated by, was glad for, or maybe jealous of - to being a canon of sealed up history that now belongs to the world.

Because these artists have risen like cream among us, we are also a part of it. So visit this show, which will not travel anywhere else, in order to find your place in this unique history.

Saylor Jones

Saylor Jones is a Pacific Northwest writer and illustrator. To view her work, visit www.saylorjones.com "Creating the New Northwest: Selections from the Herb and Lucy Pruzan Collection" is on view through October 6, at the Tacoma Art Museum located at 1701 Pacific Avenue in Tacoma, Washington. Museum hours are Wednesday through Sunday, 10 A.M. to 5 P.M. and Third Thursdays from 10 A.M. to 8 P.M. For more information visit the website www.TacomaArtMuseum.org.

Edie Whitsett: A Survey of Theatrical Design

Debbi Lester — Thu, 04 Apr 2013 14:20:14 GMT

So Right by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Thu, 04 Apr 2013 14:10:26 GMT

I don't know how much longer I can live in a condo. Seriously. I'm looking at houses again.

And there is this one house. The first time I parked in front of it, I was more than a little taken with it.

The second time I parked a block away. I wanted to stroll up to the house more slowly, view it as a passerby would, rather than a woman in love. And I began to think about it not only as a more spacious way of living, but as a reflection of my inner life. I long for a house again the way some women long for children.

Perhaps I peered in too closely, interpreted the house as a mirror more than I should have, but, suddenly, it was as if no other house would do.

I rely on this feeling, this sense that something is precisely right, the way others rely on tools that are specific, like, oh, I don't know, an omelet pan when an ordinary frying pan won't do.

By the third visit, I'd read all the information I could find at the library about affordable restoration of a frilly old Mini-Victorian, considered a little shabby, even kitschy, by some of the neighbors.

But their houses are more, well, the word "established" comes to mind. It's the kind of neighborhood where a house may boast a few clay flower pots leading up the front steps or a hot tub off the back, but, by and large, they are basically all the same house. And in such reserved company, "my" house must prevail on her own, head held high.

Not to say the house isn’t admired, she is, just not readily accepted as a "local."

"Whatever that word means by now," said my librarian, handing over another book.

"It's hard not to think about how much work owning a house will be again," I told her.

"How can you not think of it?"

"My husband is trying to talk me out of it BIG time," I said.

"Of course he is. Larry is a sensible man."

For the rest of the day, I thought about what she said.

And I thought about how my conversations with her had begun years ago, in a low register at the counter of the library, how she would always give me a little gift of knowledge to take home along with my books.

The friendship we developed never went beyond the walls of the Carnegie, but it was continually a lesson it how much easier it is to be yourself when you don’t feel yourself trying, how much better we get at being ourselves in certain company. I have her to thank for that.

My earliest memory of adoring her was the day I overheard her tell a particularly ornery man who spent his afternoons in the library to stop pestering unsuspecting walk-ins with his political views. Obama was up for his first election and tempers were flaring even at the library. "I don’t care," she said in a loud whisper, "if you are a Democrat or a Republican, old age is not an excuse to be rude."

Who knows if we would have become better friends if we were closer in age, or lived next door to each other, or if I wasn’t so preoccupied with work, with other friendships, with life?

But it felt like an honor, a miracle-of-an-honor, to chance upon my librarian admonishing a man close to ninety, like seeing a flower open. It hardly matters when we came to trust each other.

All that matters is that, in the end, there she is, an easy friend. So wise. So right.

________________________________________________________

Sanelli's latest book is Among Friends. She'll be presenting her staged version of The Immigrant's Table at Nash's Organic Farm in Sequim, Washington on April 20th. For more information, www.marylousanelli.com.

Lyle Silver: A Life in Art by Saylor Jones

Debbi Lester — Sun, 10 Mar 2013 18:43:18 GMT

Patricia Rovzar, whose gallery has been representing Lyle Silver since 1997, recalls meeting the artist: "When he first came to me for representation he was skillfully immersed in working as a courtroom artist. He was getting out of that mode and wanted to focus on his fine art. Since I have been representing him he has gone from making pretty straightforward landscapes to those that are a lot more gestural and less refined, less confined by the landscape itself."

Lyle Silver does make the world seem fresh.

For instance, in an oil bar on board painting entitled "5th Street Alley in Winter," cobalt and turquoise blues churn atop snow while a structure beyond could be mistaken for a quilt built of colors. The painting has an intimacy-in-public feel of a Charles Burchfield, a sense that you are waking from a deep sleep to find this scene materialize before your eyes.

Using traditional subject matter has allowed viewers to trust Silver enough to fall completely into his abstract visions. In his most loose renderings of figures, land and cityscapes marigold yellows, persimmon reds, lavenders, bottle greens, deep browns, and coldblue pigments hover in streaks and daubs like space aliens attempting to spell out to their home planet what Earth has in store.

Rovzar says, she is "not calling this exhibit a retrospective because we are not going all the way back sixty years. Instead I am calling it 'A Life in Art.'"

The title aptly describes what Silver's life has been.

The artist had a studio loft in downtown Seattle for 25 years where he and his wife Lois, also a painter, hosted weekly drawing sessions for artists. They lived there and were fully immersed in the art community. When that building came down he and Lois moved into a big house where they were able to have both of their studios – yet, they continued hosting life drawing sessions in the basement of Art Not Terminal Gallery for another thirteen years, a location just around the corner from their former loft space.

Of all the married Seattle-artist couples, Lyle and Lois Silver's works appear the most similar. Rovzar believes it is partly because of having studios in the same house. "His wife is an integral part of his process," says Rovzar, "and he with her. They are each others' critics. They work separately but together in their studio spaces and so are able to draw on each other for artistic nutrition. It's kind of an interesting balance - they both work with oil bar and they both have developed different techniques in terms of how they use oil bar. And every once in awhile they influence each other to the point that you're wondering, "Is that Lois Silver or Lyle Silver’?"

Silver got into using oil bars during his courtroom drawing days - a profession that his wife still partakes of. "We got into oil bars because they are pretty easy to pick up," says the artist; "If you had to go to the courtroom they were pretty handy."

The exhibit offers 25 or so sketches, drawings and paintings that represent a wide scope of the artist's oeuvre, including the large landscapes depicting rural areas in Washington state. When asked about the locations, Silver said, "I've gone all over. Skagit Valley, Cle Elum, and the Willamette Valley. You know, anywhere is okay." On Gage Academy of Fine Art's website Silver is quoted as saying, "Getting into the mountains from the city is always awe inspiring; I never get tired of it."

These landscapes are often seen from the point of view of the driver or passenger of a car; the road is out ahead or a guard rail peeks from a composition's corner. They also show visual echoes of one of Silver's influences, landscape painter Wolf Kahn.

It is fantastic when an artist lives long enough to loosen all the way up. Sometimes this looseness results from a physical challenge such as Edgar Degas' blindness or Auguste Renoir's paintbrush tied to his arthritic hand. Yet, for some artists this freedom is due to mental release, like in the case of Lyle Silver.

Says Rovzar, "I think what happens [with age] is that you care less about selling the artwork as opposed to creating it. You come full circle. I think that in Lyle's heart of hearts the looser was always the better. I think he was always that way. But I think he felt that in order to make a living at this and become a commercial success he had to paint what he thought people would embrace and he didn't think that people would embrace the looseness of his larger pieces. He found out that was untrue in the end."

When asked if he had any advice for young artists, Silver replied, "Be focused. If you want to be an artist you need to focus. Keep working. Keep associating with other artists. And keep looking, keep looking."

Young artists, take heed.

Saylor Jones

Saylor Jones is a Northwest illustrator and writer. To view her work, visit www.saylorjones.com.

