The Magic of Wind River Canyon
I wrote this article in 2009 for an old blog I kept online. It’s always been one of my favorite experiences, and I wanted to reshare it with you again here. Enjoy.
I grew up near the Big Horn Mountain in northern Wyoming. Some of my most treasured childhood memories are of going fishing at Sibley Lake on weekends and camping in our big old Red Dale camper. As a young family, Mark and I camped all over the mountain, hiked, partied at friends’ cabins, cut our first Christmas tree, took our son for his first hikes in a baby backpack, and even ski patrolled at Antelope Butte, all in the Big Horns. We had a connection with the land. But there was another mountain place in Wyoming that I longed to explore more and learn about. It was a place we typically just drove through; admiring the scenery but never really stopping the car. I have always been drawn to the Wind River Canyon.
Wind River Canyon is roughly located in west-central Wyoming, through which a 35-mile stretch of secondary highway (WY 789/HWY220) runs, connecting the towns of Shoshoni and Thermopolis. Its soaring rock pillars, white rapids, and lush green banks are a bit of a shock to the senses after passing through the desert landscape of Boysen State Park to its south. The southern entrance to the canyon is rather dramatic. Boysen Reservoir’s calm waters culminate at the Boysen Dam, which is forged between two colorful walls comprised of gray-brown granite, pink shale, and stubby green brush. Driving further north will take the traveler past quaint riverside campgrounds dotted with cottonwood and elm trees, and into the protected Wind River Indian Reservation property. Three short tunnels remind me of how wild some places in Wyoming still are; as if toughened road builders waged a battle with the mountain, but only partially won with their sticks of dynamite; the rock conceding just barely enough to let the cars and trains through. In the spring and early summer, the interior canyon walls are covered with a green carpet of tall wispy grass where the soil has clung to rocks, or at least it looks wispy from the distant vantage point of the valley floor. The valley floor is narrow in most places, with only enough room for the railroad tracks, highway, and river to snake their way north. There are a few private homes tucked into the rocks up steep-graded driveways, a few tepees, and a gift shop that I can never remember the name of. As the towering boulders begin their gradual descent toward the mouth of the north side of the canyon, the river widens into “Wedding of the Waters” and the deep salmon-colored hills surrounding Thermopolis come into view.
Fast forward to August, 2009. Almost every year, our family makes the trek to Thermopolis for a long, weekend camping trip. The kids love the waters of the hot springs the town is famous for. Mark grew up in nearby Worland, so going to the Star Plunge (the local hot springs water park) has been a tradition for him since he was a child. It seems like every year it rains when we are there, but it doesn’t matter when we are outdoors soaking in a hot springs pool. One year it even snowed on us.
This year, we made the trip for a second time with some good friends. Their kids and ours are the same age, and all of them are friends. We all decided to take in a rafting trip with Wind River Canyon Whitewater, the only company allowed to guide on the canyon’s tribal-owned waters. Our friends had rafted before, but we had not. I couldn’t wait for the adventure, and to finally get a chance to spend some time in the canyon.
We were lucky enough to have a clearing in the weather for our scheduled trip. It was still only about 50-60°, and the water would be cold. We rented wet suits for the kids, and we adults bundled up in quick-drying pullovers and rain jackets. Our entry point was about halfway up the canyon, where we met up with another group of rafters who had started their trip earlier in the day. Our guide gave us some basic how-to’s, then we set out into the calm pool to practice our paddling strokes. I was excited and a little nervous. I looked around and took in my surroundings from a new perspective: the river. From the water, you couldn’t really see the highway that well; it blended in with the surrounding rock walls. There were times you couldn’t hear the cars at all. Almost immediately we began to spot a variety of birds fishing near the grassy west bank, and marmots scurrying in and out of the rocks on the east bank. The other raft of day-trippers continued their journey slightly ahead of us. We settled into our positions: the two young girls in the bow, their older brothers right behind them with the first set of paddles, two rows of adults, and our guide sitting on the stern.
It was pretty hard to contain our enthusiasm. We went through our first rapids, rated as a 2, and celebrated our success with hooting and paddle high-fives. The people in the raft in front of us thought we were crazy, I think. They just looked back at us and stared. Each new set of rapids brought excited squeals from the girls up front, lots of “Dude!” “Insane!” “That was awesome!” from the teen boys, and plenty of laughter as we all took turns catching the brunt of cold, crashing waves. Between rapids, our guide would point out rock formations, points of interest, and answer our questions about his work on the river. We passed some fisherman, one of whom had just landed a monstrous trout and held it out of the water for us to see as we hollered our appreciation for his catch. The further we floated downriver, the more intense the rapids became. Each time we started down a rapid, the girls’ squealing would be abruptly halted as cascades of white wetness enveloped them and we tumbled our way over the churning, bubbling water between shiny, sharp boulders. It was exhilarating. I looked up at the grey sky in which storm clouds had begun to gather again, and wished that the trip wouldn’t end so quickly.
