Showing posts with label wilderness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wilderness. Show all posts

Friday, June 7, 2024

soft green

'The Wilds' 12x12" oil pastel on panel;
Kathleen Faulkner

I spent a lot of time in the woods as a kid.

I always imagined the moss as a blanket 
that I could use if I were ever lost.

I still think that
when I see the large, green,
beautiful
carpet of living
earth.




 

Thursday, July 27, 2023

It's a good spot

'The Sticks' 9x12" ink, colored pencil; Kathleen Faulkner
 

A friend said that there is not much 'wilderness' left. 
He felt that humans' management of forest lands
deems them no longer virgin and not truly wild.
I agree.

I walk in Washington Park
This area is regularly maintained
yet
highly beneficial to my good health.

I am grateful.






Sunday, September 16, 2018

Not fake news

'Threatened' 11x14" oil pastel;  Kathleen Faulkner


We all love the owls.

Most owls live in forests
The Northern Spotted owl
lives in old growth forests

but we're cutting them all down.






Saturday, May 20, 2017

details

'An Organic Matter'  16x16" oil pastel;  Kathleen Faulkner

It's usually overwhelmingly green in the forest.
Sometimes I have to stop and look in order to see.




Sunday, August 29, 2010

Ghosts

'Wildflower earrings' sterling silver; Kathleen Faulkner



When I was a child, my dad and I would hike deep into the wilderness.  He was an obsessed outdoors man, among other things, so I spent a lot of time in forests.  I saw many things during those times: lots of bear,  and one up close and personal,  elk all around me, many elk,  critters,  birds,  old growth forests,  billions of wildflowers and on and on and on.

One time, while hiking, we came upon Ghost Pipes.  Pale, dreamlike fairy tales from some other world.  I was fascinated.  My father said to me, "You'll probably never see these again, they're very rare."

I've thought about them much over the years, how lucky I was to see something so rare and the impression they left,  as if they had become attached to my very being.

One day, while walking in Washington Park,  there they were:  Ghost Pipes!  I was stopped in my tracks, my mind bursting with memories and emotion.  I wanted to shout out, "Hey, Dad,  Look!  Ghost Pipes!  After all these years I finally see them again!"  Instead I only thought it.

Maybe ghosts see and hear everything, even thoughts if we want them to..




Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Chuckanut


"Chuckanut Series" 20.5x20" oil pastel Kathleen Faulkner


There is a place where the mountains kiss the sea.  

It is one of my favorite spots and it starts a twenty minute journey north.   Chuckanut Drive is spectacular, when it's open.  There are slides regularly so, quite often, the road is closed.  It is a narrow, winding road that can be dangerous at times but worth the effort.

It begins at Blanchard, a very small town that, at one time, prospered through timber but now is almost a ghost.  It lies at the base of Blanchard Mountain.   This area is a destination for many with it's excellent trails, vistas and bat caves.  Down at the water, one can buy shellfish and celebrate every July at the Bivalve Bash. There is still some old growth left, as well.  

A movement to save this mountain from logging has been underway for awhile.  Unfortunately, the southern tip of it is getting the ax.  

How does one explain the importance of wilderness to those who only see the money to be made by destroying it?