"Lyle Silver: 60 Years in Art" is on view January 3 through February 5 at Patricia Rovzar Gallery, located at 1225 Second Avenue in Seattle, Washington. The opening reception is Thursday, January 3, from 6 to 8 P.M. For more information visit www.rovzargallery.com.

The Greater Gift by Mary Lou Sanelli

Debbi Lester — Sun, 10 Mar 2013 18:33:41 GMT

New Year's. It's always a Big Deal. For a few days, it's all anyone can talk about. Next, it will be all about little red hearts. It all comes around so quickly.

February means something else, to me anyway. First, I have a deep affection for those sugary pastel hearts set out in crystal bowls all around the city. I pinch one at a time, of course, but in my mind's eye I see a woman scooping the entire medley up and filling her pockets.

Who knows why we connect with some candies and not with others. Love is really something, isn't it?

Secondly, it makes me step back and question a few real things about love between people, like who is there for you no matter what, who isn't any longer and, for the love of Pete, why not?

And I thought my fingers would fly over the keyboard with some sweet little story about romantic love, a.k.a. my Larry. But, no.

Instead, another man fills my thoughts. . .

I visit my father annually on Long Island Sound, but he hasn’t returned to Seattle since Larry and I married, referring to Puget Sound as "God's country," and that is just about the highest compliment my father can extend.

On the morning of our wedding, the clouds we'd hoped would burn off only swelled, the day becoming more and more May-like, restless, sprinkly, spring. The kind of weather that can make pulling off a wedding on a shoestring budget feel even more overwhelming. I was fidgety, worried that the clouds would turn into a downpour or, even worse, drizzle all day.

My father took one look at me staring up at the sky, and a longer look at who Larry and I were together, both of us a little frayed and scruffy to someone from the more formal East Coast school of wedding appropriateness. And when his eyes spanned the little wood-floored room we'd rented for our reception, a schoolhouse in the tiny town of Dungeness on the Olympic Peninsula, he spied the keg of beer in the corner.

He looked at me as if he might want to say something, but he never did. He just crossed the room, stepped outside, closed the door behind him, got into his rental car, and disappeared.

If it hadn't been my wedding day, I might have found it disconcerting, even scary. Instead, I could feel the sides of my cheeks expand into an even wider smile.

An hour later he was back, his arms around a case of liquor, plenty more where that came from, until vodka, gin, scotch, and brandy bottles, plus every mixer imaginable, were perfectly aligned next to the cake. "You think an Italian can have a wedding without the real stuff?," he asked.

But it wasn't a question. And he winked after he said it, and that was unquestionably the greater gift. I will remember the satisfied look his face until the day I die.

As a second present, bless him, he gave us enough money to, in his words, "get started," wisely neither too much as to make Larry uncomfortable, nor too little to make me so, because an Italian father's generosity is legendary and I'd grown up with it, my legend, my superstar, my Valentine, my dad.

February. It's all about love.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Sanelli's latest book is "Among Friends". She works as a writer and speaker. For more information about her work, visit www.marylousanelli.com

The Sign

Debbi Lester — Sat, 06 Oct 2012 05:54:32 GMT

I write this because of someone I witnessed earlier today. Or maybe all the other long-forgotten incidents flashed through my mind because of her, I don't know. Either way, I just have to get it down.

I've been teaching a series of dance workshops, from Seattle to Poulsbo to Port Angeles to Olympia, and many towns in between. This morning, one mother insisted on watching her daughter take my class. I don't allow this and promptly said so. "I just thought I could help my daughter remember what she learns today," is what she said, indignantly, on her way out the door.

If help of this nature is supposed to make kids apply themselves more, I can say from experience it doesn't work.

When I owned a dance studio and wanted, more than anything else, to teach young students how to trust their own perfect minds and bodies, I had to put my foot down: "Parents are allowed to watch only the first class of the month." read the sign on my door.

Because some of the mothers? You would not believe (only now there is a reality show, so you would). No self control. Absolutely none. Their own insecurities rose right up, landing on their child's self-esteem. I could see how they really did struggle with it, knowing they were over the top, but it rarely stopped them for long.

It got so I could spot these parents on registration day. Visually, they were more and more like a warning, a manifestation, what unrealized and/or unattempted goals and dreams can become. How people can age, then age some more, without ever accomplishing something of their own to be proud of. Maybe they woke up one morning and found they were no longer able to focus on their career and couldn't adjust to the reality. Or maybe they never attempted a creative one and feel cheated somehow. I knew these outbursts were hungers that, on another level, weren't directed at their kids so much as at life at large. Pent up, they had no where else to pop but in my studio. I think this is what's really going on.

I also think these women would stop interfering if they were able to get past seeing their kids as a chance they had been given. No kid wants to be their parent's way of reaching for more, of gaining something else.

It seems I've described the worst case dance-parent. There were others, lots of others, who were encouraging, supportive, positive. But my signboard couldn't be selective or the meanies would have come down on me, I was pretty sure of that.

"Your child may be learning a few dance steps here, but you are keeping your child from taking a huge leap forward if you comment from the sidelines. What does your child want from class? The opposite of everything you want, just like when you shop for clothes together."

This is the sign I should have hung. Never mind the objections. Why didn't I? What we'd do over if only we could, right?

Mary Lou Sanelli

Sanelli's works as a writer and speaker. Her latest book is Among Friends. www.marylousanelli.com

Elles: Pompidou at the Seattle Art Museum

Debbi Lester — Sat, 06 Oct 2012 05:50:34 GMT

Ladies' Choice

Debbi Lester — Fri, 05 Oct 2012 20:56:49 GMT

In tandem with Seattle Art Museum's "Elles: Women Artists from the Centre Pompidou" exhibit, Greg Kucera Gallery is featuring "Ladies' Choice," a show wherein every female gallery artist has chosen a female artist from outside the gallery to exhibit alongside them.

Ross Palmer Beecher chose Marita Dingus, Loretta Bennett chose Qunnie Peltway, Claudia Fitch chose Sheila Klein, Victoria Haven chose Dawn Cerny, Susan Skilling chose Claire Cowie, Katy Stone chose Leona Christie while Lynne Woods Turner chose work by Leonie Guyer, Deborah Butterfield chose Mary Ann Kelly.

There seems to be a spirit of patronage and admiration between women artists that didn't exist even a few decades ago when there were still such few slots for females in the art world.

"I remember not even that long ago," says photographer Alice Wheeler who is represented by Kucera, "Guerrilla Girls came to Seattle and there were less than 10% women artists being represented by major art galleries. Greg Kucera has always been very forward, he has almost always had like about a fifty-fifty ratio between men and women artists in his galley. When I first started hanging art almost all of the people I showed with were guys. Previous to Greg Kucera people often said that they were including me because they needed a woman in their show. So at least now I’m known for my work instead of my gender."

Wheeler, recognized for her images of what she calls "street stuff," is submitting a large photograph of an all-pink woman she saw and shot in Pioneer Square named Princess Bubble Gum. Her artist of choice is photographer Kelly O., who The Stranger newspaper describes as their "staff photographer, music writer, Drunk of the Week columnist, and more!"

Kucera artist Deborah Butterfield enthused about her choice of Montana artist Mary Ann Kelly via telephone after driving 10 hours from Bozeman, Montana to the Walla Walla Foundry where she is preparing for a show at LA Louver Gallery.

"We've known Mary Ann for 37 years and have been together through lives and deaths and births and forest fires," says Butterfield; "I think what draws me to her work. . . you know, we live in Montana in the mountains and so for us nature really is what we deal with every day. . .things like shoveling snow and dealing with large predators. . .we really do address that every day and I think the gestural quality in both of our works kind of addresses the human scale within that huge context. The gesture for me is what I can pick up and stuff into a horse (laughs) and the gesture for Mary Ann is really more within her arms reach. I feel that we're struggling, excited, and responsive to both the structure of nature and then the gesture within that structure. I think her use of color is so strong; the works are lyrical and they’re sensual. She hasn’t had much exposure out of Montana."