The river began to widen, and we could see the walls of the canyon sloping downward, signaling the impending completion of our trip. We had quite a ways to float yet, but the end was imminent. We were all quieter now, as if the calmness of the deep water translated our mood. Our guide told us that we could get in the water at this point and swim if we wanted. There was some light discussion about this, and we encouraged the kids to take a plunge, but no one moved from their position. Suddenly, our friend decided to get in- and just like that he was out of the boat. I remember thinking to myself, “I don’t want to get in, I’m actually pretty dry thanks to my favorite rain coat,” but my adventurous side was definitely in charge that day and I think said out loud, “Aw, what the heck.”
The dominoes began to drop, one by one. In a few minutes, a succession of splashes left our guide alone in the raft. Even our little 11-year old daughter, who is a good swimmer but was unsure about climbing over the high sides of the raft, was soon grinning and dog-paddling next to me in the water. We twirled around each other, played, swam, floated on our backs. It was such a simple pleasure, but so fun and charming. The people in the raft in front of us were still just sitting there, staring at us; eight very loud, fully dressed people indulging in fun, swimming in the river. They didn’t even talk to each other. I didn’t know if they were not having a good time or they were just more reserved than us. In another minute or two, I heard a splash, and I couldn’t believe my eyes: everyone from their raft was standing up or headed over the sides and into the river.
It must’ve been some sight to the people traveling along the highway; two empty rafts and sixteen people bobbing in their lifejackets. It didn’t even matter that the water was cold, we acclimated quickly. It seemed too soon that our guide told us it was time to get back in the raft, as our exit point was approaching. After he’d pulled us all back in, the quiet settled over us once again. The storm clouds were darkening, and we knew our window of good weather was going to be closing again. I tried to absorb every sound, smell, and sight of our remaining minutes on the river, sentimental soul that I am.
I‘m not sure why I’m so drawn to the canyon. Maybe it’s because I feel a distant connection though my extended family, since my grandfather worked on the Boysen Dam sometime in the late 40’s-early 50’s, and is now buried in Riverton. I don’t know much about him, but it’s still a connection. Maybe it’s that long-held childhood wish to stop and explore the wonderful place I’d only driven through a few times. Maybe it’s because I love my native Wyoming and marvel that I actually get to live here. Maybe the excitement of the day and the fun we had with our families made an impression on me. Whatever it is, it exists. I can’t claim to have a tie to that sacred country like the Shoshone and Arapaho tribes and the other residents who frequent the canyon; it would be unfair and untrue for me to assume a rapport like that with the land. But I have been baptized by its waters, and I’ll be back to experience the canyon again. There’s no question about it; we’ll be stopping the car.
Sketchbook Chronicles
I stretched myself a couple of months ago and signed up to participate in the Wyoming Sketchbook Project, organized by talented Wyoming artist and Executive Director of the Cheyenne Creativity Center, Desirée Brothe. I admire Desirée’s creativity and skill; she’s just a super nice person to work with too, so I signed up when she emailed about the project. Turns out, 35 other Wyoming artists signed up too, and we now have six groups of artists who will be working on sketchbooks.
As I re-discover and explore who I am as an artist beyond photographer, the sketchbook has been a bit of a mystery to me. I have a couple of sketchbooks, one large and one small, that I’ve had for years. I haven’t done much with them, which is kind of sad. The small one begins with a couple little street drawings I did while in Louisiana years ago, and then more pages filled with sketches of logo ideas and graphic design ideas that I eventually turned into real projects on the computer. That’s about it, nothing exciting. For some reason, I have had a block about how to use a sketchbook and what using it could do for me as an artist. That has changed!
A couple of years ago, I read the very popular book, “The Artist’s Way” by Julia Cameron. The book was enlightening and started me on my journey of re-discovery. I have been terrible about keeping up on daily journaling, however, a key element emphasized in the book. Participating in the sketchbook project the last couple of weeks has re-awakened the importance of daily journaling and art in my art journey.
I received our groups’ sketchbook first. I thought about all the time we’ve been allotted for the project, then was sidetracked by a major house project and some work assignments, and poof! A month or more had gone by without me starting to work on it. (I have apologized to the other two artists in our group who were waiting on me!) Then, it was an all out, self-induced stress fest to get my pages done. I’m glad it turned out that way, though. I learned the importance of daily art and expression, I learned that sometimes a great idea in my head doesn’t turn out on paper (and vice versa), I tapped through a wall of blockage into more creative thinking, and ultimately, I had fun with it.
