The Highs and Lows

"High Tide: Padilla Bay" 18x36" oil pastel Kathleen Faulkner

"Low Tide: Padilla Bay" 18x36" oil pastel Kathleen Faulkner

Padilla Bay is on the way out of town.  I've passed by it more times than I can count.  I always look and it's always different. 

Padilla Bay is an estuary.  The bay is filled with sediment from the Skagit River making the bottom very shallow. When the tide is out, the whole bay empties and at high tide it floods.  

One third of Puget Sound's eelgrass grows here.  The bay is covered with it:  nearly 8,000 acres.  Eelgrass is valuable because it is habitat for millions of critters.  It's used as a nursery for salmon, crab, perch and herring as well as home to worms, shrimp, clams and other invertebrates which, in turn, are food for herons, eagles, otters and seals.  It's a whole community unto itself.  

When I'm passing it I usually don't think about all the living that's going on there.  I'm looking at the patterns and contrast and color.  I'm thinking about how beautiful it is and how lucky I am to be able to see it whenever I want.  I'm also thinking of it as my very own personal tide table.

Down at the Wetlands

"Down at the Wetlands"  oil pastel 23x24" Kathleen Faulkner

Spring has arrived.  It changes our mood:  we all wake up!

The frogs are quite out of control down at the wetlands.  Theirs is a sound I look forward to every year.  It is so hopeful.

Standing in the bog with eyes closed, I am blasted by the audio equivalent of visual overload.  It is a sound that permeates the psyche like that favorite song we play loudly over and over  because it touches us deep where we live.

Frogs are an indicator species.  They absorb water and anything else that happens to be in that water, through their skin.  Here in Cascadia it's the Pacific Tree frog (among others).  Frogs are in decline and once they're gone, start packing your bags because we'll be gone, too,  shortly thereafter.

In the meantime though, my mood is brightened by the hopefulness of crazy frog sounds in the springtime down at the wetlands.

Pulse of the Planet

Tidal Marsh

"Tidal Marsh" oil and regular pastel, 

charcoal, gesso, 9x9", Kathleen Faulkner

It was an adventure.  We headed out early. 

Muted colors, bird sounds and the smell of salty sea grass hosting billions of organisms.. Standing in the midst of it all,  I could hear "it" living, breathing.

I lost my boot but got it back and, once home, pulling it off, I was struck by the blackness of the mud  blacker than the darkest farmland dirt   almost blue. 

"Salt marshes are one of the most biologically productive habitats on the planet,  rivaling tropical rain forests."  Wikipedia

"A tidal marsh is: soft, sticky, living tissue that grows on you.  Once into tidal marshes, you can only extract your person.  The mind continues to wander through with long, complicated, sinuous, personal thoughts"  Josh Collins 1996

Give a little bit

"Craft Island" oil and regular pastel, charcoal, gesso,  9x9" Kathleen Faulkner

There are two schools of thought in the art world:  keep your secrets and make it all a mystery or give it  away,  share.   

One day I was visiting Dana at the Edison Eye and Joel Brock stopped in.  His studio is in back and he invited me over.  "I want to show you something."  He said.  Little did I know that what he was about to share with me might just change my way of thinking about my materials.
He proceeded to demonstrate his technique, and then sent me home with supplies for practice.  He told me to come back when I had some pieces to show him in this new technique.  I haven't shown him yet.. but it's in the plan.

It's hard to feel generous during these uncertain times.  Who knows what's to happen.  You can't eat art. We're all just trying to stay alive and survival is a powerful force.  I think, though, that giving really does come back and, although that's not the point, it's a nice bonus.  

Thank you, Joel, for your generosity.

Full Moon, High Tide

"High Tide: Guemes Channel" 23x21" oil pastel, Kathleen Faulkner

We're in the midst of a full moon.  A lot has happened this last week. Our artist friend, John Simon passed, the Olympics finished, another earthquake and the weather has been unusual.  

Some say that a full moon* has no effect on us, that there is no scientific proof.  Am I melancholy because of the moon or could it be that the death of a friend tends to dull those rose colored glasses I love to wear, exposing life and death in all it's reality?  

Maybe it's a little of both.

*  http://www.equinoxastrology.com/LunarLore.htm

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?   

The Magic Skagit

"Skagit Fields"  9x11" oil pastel  Kathleen Faulkner

I live in the Magic Skagit.  It is called this for many reasons but the richness and fertility of the dirt is part of it.  The earth here is special.  It feeds people, literally and figuratively.  

It collects artistic talent.

I moved here to be able to disappear into a forest within a matter of minutes rather than hours.  Although my world revolves around art, I wasn't thinking about the artistic history here when I settled.  I was thinking about the trees and I was struck by the vast areas of farmland in between.. and the colors:  grey sky and green earth.

I was also thinking about the sense of community one gets when not living in a city.

Life just seemed easier and it still does.  I'm grateful everyday.

This area has been considered home to such artists as Morris Graves, Guy Anderson, Richard Gilkey and Clayton James*, who, by the way, is still alive at the tender age of 91 and still painting.  This is where Tom Robbins lives, the place where Fishtown became famous and our old friend, Robert Sund, wrote a lot of his poetry.  Now,  new generations of artists are sprouting, growing and thriving.

Food, art and poetry in a magic spot on the Salish Sea.   Who could ask for more?

*Clayton James

  Richard Gilkey

  Morris Graves
  Guy Anderson
  Tom Robbins
  Robert Sund

Aspen

          **


One day, hiking around in Mazama, Washington,  I found myself in the midst of a "forest" of Aspen.  It was an odd feeling, as if I were intruding upon someone's personal space.  It so struck me that I came home and did these three pieces.

Aspen is considered to be an Indicator of Ancient Woodlands.

*Clonal Colony is a group of genetically identical individuals that have grown in a given location,  all originating from a single ancestor.

*A group of 47,000 Quaking Aspen clones in the Wasatch Mountains, Utah, is sometimes considered the world's largest organism by mass, covering 110 acres.

I think that qualifies this tree to have some magic, at least.


*from Widipedia, the free encyclopedia

** "Aspen", "Aspen II", "Aspen III", oil pastels, each 23x21" Kathleen Faulkner

Madrone

"Madrone" 30x22" oil pastel;
Kathleen Faulkner

Sometimes, in this part of the world, green can become overwhelming. The job of madrone is visual relief.

Aloof and mysterious, madrone is not interested in being domesticated.  It does as it pleases, is messy yet beautiful, tossing it's paper thin bark and bright red berries all over the place.  

I love that bark.

Bitter Cherry

Prunus Emarginata

Bitter Cherry

Steve at Dunbar Gardens told me about a native species of cherry.  The fruit is not edible by humans but the birds love it and it is a real beauty, don't you think?  

Cherry

"Cherry" 17x17" oil pastel;  Kathleen Faulkner

This is my newest oil pastel.  It is one of many in the "Tree" series, which I'll be posting from time to time. 

Although cherry trees are not native to this area, they do grow well here and seem to enjoy teasing us with  their early blooms.  Some around the area are blooming now.

Much of my inspiration comes from the area in which I live.  There is magic here and the light is special, too.  We are in the midst of the largest temperate rainforest in the world.  There's everything from snow covered peaks on down to the salty sea   Salish Sea, that is.  

Our friend Robert Sund called this area "Ish River country".   

One can always tell the tourists by how they pronounce the names of places around here.  

Welcome to Art Talk.

The mission: To get inspired, motivated or, at least, arouse our curiosity regarding the world of ART.

In the days ahead, I will attempt to do my part to fulfill this mission; I hope you will join me.