Gallery artist Sherry Markovitz chose one of Allison Manch's embroidered works on cloth.

"I like Allison's attitude and use of materials," writes Markovitz; "I like her choice of subject matter and how she weaves her history into her work. . .her imagery has evolved. She has been embroidering images of the Southwest and text from songs."

Markovitz is represented by "Warm Up," a large gouache on cotton. She uses images of both traditional western dolls, dolls that represent folk traditions, and dolls with profound expressions which she animates. Her most recent paintings are of traditional Mexican paper mache dolls in various acrobatic postures.

"I feel," writes Markovitz, "that as long as women are oppressed in some way around the world there is a need to highlight women's work. It can only be empowering."

Kucera Gallery artist Margie Livingston chose work by Seattle's witty Debra Baxter.

"Debra's work hits me with a sense of longing that feels fresh," says Livingston; "I also like the way she works with an extensive range of materials without feeling gimmicky. From paint to powder puffs and everything in between including quartz, alabaster, words, video, mirrors, and cypress knees."

Debra has described her use of crystals as "a way to transform vulnerability into power and also to embrace vulnerability as a type of power."

When did Livingston first see Baxter’s work?

"In 2003, Debra was sewing powder puffs together to make clouds. I don't remember where it was, but at over three feet long they were stunning, memorable, funny, sad, and feminine," says Livingston.

Currently, Livingston is "finishing up several objects made out of paint that blur the line between painting and sculpture. These include a block of paint that weighs over 50 pounds, a grid of 90 color tests, a log of paint that was cut into an 8-foot post, and a folded painting. You’ll be able to see some of them at Greg Kucera in October, in the Bellevue Arts Museum Biennial, and in Miami Beach for the December art fairs."

Deborah Butterfield sums up the sentimentof the show: "There's strength, you know, in being female. I mean, having babies and stuff - it's scary. It's life and death and I think that comes through in our work."

Saylor Jones

Saylor Jones is a Seattle writer and illustrator. Her floral watercolors are exhibited at Mioposto Restaurant from October 3 to December 3. To view her work, visit www.saylorjones.com.

"Ladies' Choice" is on view November 15 through December 29 at the Greg Kucera Gallery, located at 212 Third Avenue South in Seattle, Washington. The opening reception is on November 15, from 6 to 8 P.M. and the First Thursday reception is on December 6, from 6 to 8 P.M. For more information visit www.gregkucera.com.

"Ladies' Choice," is shown in conjunction with "Elles: SAM" exhibit at Seattle Art Museum. Visit Seattle Art Museum's website for list of all the exhibits and events.

Keith & Mike

Debbi Lester — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 04:07:04 GMT

"The way I see it," Keith says, "if you have a wedding to plan, you shouldn't have to do any other work for months!"

I've seen Keith in action. He's a professional choreographer. I'm pretty sure he'll compose his wedding much like he would a dance. He's not going to measure the stage, he's not going spend big on costuming, he's not going to mark the lines of sight with stage tape. He's going to choose the most amazing music and believe!

"And you know how Mike is." (Mike is Keith's partner of twenty years.) I nod.

Mike is a lot like my husband. Can't remember a thing. My three ways of asking him to do something are voice, triple emails, followed by threats.

"I can't leave any of the details up to Mike other than he better find a pair of acceptable earrings. Preferably, two 14 karet balls." Keith winks.

Again I nod, a little more eagerly this time because I, too, married a fourth-generation WASP. Always the writer, I think of our coupling like so: I am the exclamation point, Larry is the comma. Unless a tragedy occurs, then, for whatever reason, we switch. But normally, you should not expect too much emotion from a comma. (Oh, the words I've used over the years to distinguish between us. Does the whole world, gay or straight, fall in love with their opposite?)

Keith and Mike are off to their home state of New York to wed.

Keith and Mike, two men that are part of something much larger than themselves, making history through acceptance, moving on, refusing to conceal their love. Maybe it's because I've watched them work it out for so many years that their marriage feels more like the great BIG check mark for our country that it is.

"Why does it even feel so important to say the two silly words: I do?" Keith asks. "Because if you've been together long as we have, everyone knows it’s more like I do NOT. Especially when it comes to yard work." We clink glasses.

When Keith is finished telling me all about the wedding, I hold his two hands safely in my own and kiss him on the cheek. He kisses me back and gives me another wink. "Bella." Every time he calls me this, I fill with the most satisfying sense of well-being and I'm grateful this kind of intimacy is easy between us, part of our whole splendid package.

After two decades together, Keith and Mike still hold hands.

Even at the grocery.

Keith and Mike. They don't have a lot of money. Love is the thing they have, and they have plenty.

Everyone else, in fact, should be so lucky.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli’s latest book is Among Friends. Check out Sanelli's website http://www.marylousanelli.com for upcoming spring appearances by the author.

National Council on Education for the Ceramic Arts 46th Annual Conference

Debbi Lester — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 18:34:22 GMT

Jini Dellaccio: Rock & Roll in the Northwest

Debbi Lester — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 18:50:14 GMT

The Way Things Are

Debbi Lester — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 17:25:46 GMT

“A lot of the work in this show is very loosely a reaction to the whole BP oil spill. It brought up feelings of helplessness and ‘what’s going to happen’? So many ambivalent feelings undefined not necessarily stuff I haven’t thought about before, but it just kind of brought those feelings and concerns to the surface,” says John Feodorov.

We laugh at his unintentional pun.

A painting 72 by 72 inch entitled “Emergence #3” depicts three heads rising from pipes and fish that in turn emerge from a black slick of oil. The heads have their mouths open much like that guy in Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.” These folks could well be BP executives making up excuses as to why their Deepwater Horizon off shore drilling rig failed.

When I ask about his wide use of mediums he replies, “It just depends on the best media for the idea. Sometimes I do video. I also do music so it really kind of depends on the best format. Right now what I’m thinking and doing seems to come out better as paintings.”

In a large acrylic and photo collage on unstretched canvas entitled “The Way Things Are,” getting ideas across appears more important than getting all fussy with paint. This honest quality adds urgency, as if a consciousness is trying to warn us about ourselves pronto. The painting could be saying with images that every living thing across this land is only a target for ego-driven, greedy brains undefined a truth many of us keep our selves too ‘busy’ to do much about.

Part Native American, Feodorov grew up in a California suburb and spent summers at his grandparent’s homestead in the Navajo Nation of New Mexico. What a mind-bender to have traveled between two such disparate worlds that our country, even after a few hundred years, has yet to mingle.

Feodorov was featured in the famous “Art21: Art for the Twenty-First Century” series on PBS in the Spirituality episode. Although his art in the documentary comments directly on Native traditions, the artist resists being pigeonholed.

“I don’t really think of it as Native American work. . .it’s certainly part of me and part of who I am and my experience and my world view. I am coming to that world view not so much as an adherent of those traditional values because the cat’s kind of out of the bag in terms of assimilation and all that. I was raised in the suburbs of California not on the reservation so my sense of the world is pretty much shaped by Gilligan’s Island.”

We compare our favorite Gilligan’s Island episodes. Mine is the one where radiated vegetable seeds wash up in the lagoon and are planted and eaten to extreme effect, whereas Feodorov’s favorite is when Gilligan as Hamlet sings “To be or not to be” to Carmen’s Habenera.

Feodorov would dig a television show that deals with Shakespeare, an artist who created his own mythology.

“A lot of my work for so many years,” says Feodorov, “has been about what sort of mythology the contemporary world requires if there is going to be any mythology at all? I mean do we just count on the same old nostalgic kind of classical examples? And in many ways I am not proposing a mythology so much as showing how trying to do that just kind of fails. I don’t know the answer to my own question and so everything I do is sort of pre-determined to fail (laughs).”