There were a couple things I experimented with that didn’t turn out well at all. But here are my three favorite pages I created. As a group, we’re hoping to go another round between the three of us before the project finishes in August. I will be ready when I receive the book again. And my two almost empty journals sitting in my art desk? They won’t be empty much longer. I have the fire and the fuel to keep creating and exploring. I’ll try not to set expectations for myself, but rather, be open and free to the possibilities laying dormant in my mind. All I need to do is let if flow.
By the way, if you’re interested in following along on social media what other artists are doing and posting, look for the #WySketchbookProject tag.
*Roll over each image for more about what it is and medium used.
New Year, New Perspectives
As the weather improves, I’m coming out of hibernation, and I’m ready. It’s a new year, full of new perspectives and opportunities. I am buckled up for the ride. Let’s go!
I am entering my third season of showing art. I continue to grow and learn. I haven’t been outdoors to shoot much since the New Year, but that’s mostly due to the winter weather, which I seem to tolerate less as I age. It doesn’t feel good to admit that, but it’s the truth. However, that time spent in “hibernation” has not gone to waste. I am enjoying painting and printmaking more than ever, I am taking an acrylic painting class at Cheyenne Creativity Center (they have great workshops and classes - if you’re in Cheyenne, you really should check them out), and I continue to look forward to what this year will bring me in the way of opportunity.
My perspective regarding whether I should be focusing on photography or painting is evolving. For months, I’ve been trying to discern where and how both mediums fall into place in the puzzle that is me as an artist. I don’t know the complete answer yet. But I see that both are valuable and indispensable to me. I love the adrenaline rush and excitement of capturing a special scene through the lens, of garnering emotions that somehow translate what I’m feeling to an image. It’s the preservation of time, the documentation of a meaningful tableau. I am a historian of sorts, in my role as a photographer. As a painter, I am rediscovering pure expression. Color mixing, shadow and light, composition and drawing; it’s all so exciting! I am a little bit spellbound with watercolor, as of late. The way color flows on wet paper, the ability to layer paint and change opacity, the simple beauty achieved with only a few strokes. Watercolor is sort of where my compass is pointing right now.
Watercolor sketchbook fun: Chloe the dog, self-portrait with Lily the cat, figuring out rocks (but not waterfalls!), and a woodblock print with a watercolor background.
My blue ribbon painting from 1987. I was a junior in high school.
My history with painting goes back to elementary school, like many people. Art classes in high school solidified my interest, and I even won a blue ribbon for one of my oil paintings at the High School Art Symposium, which, at the time, was a state-wide exhibition of high school art. My mom still has that painting hanging in her home, and I look at it now and think, could I even paint like that now? I seem to have forgotten so much about oil painting! Why did I stop? I don’t know. I continued my art education in junior college, graduating with an associate’s degree in Fine Art. By then, I was falling in love (yes, with my darling Mark), started working full-time, got married, had a family. I don’t know why I didn’t think I could do art while raising children. I guess I was overwhelmed and didn’t know how to keep that as part of my life.
Now I’ve come full circle. Our kids are wonderful, busy adults with their own lives in different states. I tried, unsuccessfully, to work full-time after my stroke; that has turned into a blessing as I can pursue this alternate career as a photographer and artist on my own time, at a pace that my brain can handle. The passage of time inherently creates new perspectives, and my deeper dive into my purpose as an artist will continue to unfold, this year especially.
If you follow me on social media, you may know of my excitement as having been accepted for a two-week artist residency this fall at Estudio Corazon, at Ghost Ranch in New Mexico. Ghost Ranch is a place of incredible natural beauty, and historically, one of the places artist Georgia O’Keeffe lived during summers for many years. She would eventually build her home and live permanently in nearby Abiquiu. Her work has always spoken to me. For me to have the opportunity to go there and really dig into what my purpose and expression as an artist might be is truly a great gift. With the advice of an artist friend, I’m trying not to set expectations for my residency. But I do hope my perspective continues to clarify and focus.
I think of where I am now artistically as a kaleidoscope. Each turn creates different patterns and colors, filling one’s vision with visual stimulation, discovery, and a distinct outlook. Which configuration will appeal to me the most? Which discipline/s I’m exploring will allow me to express myself fully? I look forward to the enrichment of my perspective as this year unfolds. I humbly and gratefully thank you for your support as I continue to cultivate my artistic expression.
P.S. Take a look at my Events and Showing Page, as I have a few pieces currently in some great shows. I update this page regularly if you ever want to know where to see my work.
A few recent images from January and February. Brrrr!
A Longtime Fascination
The first time I photographed the old homestead, back in 1987; then again as it appeared in 2015.