Speaking of the new paintings and lithographs in the exhibit, curator Jean Benhke says, “I respond to [John’s] inventive process, using what is at hand, both in terms of material and iconography, finding origins in his own personal history. John’s work makes no apologies and in a refreshing way gets in the face of the viewer and asks real questions about ‘the way things are’.”

With so many people out of work, doesn’t right now seem like the ideal time for a multi-medium revolution?

Saylor Jones

Saylor Jones is an illustrator and writer living in the Northwest.

“The Way Things Are” is on view October 7 through November 19 at Anchor Art Space which is located at 216 Commerical Avenue in Anacortes, Washington. A Reception for the Artist is being held on Friday, October 7, from 6 to 9 P.M. Feodorov is presenting an an Artist’s Talk on Saturday, November 5, call for details. The gallery is open Thursday through Sunday from 11 A.M. to 4 P.M. and by appointment. For more information please call (206) 919-3893, email info@anchorartspace.org, or visit the website www.anchorartspace.org.

View Feodorov’s artwork at his website:

www.johnfeodorov.com

Listen to his music:

www.myspace.com/johnfeodorov#!/johnfeodorov

Watch the Art21 episode he is in:

http://www.pbs.org/art21/artists/feodorov/clip1.html

Blackberry Picking

Debbi Lester — Thu, 06 Oct 2011 17:21:43 GMT

Late August came with wet skin, rain, and heavy sun.

This being the last times of many firsts for us,

We plucked the glossy berry from the stem.

You told me not to eat the first one, savor it for later’s pie.

We envied the berries color, like the thickness of wine,

Leaving stains on our own skin, tongues: the lust of picking.

Our mother’s good bowls ran with juice and using our skirts as baskets,

We searched and gathered even when the tins were full.

While picking we talked about boys.

The rain ran down our skin, August showers forgave us.

The thorns of lovers, past, present, or distance, peppered

Our skin as we plucked the darkest of the fruit.

The nectar was sticky sweet, our conversation never turned sour.

Unturned berries in the bowls; red, green, hard ones, left behind.

The lust in these berries is jealous of you. The fullness of your hips.

Purple blooms across our hands and lips as we gather.

Beautiful, rich fruit, with August’s sun divided between you too.

Summer’s blood. Soaked into our flesh.

Roseanne McAleese

Roseanne McAleese is a celebrated poet, spoken-word artist, actress and filmmaker whose first and upcoming book is called, Strong. Female. Character.

The Strange Alliance between Art and Science

Debbi Lester — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 00:47:24 GMT

Some time around the turn of the 20th century, Art and Physics began having a race to see which one was more bizarre. Up until then, those two never ran in the same neighborhood, much less on the same track. Weirder still is the fact that for the past few decades, they have been running neck and neck. Lucy Pullen, happily, is playing for both teams.

As any Weird Science and Art Project should do, Pullen’s show at the Henry Art Gallery takes place in two places at once, like a pair of parallel universes singing to each other across separate floors of the museum. The first one, "Spark Chamber," is just inside the front entrance in the small space on the right of the front desk. The other, "Cloud Chamber and Related Works," lives two floors below.

Cosmic rays are not simply Pullen's primary subject matter, they’re her collaborators as well. Just like ideas, cosmic rays are invisible. And they also have a tendency to go off in their own random directions, wherever they please, refusing to acknowledge what we consider impassable boundaries. But just as ideas reveal themselves in the works of art they inspire, the cosmic rays that visit Pullen’s cloud chamber reveal themselves in spectacular little contrails that appear out of nowhere and spiral off out of control, like tiny spaceships, unpiloted and perhaps disabled after an epic star battle. Or maybe they're just joyriding.

I vividly remember the first time I saw a cloud chamber, in a scratchy black and white movie in my fifth-grade science class. After first learning that the subatomic world was infinitely tiny and invisible I was delighted to discover that their movements could be detected in the contrails they made in the enclosed and frozen mists of a cloud chamber. That delight and euphoria returned in a great rush as I gazed down into her beautiful but slightly forbidding aluminum, steel, and glass polyhedron chamber, past the six-sided rings of eerily blue UFO-style lights into the bottomless and infinite darkness where the cosmic rays came to play. Wow. Like all consciousness-altering experiences, this one is really hard to quit. I’m not sure how long I stayed there lost in space, but in relative terms, it was a kind of eon.

When I finally did tear myself away, I spent some time in the so-called real world, looking at "Architecture of the Atmosphere," a series of prints done with non-reprographic blue pigment, that encircles the "Cloud Chamber." These many versions of the view outside Pullen's apartment are no less mysterious and strange than "Cloud Chamber," especially in the way they break down trees, sea, sky, clouds, rain, and the distant landscape into their component parts, revealing what was once invisible. I even spotted the Loch Ness monster, an invisible object that's exists somewhat more on the macro side of things. Go look yourself if you don’t believe me, but go look at it all in any case. Pullen's work is revealing and breathtaking on every level.

Kathleen Cain

Kathleen Cain is a Seattle-based writer and bibliophile who follows art and routinely defies gravity.

"The Cloud Chamber and Related Works" by Lucy Pullen is on view through June 26 at the Henry Art Gallery, located at 15th Avenue NE & NE 41st Street in Seattle, Washington. For more information, please visit the website www.henryart.org or call (206) 543-2280.

619 Building

Debbi Lester — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 00:39:39 GMT

We're All in There Somewhere

Debbi Lester — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 00:00:10 GMT

Thanks to Nick Cave, from now until June 5th, you can stroll into the Seattle Art Museum and ask the people at the front desk "How do I get to the Center of the Earth," and they will smile and tell direct you to the fourth floor. Who knew it was so easy? Really, you should try it.

Nick Cave is an artist, a dancer, a black American, a recycler of abandoned, overlooked and temporarily invisible objects, and an incredibly gifted and exacting craftsman. Working with small army of dedicated cohorts, he has revealed, by creating it, the world that exists at the center of not just the earth but everything that matters, or should matter, to human beings. In spite of the fact that this is a ridiculously ambitious undertaking, he seems to have pulled it off with this impressive body of work. And then put it on again.

Listening to people's reactions to this exhibit is almost as much fun as looking at it all. And there's a lot to look at. In the space of just ten minutes spent hanging around the entrance to the exhibit, I heard two different people say "Holy cow!" Since one of the things that Cave wants us to think about is the connection between the human and animal worlds, that’s a pretty wonderful comment. But he also wants us to think about the power and freedom that disguise and anonymity offers to people who were born on the wrong side of the color, gender, and identity divides.

A growing awareness of the ravages of identity politics does inevitably start to sneak up on you the longer you look around. But after a while, the sheer joy you feel with prolonged exposure to the extraordinary depth and breadth of Cave’s inventiveness creates a tidal wave of euphoria that washes over you and tends to overwhelm the more sinister content. And then one more walk around the "Sound Suits" made of twigs or some time spent with the photographs of Cave wearing the pieces that don’t hide his identity or another look at the contrast between the suits made of homemade bits of kitsch where the buttons are attached by those creepy plastic doohickeys that keep the price tags on the clothes at discount stores and the couture-style costumes over in their own private and privileged gallery with their carefully hand-sewn embellishments will bring your feet right back to the ground. And speaking of feet, check out all those fabulous socks. I have a thing about socks and that part of the show took me completely by surprise

There’s so much to see that everyone will have a different list of favorites. The big bear upholstered with cast-off sweaters includes a working zipper down the left leg that I really could have used when I had surgery for a broken leg two years ago. There’s a beaded and spangled space-princess suit complete with a fabulous headpiece/shield/carapace that Cave wears in one of the little gallery of photographs. I named one of the pieces that was made of crocheted headgear "The Bad Hat" because it reminded me of the Madeleine book of the same name. But hey, go find your own.