Years ago, I kept a blog on a free Wordpress site that covered topics ranging from photography to road cycling to my stroke recovery. I’m not really using the site anymore, so I decided to delete it. The following article was originally published in 2015 on that site, but I thought it might be of interest here. The article really traces my fascination with the abandoned and decay back to when I was a teenager first learning to use a film SLR camera. Enjoy.
Then and Again
In the spring of 1987, I was an awkward junior in high school. On a blustery day probably in April or May, I took a road trip with my mom from our hometown of Sheridan, Wyoming, to Laramie, Wyoming, to visit my older brother, who was attending the University of Wyoming. At the time, I was delving into the world of photography for the first time, taking a photography elective at school and learning to see the world from a different perspective. My school-owned 35mm film camera went everywhere I did. It was on this particular trip that Mom stopped along a patch of Interstate 25 near mile marker 228 so I could run up the side of the hill to photograph an old homestead.
I-25 runs north-south beginning in Buffalo, Wyoming, continuing south until its exit into Colorado. I’m just old enough to remember the construction of the interstate, and what it was like to make the 8-hour trip from Sheridan to Denver, CO on the “old” two-lane highway when I was a child. Throughout the state, many sections of the “new” highway rerouted drivers to new landscapes and away from small towns who relied on business from travelers; including the small oil town of Midwest. Today, just before reaching the southbound exit for Midwest at about mile marker 228, lies the remains of the old homestead. It’s easily noticeable from the road because of the two cottonwood trees planted on either side of the house, the only two trees for miles around. But you have stop, get out of the car, and walk to the top of the hill before the old house can really be seen.
The homestead as seen from Google Maps in 2015. Screenshot courtesy Google Maps
I took one or two rolls of film that trip. In those days, film was expensive and shots were planned. You didn’t waste film, because bad shots couldn’t simply be deleted. I processed and printed the pictures myself in the darkroom at my high school. The picture of the house became part of a photo essay about Wyoming landscapes (I got an A), and afterward, was packed away in an accordion folder with most of my other high school photography work for many years.
I now live in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and have made the trip between my home back to Sheridan, where my Mom, sister, and friends still live, many times over many years. Each time, I see the old homestead and have watched with equal parts sadness and fascination as it deteriorates. One year, the porch roof finally fell, and the front door was obscured by the roof blocking the entrance. Several years later, the back wall of the house fell in, and the two side walls remained, precariously holding up what was left of the roof. A few years ago, the tree on the north side of the house died, but remains standing. Finally, in the last year or two, the remaining walls collapsed, leaving a sad reminder of someone’s history at the mercy of the harsh Wyoming elements.
And whose history is it? The old homestead has sparked discussion between me and my husband over the years as we drove by. Who lived there? Someone once took pride in the old place. It’s fenced, complete with welded pipe gates at the front and back of the house. I seem to recall there used to be a clothesline, or the remains of one, in the yard. When was it settled? Why did they leave? Were they ranchers? Did children grow up there? Did they go into Midwest, which is several miles east of the property, to shop and interact with the community? Does someone still own the property? Do they go visit the homestead? Interestingly, although I-25 now runs quite close to the homestead, the older roads do not go near it. The home had to have been accessed from its own road or trail which most likely connected to a county road.
As I look at the picture of the homestead in its current condition, I’m struck by the profound changes of time. Yes, it’s sad that the old house has fallen and one of the trees has died. After all, I can only imagine what kinds of memories were made within the tar-papered walls. Maybe some were good memories, maybe some were not. Perhaps the rooms were lit with oil lamps and warmed with a coal stove as the notorious Wyoming wind shrieked outside during winter. Possibly, hand-sewn cotton-print curtains hung in the windows and billowed softly as a summer breeze cooled the home on hot days. Conceivably, all those memories are still alive in someone’s mind, but they may also be gone forever with the passing of whoever lived there.
There’s something kind of beautiful about how this place, and hundreds of other abandoned places around our state, have reached the end of their lives naturally. Not razed by loud, dusty yellow iron making way for new progress, not remodeled into something newer but not quite its old self, not burned, dismantled, or otherwise assisted into decay by human effort. There it all lays, naked and barren, a pile of lumber and nails not terribly unlike the pile of lumber and nails it began as. It’s not morbid, it’s just the circle of life, Wyoming style. Windblown and forever West.
Postscript: Since I wrote this piece in 2015, the two cottonwoods have now died and fallen, making the homestead even more difficult to spot from the road. Another step taken in the property’s reintegration into the natural earth.
Show Season Recap
I’m nearing the end of my second summer art festival season, and I wanted to share some of the things I’ve learned this year.