The only thing I found disappointing was that I couldn’t actually get into and walk around in one of the "Sound Suits" made of twigs. Cave's description of how surprised he was when he first tried it on and discovered the noises it made was so compelling that I really, really wanted to try it myself. Yes, I understand that allowing anyone - and there would be plenty of us - to climb inside one is impractical but I’m still feeling deprived.

Still, there is much satisfaction and some kinetic consolation in watching the film loops that are playing on the walls at the very back of the exhibit. One of them is a never-ending parade of Cave-clad dancers striding, floating, flailing, leaping, billowing, and shape-shifting through a white seamless world that seems to have no up, down, or gravity. And the best one shows Cave engaged in a frenzied wrestling match with a suit that looks like a big piece of black-and-white knitted coral. The sped-up action combined with Cave's brilliant choreography is comical and frightening at the same time.

If you know any fellow humans, young or old, hip or square, sentient or clueless, who have always thought (sometimes with good reason) that there is nothing in an art museum that might engage, delight, or amaze them, you should invite them to "Meet Me at the Center of the Earth." It's a show for doubters, refuseniks, and outsiders who will recognize themselves looking back out from the center of at least one and probably several of these little worlds that Nick Cave has imagined and built from scratch and inspiration.

Kathleen Cain

Kathleen Cain is a Seattle-based writer and bibliophile who follows art, collects buttons, and has a sock fetish.

"Meet Me at the Center of the Earth" by Nick Cave is on view through June 5 at the Seattle Art Musuem, located at 1300 First Avenue in Seattle, Washington. For more information, please visit the website www.seattleartmuseum.org or call (206) 654-3100.

Aesthetic Engineering: The Imagination Cycle

Debbi Lester — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 22:16:04 GMT

If you’d like to treat your hearts and minds to a new body of work by an internationally renowned artist in an almost ideal setting, don’t miss this new show of Ginny Ruffner’s latest work at the Bellevue Art Museum. Artistic Director Stefano Catalani and his staff have done a masterful job of re-staging and designing this exhibit that was originally developed by the Museum of Northwest Art in La Conner where it was first shown in 2008.

Like all great art, this show is difficult to describe but it’s an exuberant and wildly imaginative exploration of what would happen if entities that possess neither genes nor the ability to reproduce (at least as far as we know) were able to cross-pollinate, exchange DNA and merge into each other. Among other things, you see “The Gene for the Grace of Falling Leaves,” “Floral Splashing,” “The Force That Shapes Seashells,” and what happens “When Lightning Blooms.” You’ve been warned; be sure to arrive with your mind wide open.

In case the title of this show doesn’t make it completely clear, you should know that although Ginny Ruffner is an artist, deep down inside, she’s really a geek. It all started in high school when she was president of the Science Club and it has been seeping into her art ever since. Her current circle of friends and regular correspondents includes an impressive assortment of distinguished scientists and mathematicians. She is fascinated by all the cool sciences and she finds them no less mystical, mutable, and mysterious than the so-called arts. In other words, Ginny has never believed in sorting things into separate piles of what does or does not constitute the realm of artistic endeavor; no matter what kind of information her muse sends, she uses it.

Although Ruffner’s titles and concepts are fantastical and outrageous, her work is more intellectual than emotional. Inspired by rigorous and challenging ideas -- evolution, the expression of DNA, the origin and nature of consciousness -- she applies her own personal torque and tension to them. The result is a kind of corkscrew logic that merges the solid and the uncanny and makes you suspect that these strange genetic connections have always existed but we never realized that they were there until she showed them to us. When asked where these ideas come from, she shrugs and demurs: “Who knows? I’m just an output device for these messages from the cosmos.”

Captured in mid-contortion, Ruffner’s creations look like they’re trying to do the Fibonacci, to swing and sway or twist and turn into something entirely new and improbable. Although they are beautiful, warm, and ethereal, they also harbor a shimmering undercurrent of darkness, mystery and secret intentions They sometimes seem as curious about you as you are about them, ready to stretch out a tentative tendril (or is that a tentacle) and pull you closer for a little friendly mind meld.

My favorite piece, full of magnificence and menace, is the towering double helix called, “Tall Artistic Creativity Gene.” Elegantly suspended from the high ceiling of the BAM lobby and trailing a bower of glass flowers at its feet, this delicate but imposing structure of metal and glass seems as if it might suddenly break free and begin spinning and spiraling toward you, bent on gently rearranging your polypeptide chains. It’s a fitting introduction to an exhibition that gradually unveils the unbridled spookiness and audacity of this artist’s imagination.

While she was still working on the pieces in this show, Ruffner asked her friend and Nobel laureate, the biochemist Kary Mullis, if he thought it was arrogant of her to create her own model of the DNA molecule. He wrote back: “None of the existing images can even come close to capturing this snapping, glowing, sizzling, writhing, freaking King of Molecules. There are no humanly conceivable images. It’s up to you to look at these things and imagine something yourself.” Which is exactly what she’s done.

So leave your slide rule at home, forget everything you know about the boundaries between art and science, and go catch a glimpse of what the world might look like if evolution began making stuff just for the fun of it. Or maybe, with a little nudge from Ruffner, it already has.

And if you’re interested in learning more about the life and work of this remarkable artist, check out the new documentary, “Ginny Ruffner: A Not So Still Life,” directed by Karen Stanton and produced and released this year by the Seattle-based film company, ShadowCatcher Entertainment. It won the Golden Space Needle award at the Seattle International Film Festival this summer and is being screened at several other film features around the country. You can find out more about it online at www.ginnyruffnerthemovie.com.

Kathleen Cain
Kathleen Cain is a Seattle-based freelance writer and bibliophile who follows art and is a big fan of the double helix.

Ginny Ruffner’s exhibit, “The Aesthetic Engineering: The Imagination Cycle,” is on view through Febraury 6 at the Bellevue Arts Museum which is located at 510 Bellevue Way NE in Bellevue, Washington. For more information please call (425) 519-0770 or visit the website www.bellevuearts.org.

Letter to Rose

Debbi Lester — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 22:12:02 GMT

Rose, your email came at just the right time!

Because here it is, a new year. And I’ve been at a loss. What can I possibly write that captures its essence? Everything “new year” has been written before. I have my doubts as to whether I can find a fresh angle to any of it. When you become a writer, you’ll understand this dilemma, I promise.

Your saying you read my work is the finest compliment, believe me. Sure, your mom and I know each other. Still, knowing her, knowing you, I infer no female in your home is deciding what the other female reads, period.

What I need to tell you, readers, is that Rose wants to be a writer. When she shared this information with her guidance counselor, she didn’t get quite the reaction she’d hoped for. In Rose’s words, “My counselor thinks I need a back up plan. But I really want to be a writer.”

Rose, trying to do the jigsaw of maturing is no easy feat. But, trust me, if you have already found work that makes you happy, a huge piece of you will not go missing. I will go so far as to say your passion for writing may turn out to be your truest friend in life. This might not be an easy thing to hear in your BGF world, but no friend, especially no boyfriend (doubly hard to hear, sorry), will be able to fill that place inside you that longs for so much. Only you can fill it. And writing will help.

I was thrown into a tizzy with all the remembering that came gushing up. See, in the seventh grade, I once called my Home-Ec teacher by my English teacher’s name and, humiliating me in front of my classmates, she yelled, “PAY ATTENTION, Mary Lou!”

I was mortified. I know how important names are. I’m just so bad at remembering them. But ask me anything, anything at all about what she was wearing, the ever-changing color of her hair, and I knew. I knew.

Even then, I could enumerate, interpret, elaborate. But retrieve someone’s name, I go blank. I soak up the visual but I’m resistant to names the way some people are to colds. In this area, I have what my mother would call “a strong constitution.” Until I get to know someone, I’m porous to their name. It leaves me.