I have discovered that one of my favorite things about festivals other than sharing and selling my art is meeting and discovering fellow artists. I have met the most interesting and amazingly creative people at each show. Some of them are becoming friends that I stay in touch with. I have met painters of all kinds of disciplines - acrylic, oils, watercolors, mixed media. I’ve met printmakers, other photographers, sculptors, jewelers, potters and ceramists, and glass artists. I have learned that none of us are in competition with each other, not even within the same discipline. We all have a different vision to share with others.
A typical booth set up this summer with our new interior wall
Mark and I have our booth setup and teardown dialed in pretty well. We came up with an interior 3/4 wall this year, made out of materials we already had, which provides a place to sit and also store items unseen. This has really given my booth a much neater and more “gallery-like” appearance. It takes us about three hours to completely set up, and two hours to tear everything down. We can still fit everything in the back of our Tacoma pickup, too- well, almost. We added a hitch carrier and a couple of aluminum boxes to help out.
I learn a lot from my customers and those who visit my booth. One of the biggest changes this summer was the addition of large format prints - something I was nervous about due to the initial cost investment, but that I was advised to try by several artist friends and also customers. Just after one show and one video on Facebook, I have one large format picture sold and another earmarked. My advisors were all right - I need to go big!
Tent, awning, interior mesh walls and poles, weight, tables, flip racks, interior grid wall, all accessories, and yes, all the artwork fits!
There are two challenges I will continue to work on. One is making the guess as to what customers want and how that balances with what I want to show and share. My backyard wildlife, such as the squirrels, bees, dragonfly, and fox continue to draw attention regularly. But if you know me, my heart is in the more emotional shots, the moods captured during storms and with the still life of abandoned prairie buildings and cars/trucks. I get it, they’re moody and pretty, but not necessarily something people want to hang on their wall.
My other challenge is finding a balance between our show schedule, the painting and printmaking that I’m loving, and getting out to shoot. When we attend a weekend show, that’s actually about five days consisting of show prep and packing, traveling, the show itself, then another day after to unpack, update and put away inventory, etc. This little hobby of mine has become very busy! That doesn’t leave much time to take a day-long drive and go shooting somewhere.
Please note that I am not complaining about anything! I am well aware and prayerfully grateful for this wonderful stage in our lives that we can participate in this art festival adventure. We hope to continue and even do more in the future. I can tell you that we don’t do it for the money. Anything I sell goes directly to pay for printing costs, booth fees and travel expenses. I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything. The unique opportunity I have to bring some joy to someone, to see them smile at my Peek-a-Boo squirrel or marvel at the dragonfly, or remember an old house or truck their grandpa used to have, is not lost on me. I was given a gift - a good “eye” as they say and the ability to express myself through drawing and painting. It’s up to me to share that God-given gift with others. Here’s a few of the painting and printmaking things I’ve been learning this summer:
Our world needs more positivity to offset the darkness that sometimes seems to overwhelm us. If you have time, go to an art festival or art show soon. Let the work you see soothe your senses or prickle your curiosity and contemplation. If you have some dollars to spare, support an artist you’re taken with by purchasing something meaningful to you. You won’t regret the purchase, and you can enjoy it every day in your own home or workplace. Art is important!
Hope to see you at a show soon.
Taking Stock
The last couple of months have been a little different than normal, as my mom had a brief illness that left her in need of a little extra help from March-June. My siblings and I took turns staying with her, running errands, taking her to doctors appointments, and helping her around the house. The last trip to my childhood home lasted three weeks, and I returned home for good about mid-June. Thankfully, Mom, at 86, is again independent and happily improving every day in her own home. We are all grateful.
The only painting I did while at my Mom’s.
I had great aspirations to do art; take photos, paint, sketch, and write while I stayed with my mom. I packed accordingly and brought work with me to do. Alas, not only did I not really have time for any of that (being a caretaker is a busy job!), but I just wasn’t emotionally invested in it. I feel like I’ve been in a funk for a few months now. At first I began to get upset about it. “I’m not posting new work” or “I don’t feel inspired,” were things I told myself. “Why don’t I feel inspired? I should be doing something!” I chastised myself. What I’ve come to understand is the time away from my creative process was not necessarily a bad thing. I was absolutely where I needed to be while I was helping my mom, and that was the most important thing I could be doing. Anything else was secondary. In a way, the difficult decisions regarding her healthcare we made together as a family unit, the responsibility I felt while caring for her and the bonding I experienced with my siblings was an important aspect of the assessment I find myself in now. It’s a good time to take a deep breath and take stock.
2024 Booth Setup
The rest of the summer will be quick and busy. I have been accepted into some great art festivals, and I’m literally taking stock of my stock…ordering prints, making sure I have everything I need for my setup, and updating my catalog. Participating in an art festival and having a good-looking booth with plenty of things to engage potential customers is no easy feat! As I enter my second season of doing this, I again reflect on the respect I have for fellow artists and the work it takes to do festivals. There’s a formula of sales vs. costs, travel expenses, and time that goes into each show opportunity. I am still figuring out my formula, but I’m really looking forward to my season and the opportunity to engage with photography and art lovers.
A Columbine taken in Colorado after a rainstorm
Another aspect of my self-assessment is the toe-dipping I’ve doing in other art media. From watercolor and acrylic paints (yikes, acrylics are not my favorite so far) to the new oil paints I have waiting for me in my art desk, to the linocut pads with their little pink shards scattered all over my work area; I am keeping an open mind as to what my “thing” might be beyond photography. For many years I have longed to be an artist, but I didn’t know when or how or in what medium. Now that I have the freedom to do anything I’d like, it’s an exciting but overwhelming prospect. I don’t want to be a “jack of all trades, master of none,” but rather, I want to focus on photography and perhaps one or two other mediums where I can find my groove. Somehow, I think there’s a way to marry my love for photography with my other art interests. I don’t know what that looks like yet, but the the anticipation of discovery is invigorating.
Cheers to taking stock: good summer, good discoveries, good downtime, good people and good things to come!
Grateful Journey
Me doing one of my favorite things in the world - playing around with my camera in the desert. Arches National Park
March was a very busy month for my photography, in yet more ways I didn’t expect. Along with my solo show at Blue Door Arts, three of my works are part of the CFD Old West Museum’s annual (43rd) Western Spirit Art Show and Sale.
I love to attend the artist workshop as well as the show opening for the Western Spirit show. This is my second year. The artist workshop is an awesome way to meet other artists in the show, as well as hear from experienced artists and gallery owners regarding everything from marketing to framing. The networking opportunities continued at the show opening, where both last year and this year, I met and connected with some great people. Last year, I met an artist who has now become a close, important friend. She and I learned that we both had strokes on the same day (how weird is that?!), though hers was a couple of years after mine. Our similarities in character and personality drew us together like magnets. I treasure her friendship. This year, I met even more artists and hung out with others I’ve met previously. This is not a world where I feel out of place or apprehensive about participating. We are all lovers of art, creating in different ways, but joined together by a common bond of expressing ourselves through color, process, and imagination. As if all that artsy camaraderie weren’t enough, I was shocked to hear my name announced with the group of winners for the show at the opening! My photograph, “Miner’s Boots,” was named “Best Photograph” at the show. It was a real honor.
Mark in the slot canyon we visited near Kanab, Utah. Ancient Anasazi steps can be seen notched into the rock above and to the right of Mark.
I got my annual winter itch in March to get out of town for a while and head south to red rock country: Utah. I dearly love the desert, and my yearning to be in it grows stronger with time. Being in the midst of the red rocks fuels my soul and makes me feel whole and ready to face the rest of the winter when I return home. Poor Mark, he puts up with my wanderlust for the desert and tolerates me as I gather books and read more about this beautiful land. But hey! I got to visit a slot canyon for the first time and it was every bit as incredible as I imagined it would be. And we had a terrific guide who let us meander and didn’t hurry us. What a magical experience.
I’m ever so grateful to Mark for following along on my search for something in the desert I haven’t found yet, but for which I enjoy the hunt.
“Wilderness is not a luxury but a necessity of the human spirit, and as vital to our lives as water and good bread.”
-Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire
As March passed and now April has begun, I’m starting to shift focus to the summer festival season. As of today, I’ve been accepted or invited to participate in five shows, with several others I’m waiting for notification about. Beginning on Memorial Day Weekend, I’ll be in Brigham City, Utah for the Art on Main Festival. In mid-July, I’ll have a display at the Wyoming International Film Festival. Late July will be a busy one with two consecutive weekends at the Pearl Street Arts Festival in Boulder, CO, and the Art Fair Jackson Hole in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Labor Day weekend will take us to Dillon, CO for the art festival there.
I’m also enjoying dabbling in some painting again. I haven’t painted oils since college, which was a minute ago! I purchased some water-based oils that I’m hoping to have time for very soon. But a super fun painting medium I’m currently learning is watercolor. I don’t recall ever learning watercolor in my college art classes, so my foray into them now is new and rewarding. I don’t know where the urge to paint again will lead me, but I am happy with whatever outcome that might be.
And so I write this today with gratefulness for my journey. I am working hard at this new “career” I find myself in, but not in a stressful, burning-the-candle-at-both-ends kind of way. It’s a steady pace. Looking for and responding to opportunities, being mindful about time for art every day if possible, and immersing myself daily in a positive, productive lifestyle, thought and learning, and social interaction are markers of my overall sense of place and purpose. None of this would be possible without faith and prayer, either. Mentioned last here, but first and foremost in my mind every day I wake. I am grateful for opportunities and failures, new experiences and familiar ones, the love and friendship present in my life, and the grounded roots my faith provides me to weather the cloudy days.