Just think how much time I could have saved if my guidance counselor had picked up on my wordy, descriptive babbles (I had quite the reputation for them) and leaned me toward writing instead of laying the secretary/nurse option on pretty thick. Vulnerable me might have left high school with hey, I’m going to be a writer! Instead of a vague I have no clue how to fit in.

I look back at the two of us sitting face to face in her office trying to come up with what I should do, who I should be, with fifteen minutes for her to study my file, and all that she was able to help me with was…absolutely nothing, that’s what.

Here’s what she said to me: You can make more money as a secretary. But if you go to nursing school the benefits for your family are better.

Benefits? Family? Death to a seventeen year old.

She certainly said nothing that helped me perceive my peculiarities as the very traits a writer needs. Gradually, through the years, I learned this on my own. There are amazing guidance counselors, I’m sure of it. Just as I’m sure the word “guidance” affixes the word “counselor” for a good reason. But I knew, even then, that the woman before me was going to be of no help to me whatsoever.

High school, for me, bristles with so many of these memories.

Luckily, in time, all the lost little parts of me came together, together enough anyway (there are still plenty of holes), to make me see how I really had no choice about what I was meant to do in this world because I was already doing it.

Just as you are, Rose. And it’s terrific, isn’t it?

So keep following the swerving stretch of road onto the next page. And more than anything, insist on passion.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Sanelli’s latest book is Among Friends. She is a featured speaker at the 2011 Northwest Flower and Garden Show. For more information, visit Mary Lou Sanelli’s website at www.marylousanelli.com

INS becomes INSCAPE

Debbi Lester — Thu, 07 Oct 2010 06:32:56 GMT

The U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service Federal Building located at 815 Airport Way South in Seattle, Washington, becomes Inscape Art Studios. Opening events are to be held on Saturday and Sunday, October 16 to 17 and include bands, art, and more! For information, please go to www.inscapearts.org.

Hands

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 05:37:40 GMT

I’ve been around the neighborhood long enough to bore people with my “used to be” stories: the art gallery that used to be a hardware store, the New Age Bookshop that used to be a video store, the video store that used to sell gourmet food.

Honestly, if not one new “it used to be” ever popped into mind again, I could write the past tense, happily forever, just by reliving the basics: the kitsch shop that used to sell flowers, the leaf-blowers that used to be rakes.

There’s a subtext here, of course, and I’m at the mercy of it: I found a photograph of my husband. Or, Larry how he “used to be.”

I thought about shoving the photo back into the book it fell out of. I don’t want too much history backing up on me, which will surely happen if I stare at Larry too long. After all, I fell in love with him when I was twenty. Larry—so self-directed, so handsome.

I wind up focusing on the photo until my thoughts find their way into the deepest, most stunning places, kindling the most tender feelings I’ve felt in a long time. From my ears to my knees, a thunderbolt of nostalgia. One memory after another. I see love in the photo as clearly as I see my own hand holding it.

I stash it. Unlike most of my friends, I don’t have dozens of framed photographs adorning the shelves of my home. I will one day again, surely. But right now, my work requires I be a tad nomadic, and too many photos sort of short circuits my flow.

I remember when I tried letting all the photos on my hard drive revolve as my screen saver. One by one, my entire past came at me in two second intervals. It drove me bonkers. I’m quite proud of my achievements, the lives I’ve lived. But, I swear, every time I passed my monitor, I had a little heart attack. All that emotion really slowed me down.

Anyway, I’ll forget half of what I saw in the photo if I don’t get on with it: Larry. His hands, specifically. How swollen his knuckles were from building the boat we were to live in. A dory. Our first home. His fingers were the color of wood. New skin grew right over the dirt. His callouses were so thick they added a good half-inch to his palms. If he nicked them, they drew no blood.

And look at that mess of curly hair! No wonder my dad said he looked like Charles Manson.

About a year before the photo was taken, Larry picked me up hitchhiking to the Olympic Hot Springs. I moved in with him a week later. We lived in an old barn in Sequim. It was the eighties.

My most vivid memory of his hands then, in total-lust stage, was how he couldn’t let his hands rub my legs covered in nylon tights without making a crackling sound, or lay in the dark with me on a double sleeping bag, unzipped and opened flat, with hands that prowled easily, without catching on each lofty seam.

That’s how Larry’s hands used to be. I study such things.

Which brings me to Larry’s hands now: Smooth, nick-less as a slab of marble. Around the age of forty, like many the boatbuilder before him, he left the “sail around the world” dream to find work that 1) paid, and 2) let him use his mind as much as his hands.

Larry’s hands are so clean now I call them white-collar-pink.

Either way, in boat building or business, then or now, Larry never wavered from being the kind of man who would never, ever drive a bent nail deeper into the grain of wood just to get the job done.

Rare, huh?

And why, I believe, there is more at work in our marriage than two people trying their best.

Hands. I know you know what I mean.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli’s latest book is Among Friends.
www.marylousanelli.com

Meditation on Solitude

Debbi Lester — Thu, 01 Jul 2010 05:32:54 GMT

Here, the night is yours.

No one lurking in its dark folds.

Marvel in the journey.

Rest your head against a tree bole,

slide onto a dilapidated bench,

or march into Green Lake.

No one will ask where you’ve been.

Enter night’s quietude, pull it inside you.

You are beholden to the Milky Way,

the maples, and stones tripping feet.

You don’t grow more balanced,

but find ease with being unbalanced.

Even in solitude, you aren’t.

The crows, the caterpillars,

the squirrels in their dreys.

The ground you traverse

will not mislead you.

It will hold you up.

Janée J. Baugher
Seattle, Washington

Janée J. Baugher, originally from Renton, is the author of the collection of poems, Coördinates of Yes (Ahadada Books, 2010). She teaches Creative Writing at Richard Hugo House. Visit: http://JaneeJBaugher.wordpress.com

Art Access & Scene In Seattle Press Announcement

(Past member) — Fri, 02 Apr 2010 04:21:04 GMT

A few weeks ago Art Access publisher, Debbi Lester, shared some news with you about an exciting new collaboration that Art Access has developed with Scene in Seattle. We hope you’ve had time to take a look at this new Art Access website. We officially launch it to the world on First Thursday in April.  

The new website includes many of the features you’ve come to trust from Art Access, plus a whole lot more. We’ve designed it to be a comprehensive source for Northwest art information that includes exhibition listings, artist images, maps, searchable data bases, live news feeds and promotional videos. The result is a fantastic site that positions Art Access and Scene in Seattle as the clear leaders for information about the Northwest art scene.  

We’re incredibly excited about what we’ve done; click here to check out our official announcement, or paste the following link into your web browser http://www.youtube.com/scaredofgenre#p/u/0/8Gd0QwPUDGk.  

The team at Scene in Seattle will be

stopping by soon to assist with updat

ing your Gallery Profiles. Look for Lanae, Rebeqa and Emma to help you maximize your presence on this great new tool. If you wish to schedule an appointment, please do so at:

sales@sceneinseattle.org.

We’d also like to take this opportunity to introduce you to Scared of Genre videographer Brad Strain, our trusted

resource for video footage of the

Seattle art scene. You can schedule a First Thursday video shoot

or a gallery venue shoot by contacting Brad at:

video@sceneinseattle.org

As we’ve fine tuned the details of this exciting new venture, even more

opportunities have come up that I’d like to share with you.  

Art Monaco 

We have the chance to promote Art Access to the global art community at Art Monaco ’10 Special Edition in April. La Familia Gallery will be one of the exhibitors at Art Monaco, and they look forward to promoting the new Art Access website as the premier portal for information about the Seattle art community.  

Teatro ZinZanni and SIFF

In an effort to expand the reach of our message and present art to a larger audience, Art Access is also collaborating with Teatro ZinZanni and Seattle International Film Festival. The first event is coming up soon--please join Caffe Umbria and Art Access as Teatro ZinZanni presents "A Feast of Fools" on Thursday, April 1, 6:30-8:30 P.M. at Caffe Umbria, 320 Occidental Avenue South in Seattle. Celebrate a souffle of songs, silliness, sumptuous coffee, and the launch of the new Art Access website.

All of this activity - new collaborations, new website, new video features, marketing at Art Monaco - reflects Art Access and Scene in Seattle’s shared passion for increasing Seattle’s presence in the regional, national and international art scene, and our desire to make Seattle a “destination spot” for great art. We hope you enjoy.

Endless Flirting on Paper, Review of Alden Mason's Show by Molly Norris

Debbi Lester — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 16:12:02 GMT

At 90 Alden Mason still makes it to his Ballard studio three to four times a week. But for a few canvases from the 1990s, Mason’s current show at Foster/White Gallery consists of 20 recently made works on paper all sized at 26 by 35 inches.

In these latest works, lines of oil stick create a resist for watercolor and India ink. Gaze long enough and you can see Mason’s delicate pencil lines beneath, outlines whose makings calm hands that otherwise shake.

In “Untitled: White Writing Square Heads,” cartoon-like figures bounce in an active field. Watercolor clouds of emerald green that match the color of gems made from Mt. St. Helens’ ash balloon across oil stick ‘writings’ to envelop ultramarine blue globs of watercolor paint that one could re-moisten and dip a brush in. Crisp rims of bare, white paper left where watercolor approaches oil gives the illusion of shapes having been cut out and pasted on. You could call this work “organically optical”.

One could pitch these works as “Sam Francis meets Jean Dubuffet,” because everybody meets somebody.

If the world were more attuned to University of Washington’s David Shields who believes we ought to be able to use other’s quotes and passages without having to credit them, rather like a DJ sampling songs, I could simply run together all the fabulous lines from past reviews of Mason’s work.

In a Seattle Times article from September of 2004, critic Matthew Kangas wrote that Mason has a “…talent that is split down the middle between total non-objective abstraction and exuberantly figurative works.”

On the local online site Artdish back in 2007, Reiko Sundahl described Mason’s work as, “…like watching Looney Tunes through a glass of Alka Seltzer.” Description doesn’t get much better.

In the Seattle Post-Intelligencer back in March of 2008, Regina Hackett quoted Mason talking about a childhood spent growing up in the Skagit Valley, shooting muskrats to sell for painting supplies. She quotes the artist as saying that as a child “…I loved cartoons, with figures jumping, hopping, and smooching. They were having more fun than I was. They lived in a brighter world.”

This emotion has fueled Mason’s work for over eight decades. Tulip images from when he and his mother visited those fields are still showing up in paintings along with spirit birds, cows, and totems fashioned of chickens, dogs, and salmon.

Mason distinguishes himself in his paintings as the guy wearing the hat. It’s the same thing with local artists James Martin and Gaylen Hansen; what is it with all these graybeards painting dark whimsy and showing up in their paintings wearing hats? Mason started wearing his when young to keep hay from going down the back of his shirt.

In life Mason is in a wheelchair. In his paintings he skips ropes with friends. How lucky to live so long and collect friendships like a rolling snowball. Having taught at the University of Washington for 40 years – and received his BFA and MFA there! – allows for a lot of friends and fans. A few of his ex-students have also exhibited at Foster White, including Allison Collins and Chuck Close.

Gayle Clemans wrote in the Seattle Times in 2009 that Mason believes that his work is all about improvisation. He calls his hand a smart ass for what it draws when he closes his eyes. He calls Arshile Gorky a “kindred spirit” what with that duality of playfulness with calamity. In the same article he says that he learned while in Papua New Guinea that a blackbird is a messenger between the living and the dead.

Art is a messenger, and Alden Mason still uses it like it was yesterday.

Molly Norris

Molly Norris is an artist and writer living in Seattle, Washington. She is currently working on a documentary about the Webster’s Woods sculpture park located at the Port Angeles Fine Art Center.

Alden Mason’s exhibit, “Endless Flirting on Paper,” is on view through April 27, at the Foster/White Gallery located at 220 Third Avenue in Pioneer Square neighborhood of Seattle, Washington. There is a special event, “Tea with Alden Mason,” Saturday, April 17, 2 PM, please RSVP to the gallery by phone (206) 622-2833 or email seattle@fosterwhite.com. For further information, please visit www.fosterwhite.com. Also upcoming is an Alden Mason exhibition at the Seattle Art Museum from November 6, 2010 through August 21, 2011.

Clouds, Begin Here by Susan Rich

Debbi Lester — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 16:08:47 GMT

It is so hard to say what the dead really want.

In the lost fires of the notebook, words stumble

down the columns of green and white paper.

In the notebook of the unknown index, blank

description, we lose our blue hours. Begin with forget

shore line, heart line, forgive me serum.

If we’re lucky, the mind sits up straight

in our interior garden, our house of sky

the remodeled one car garage. Open the suitcase

of ink and erasures; let language spill out

in mid-air. Between ferryboat and bicycle,

between daybreak and meteor shower

we create something holy:

apples and crackers and quiet.

Susan Rich
Seattle, Washington

Susan Rich is the author of three collections of poetry including
The Alchemist’s Kitchen just published by White Pine Press.
Recent poems appear in the Antioch Review, Harvard Review,
and The Southern Review. Visit her at www.susanrich.net.

Show of Hands by Molly Norris

Debbi Lester — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 15:52:27 GMT

Opens April 24 at the Whatcom Museum's Lightcatcher Building located at 250 Flora Street in Bellingham, Washington. For more information, please call (360) 778-8930 or visit the website, www.whatcommuseum.org. The museum is open Tuesday through Sunday from noon to 5 P.M. The admission is $10 general, $8 student/senior/military, and $4.50 children under 5.

Write of Way: The Process by Mary Lou Sanelli

(Past member) — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 23:34:38 GMT

Calvin Calls Me Sunshine

Hey, Sunshine, how ya doin’ this morning?” asks Calvin, his smile radiating like a child’s, a stack of Real Change newspapers in the crook of his arm, “Do ya want to help me out today?”

I say yes I do.

I like Calvin. I get his need to smile even when the weather scowls. He gets mine. Today we smile together, a duet. We nod. We joke. For a man living on the street, Calvin has a remarkable ability to give us a positive sense of our neighborhood, of us living in it. Of our belonging here.

And, sure, he likely calls every woman on the block the same sunny nickname. Still, I blush, a sucker for compliments.

I’ve bought Calvin’s Real Change newspaper for months now, ever since the first time he called me Sunshine. Even as a hard wind blew grit into his eyes and a Whole Foods bag blew past his feet, he smiled. A smile that split his face in two. From that point on, we began to cross a familiarity line, shifting from an awkward exchange of a dollar to matters of the heart.

That’s the thing about the homeless: they are there. On any given day, if you walk from the Space Needle to Pioneer Square (or the same distance in the core of your city, large or small), you will see how homelessness has spread alarmingly in all directions. It is a living thing, begging and competing, involving not only joblessness, but mental illness and all matters of despair in between.

These days, I’ve come to view these folks as less of an “other” than as acquaintances. There really is no other choice, other than completely ignoring them, which, I admit I do sometimes, not because I’m a cruel, cold person, but there are days when I’m just trying to hold it together myself, unraveling like a ball of yarn, and I can’t cross the distance, emotionally. So I go about my day, letting in only my life, the one in front of me, the one I need to keep afloat. I admit, on these more-fragile days, I fall back on passivity. I insulate, seal off, so I can move about without caving. Because it’s not only likely that I am going to get hit up for spare change, for receptivity that will break my conscience wide open, it can be depended upon. Until, by the time I reach my destination I’m thinking I need this like a hole in the head.