Mark gazing out on the beautiful Needles District in Canyonlands National Park, Utah.
Art in the Heart
I had a lot of professional excitement this month in photography. It seems a little strange to put the label, ‘career,’ on the lifelong passion that I hold so dear. But a career it has become.
A career in photography has a lot of different variations. There are portrait photographers, wedding and event photographers, fashion photographers, travel photographers, commercial photographers, photojournalists, freelancers…the list goes on and on. There are also photographers like myself who, if asked to categorize the type of work they do, would call themselves a fine art photographer. What’s the difference, one might ask? The difference lies in where the heart is, and in what drives the brain. Every photographer who focuses on a specific discipline puts their whole heart into it. There’s no doubt that photographers of all kinds can perform multiple types of photography - I can and I do (although I have turned down wedding requests- I know myself enough to know I couldn’t handle the anxiety of photographing such a high-stakes event). I certainly enjoy doing portrait sessions and love the opportunity to photograph small events or respond to friends’ requests for special projects. But my heart is in the art.
The more I focus my energy on the learning and absorption of all things art, the more attentive I am to improving my skills and growing my knowledge. The more I focus, the less I let the shadows of doubt gathered at the corners of my mental viewfinder cloud my thinking. “Am I good enough?” “What if this is it, and I don’t produce another good image?” “What if people don’t like what I’m doing?” All those irrational and maddening doubts happen to many artists. It’s important that artists believe in themselves, no matter the rejections experienced, and no matter the negative thoughts we allow to surface. If I don’t believe in myself, how can I ask others to believe in me and the art I’m creating?
One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned so far is to trust what I feel about an image, and not what I think might be popular or what might sell. One such image was taken a few years ago and added to my catalog, but I didn’t want to show it for a long time because I worried it might not be well received. “Too abstract,” I thought. “Too atypical.” Last year, despite my self-doubt, I chose it to be my juried piece at the St. George Art Festival, my very first juried festival. The piece won First Place in Photography! That was an amazing validation of my instinct! This piece has been juried into a couple of other exhibits, and I’ve been thrilled to see and hear people’s reactions to it. Just last week, this same piece was awarded the Governor’s Choice Award along with a Capitol Art Collection Purchase Award. The Governor and First Lady chose my piece, among all the amazing artwork in the exhibit. I was so surprised and humbled. Additionally, Sunset Calm (aka Jackson Reservoir Sunset) will now be part of the permanent art collection belonging to the Wyoming State Museum.
So it seems I have added a couple of notches to my endeavors in art photography. These accolades are very meaningful to me. I reflect often on what I’m doing and ask, through prayer, if I’m where I need to be. So far, the answer comes back ‘Yes. Keep at it.’ The reward is not monetary, and that’s ok. The reward of knowing that an image I created using my camera as the tool meant something to someone -touched their emotions, made them feel something positive, cannot be replicated in many other ways. I use the art in my heart to reach someone else’s heart. That’s powerful!
My other excitement this month has been my solo show hosted by Blue Door Arts in Cheyenne. I was thrilled to be asked to be the guest artist there for February and March. The opening night during Friday Art Walk was wonderful, and I was able to visit with old friends, new friends, and art lovers alike. My show continues this month, with another Friday Art Walk coming up on March 1, from 5-8 pm. If you were unable to come in February, I hope you can come on March 1.
Additionally, if you’re out and about for Friday Art Walk on March 1, you can see even more of my work at Clay Paper Scissors Gallery, where “In The Garden” will be opening. Stop by and see all the wonderful pieces to get you excited for Spring. Boss Lady and Don’t Leave Me Beehind from my bee series are part of the exhibit.
Time to Move Forward
It’s a good day to write and reflect. This year started a little strange for us. My father-in-law, Mark’s stepfather, passed away after a short-lived battle with liver cancer on Christmas Eve. We were all expecting to spend Christmas Day together, and he was looking forward to seeing our son, who flew home for Christmas, and our daughter, whom he had just seen a month earlier at Thanksgiving. Our family sort of floated through the holiday season in a weird state with all that happened, and we’re all still processing it.
Just a week before Christmas, I broke my foot; not even a story-worthy cause! Nonetheless, I am in an AirCast boot and pretty limited on how much I can walk until the end of January. Between the recent injury and Larry’s illness for several months prior, I haven’t been out shooting for a while. And the less time I am behind the lens, the more I feel disconnected from my art. I haven’t done any sketching, journaling, or much of anything art-minded lately.