To me, though, the Real Change vendors offer a fair exchange — a buck for a well-written paper and the seller’s time to pitch it. Still, as I’m discovering a little more clearly every day, I can’t give money to all the needy vendors I pass in a Seattle downtown day, surely. So I picked Calvin.

Calvin stands out: his genuine smile, certainly, but it’s more than that. It’s his careful attention paid to his neighbors, his quality of good nature, his intelligent eyes and narrow — but not hauntingly-thin — body. The word that comes to mind about his personality is an old-fashioned one: winning. Even when he asks “How ya doin’?” the question isn’t momentary and without care, disconnected from any real interest. He looks you straight in the eyes and listens to your reply. Ladies! How many men do you know who do the same? Once his kindness caused me to forget my troubles completely and utter what I knew to be a stinking lie: “I’m great!” A better man in need — where is he?

I assume some of you already know the history of the Real Change News. If not, I’ll give you a short summary: www.realchangenews.org says: Real Change is a hand up, not a handout.

And it can work wonders.

One day back in October, Calvin was on Fourth & Virginia dressed in what appeared to be a brand new suit jacket. “Calvin, you look dashing,” I said. “You’ve found your style.”

About a month later Calvin told me he had a full-time job at the Goodwill Store in Ballard, “but I gotta keep selling my papers, comin’ back to my roots in Belltown.”

Now? Calvin works in sales at Macy’s. “They seem to like me just fine,” he said recently. “I just hope I can keep at it, keep myself up.”

I hope you can too Calvin. I can’t write any more just now. You inspire me beyond words.

Mary Lou Sanelli

Mary Lou Sanelli’s latest book is Among Friends. Does your organization need a wonderful new fundraiser? Check out The Immigrant’s Table at www.marylousanelli.com

Speak for the Trees by Kathleen Cain

(Past member) — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 07:00:00 GMT

We human beings have a complicated relationship with trees. We get food from them, we once lived in them and occasionally still do, we admire their beauty, and some of us have even been known to hug them. We also cut them down, burn them, poison them, and use them to build houses, toilet paper, sawdust, and toothpicks.

All of these ideas are explored in words and images in “Speak for the Trees,” an exhibition and its companion book, both of which are showcased at Freisen Gallery from now until May 29. The book contains images of all 76 works that were submitted by painters, sculptors, photographers, glass artists, and conceptual artists from all over the world; many of them were created exclusively for this project. More than 50 of these are in the exhibition and that selection includes pieces created David Hockney, Yoko Ono, Mark Ryden, and the Starn brothers. The Northwest artists featured in this show are Julie Speidel, Spike Mafford, Michael Brophy, Martin Blank, Catherine Eaton Skinner, Laura Sharp Wilson, Steve Jensen, Janis Miltenberger, and 2009 Neddy Award Nominee Lynda Lowe.

It’s pretty easy to get a little sentimental when it comes to trees, and some of these artists do. But that’s understandable. Trees are, after all, are the original performance artists. They live with their feet in the ground and their heads in the sky. They drop their clothes and go naked in the winter, then put them back on in the summer. Trees neither spin nor toil, unless you count that essential little product called oxygen. And they are such flagrant poets, flapping their leaves in collaboration with the wind in a million different ways to expand its vocabulary from gentle gossip to howling complaint. Think back to your earliest memories and see if they don’t include the shifting colors and mysterious sounds made by the wind playing in the trees.

But all of their art-for-its-own-sake tendencies tend to divert us from the fact that trees are much more than vegetable poets or hapless victims of our neglect and stupidity. They’re our caretakers. We don’t own them; they own us. Sit up and take notice because without them, we die.

The more you look at this book and exhibition the more you understand that we’re the ones who are going to be destroyed if we don’t stop destroying trees. The trees portrayed, observed, and sometimes flagrantly worshipped in this book and exhibition, possess dignity, power, wisdom, mystery, and most especially, a fine disregard for human presence. Some of the them are a bit sinister, it’s true, but even the most benign and whimsical ones don’t seem as if they will miss us when we’re gone. These trees may be temporarily vulnerable to our stupidity but if we don’t start paying attention to their survival, we will simply disappear. They will go on ruling the earth just as they have been doing since long before we showed up. And they will be here long after our dust has settled. After all, it wasn’t the missing people who miraculously rose up out of the ashes of Mt. Saint Helens. It was the plants and trees.

There are plenty of pieces I like in this show but I have room to mention just a few. Lin Rabin’s “Minuum #8,” a simultaneously nano and macro point of view, leaves you wondering whether you’re looking at trees from far, far away, or deep inside a chlorophyll molecule. Tom Zetterstrom’s romantic yet respectful portrait of an American Elm makes it clear that this is a tree you would never presume to hug without a formal introduction. Jennifer Bolandis spookily manipulates images from old postcards to remind you that it’s probably not wise to venture into an Irish forest at the close of the day. Catherine Eaton Skinner’s elegant encaustic panels of trees flanking one of her signature 108 grids won’t be in the show, but the piece that replaces them is every bit as fascinating and intricate. And Louis Reiner’s painting, “On Via Fagina #4,” reminded me of how a tree looks to a child: lofty, mysterious and grand but also nurturing and very much alive.

The trees that inspired these artists are neither fragile nor helpless. They don’t need us in order to survive; in fact they don’t need anything from us. It’s the other way around. Whatever we do to trees, we do to ourselves, only faster and more efficiently. So when we speak for trees, we’re really speaking for ourselves.

The message of this exhibit is that the seed has always been mightier than the sword. So go take a look. And even if you’re not a tree-hugger, you will probably start thinking about what trees have to do with our own survival.

Kathleen Cain

Kathleen Cain is a Seattle-based free-lance writer and bibliophile who follows art, admires trees, and refuses to sleep in the woods at night.

“Speak for the Trees” exhibit is on view from April 1 through May 29 at Friesen Gallery which is located at 1210 Second Avenue in Seattle, Washington. The gallery is open Monday through Friday from 10 A.M. to 6 P.M., Saturday from 11 A.M. to 5 P.M. The reception with many showcased artists in attendance is to be held on Thursday, April 1, from 6 to 8 P.M. For more information, please call (206) 628-9501, email friesen@friesengallery.com, or visit the website www.friesengallery.com.

Decent for a Change by Paul Hunter

(Past member) — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 07:00:00 GMT

Even buying a loaf of bread
you don’t know where you stand
till you get the wrapper off
and sniff and taste it with
some of the expensive spread

you got in the habit
of smearing on cardboard
to kill the taste of it
once you lost your innocence
and started to wolf everything.

Of course you assume
you’re squeezing the genuine article
and you kind of see through the wrapper
but not down between all the slices
or past the curve of each heel

though on the outside as required
by law it says in tiny letters
everything that went in
the dough including preservatives
as well as what to watch out for

but then you bite on it anyhow,
laying it out like a broken paperback
you glue and slap together
to make a quick sandwich
without your reading glasses.

We all know good bread doesn’t last
and the bad you stuff yourself with
in a fit of depression
hangs around forever in the way
when you’re in your right mind

musty green under plastic
blooming with envy
as you keep reaching around it
to get at a little something
decent for a change.

Paul Hunter
Seattle, Washington

Featured on The News Hour with Jim Lehrer, Paul Hunter has published fine letterpress poetry under the imprint of Wood Works for the past 15 years. His farming collection, Breaking Ground, reviewed in the New York Times, won the 2004 Washington State Book Award. Companion volumes include Ripening, 2007, and Come the Harvest, 2008. His new book of prose, One Seed to Another: The New Small Farming, just appeared from The Small Farmer’s Journal. He is reading at the University Book Store on April 13, 7 P.M., and at Elliott Bay Books in its new store on May 2, 2 P.M. Visit the website www.woodworkspress.com for more information.