Steamboat Snow Fence, Big Horn Mountains, November 2023
I recently sat down at the computer and went through the hundreds of photos I took in 2023. I came up with about 50 that I liked out of all those. Of that 50, I’ll probably only add a portion to my permanent catalog. I look at this collection of chosen and see some growth; using new techniques and the new gear I’ve been able to purchase after the Great Water Disaster (a story for another day). I see some recurring themes; abandoned houses with stormy skies, and gnarly old trees in wildflower fields. They’re familiar-themed but different from what I’ve taken before. I also see a new area that I want to explore more this year. Black and whites - old school film as well as digital black and white. We’re so immersed in a real and digital world of color, that I have forgotten how beautiful the simplicity of black and white photos are.
Compositionally, shooting in black and white is different than color. Contrast and shadow are vital. Some of my nature subjects like flowers and pretty fall grasses look like a washed-out field of gray in black and white. I am interested in going back to my roots, back to the basics of black and white, and rediscovering the beauty of composition, shape, line, and contrast. Steamboat Snow Fence is an image I very much like. I will have it available online soon.
My father-in-law, Larry, was a brilliant man in his prime. He held a doctorate in wildlife biology, was an accomplished scientist, college professor, business entrepreneur, and, as anyone who knew him will tell you, wine connoisseur. He was generous with me in many ways, and I came to have a special bond with him over several years when I helped him produce his two books. We worked well together, and I take pride in my part in helping him create the two volumes of stories that are now his life’s anthology. He was also an amateur photographer and an art lover and encouraged me to pursue my passion. I gave him several prints over the years, but his favorite was “Winter Lean,” shown above. That photo holds a special place for me now, knowing how much he enjoyed it.
2024 has started a little rough, but I think good things are ahead. I will find my mojo again. I think about Larry’s legacy and that turns into thinking about what I want my art legacy to be. This last Christmas, I had three friends and clients who custom-ordered specific photos for their loved ones. All three gift recipients were very happy, “thrilled” as I was told, with their gifts. They were photos that meant something to the recipients, evoked an emotional response, and made them feel happy or reminded them of a special person in their lives. I can’t think of a better art legacy than that.
Goodbye 2023, and all the difficulties as well as good memories. Time to move forward!
Close to Home
Sometimes the most interesting art can be found in your own back yard. Literally.
As a new artist to the summer art festival circuit this past summer, I’ve learned a lot about all the work it takes to show one’s art at an event. Each show opened my eyes to new tidbits of information, industry tips from other artists, and the ins and outs of consumer behavior. One of the most interesting observations I made was that some of my most popular images are the ones I’ve captured close to home.
We live in a 1940 Tudor cottage in a historic neighborhood filled with mature trees and adjacent to a beautiful city park and a small lake. We love it here. I can often be seen sporting my camera around the house, in the yard, or out on walks with my husband and dog. It’s on these short jaunts that I frequently find interesting compositions.
Boss Lady
One of the most popular series of images I started showing this year is the Bee series. The birdbath that sits just outside our front door in a perennial flower bed became a favorite watering hole to some honey bees. The bees visited every day, all summer long. We had never seen so many lined up on the edge of the birdbath. I love hearing people’s stories and memories about bees or beekeeping when they see my images.
Alley Squirrel
Alley Squirrel was taken in the alley behind our house. The squirrel in the photo made a nest in a small box nailed to a utility pole. It was wary of my presence when I approached with my long lens but tolerated me long enough to capture a memorable expression.
Sparrow Convention
One of my newest images, Sparrow Convention, will be exhibited for the first time at the 43rd Western Spirit Art Show and Sale at the CFD Old West Museum this coming March. I took this image right out my dining room window.
Winter Lean
Four Seasons
The city park and lake in our neighborhood is host to a plethora of urban wildlife. Sometimes though, the weather creates unique opportunities that go beyond the norm. One such day was very foggy and cold, with hoarfrost covering all the trees and shrubs. The strong contrast between white fog and branches and the dark, wet tree trunks allowed me to notice three old, wind-shaped cottonwood trees as if I’d seen them for the first time. Winter Lean won Best of Show in an art show in Brigham, Utah, and has been shown at other exhibits. I was so interested in the winter trees, I decided to create a four-season retrospective of them. The Four Seasons is now available as a limited edition giclée.
Blue-Tipped Danner #2
One of my most memorable backyard experiences occurred at a previous home, during a summer with large wildfires in the area. Our skies were thick with smoke for weeks. One evening, a flight of Blue-Tipped Danner dragonflies landed in our chokecherry trees. They hung out for several hours before sunset. We had never seen so many at once before, or since. Dragonflies are very symbolic to many people. I count myself extremely lucky to have experienced such an event.
As an artist, it’s easy for me to get caught up in dreams of travel, thinking of places I’d like to photograph or things I’d like to see. But more often than not, the most wonderful occurrences have happened right where I live, close to home.
