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Between January – May 2012, as artists worked on their projects, each was asked to submit an update describing their work in progress. Below are the writeups from each artist.
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Rachel Strickland www.spontaneouscinema.com
working title: Fishing at West Cliff or Semiotics is for Cinema
as Ornithology is for the Birds – Field Notes of a Cinematographer
by Rachel Strickland with Josh Adams
The verb for what one does with a movie camera? It is not a matter of aiming and firing. Truth flies off again, uninjured.
The gaze of the seabird biologist, seldom allowed to mingle with subjects of his investigation, is trained on something that develops at a great distance or otherwise out of reach.
What are the search images that organize his attention?
The camera’s point of view does not imitate your garden hose, nor does it replicate mechanics of your eyes. Human vision, surrounded by the scene, is optimized for tracking motion. A camera is a framing device that samples fragments of this vista, thereby missing most of the action. Think of trying to accumulate an impression of the whole situation while you are holed up in a submarine looking through a periscope.
“The visual field, I think, is simply the pictorial mode of visual perception, and it depends in the last analysis not on conditions of stimulation but on conditions of attitude. The visual field is the product of the chronic habit of civilized men of seeing the world as a picture. . . So far from being the basis, it is a kind of alternative to ordinary perception.”
–James J. Gibson, 1952
working title: Fishing at West Cliff or Semiotics is for Cinema
as Ornithology is for the Birds – Field Notes of a Cinematographer
by Rachel Strickland with Josh Adams
The verb for what one does with a movie camera? It is not a matter of aiming and firing. Truth flies off again, uninjured.
The gaze of the seabird biologist, seldom allowed to mingle with subjects of his investigation, is trained on something that develops at a great distance or otherwise out of reach.
What are the search images that organize his attention?
The camera’s point of view does not imitate your garden hose, nor does it replicate mechanics of your eyes. Human vision, surrounded by the scene, is optimized for tracking motion. A camera is a framing device that samples fragments of this vista, thereby missing most of the action. Think of trying to accumulate an impression of the whole situation while you are holed up in a submarine looking through a periscope.
“The visual field, I think, is simply the pictorial mode of visual perception, and it depends in the last analysis not on conditions of stimulation but on conditions of attitude. The visual field is the product of the chronic habit of civilized men of seeing the world as a picture. . . So far from being the basis, it is a kind of alternative to ordinary perception.”
–James J. Gibson, 1952
Ann Altstatt www.annamicaaltstatt.com
My background in both printmaking and geology has trained me to think in layers—layers of rock, layers of events, layers of ideas, layers of ink on a page. In my artwork, I am often drawing inspiration from scientific inquiry, reframing and recombining it with other ways of knowing, ranging from the mystical to the mundane. I feel excited and lucky both to be a participant in this project, and to have been paired with researcher Samuel Johnson.
Sam is a marine geologist—he studies worlds doubly hidden. Not only are the structures underground and stories spanning millions of years, but Sam strives to image and dissect details of parts of the earth that are obscured under the ocean’s surface. Using remote sensing technologies, Sam creates high-resolution seafloor maps and analyses their structural geology. Much of the work that he shared with me at our first meeting engaged my imagination; but it was a few days later, on a hike high in the hills overlooking Año Nuevo, that I realized the focus I wanted to take with this project. I recalled Sam mentioning how his recent work has led him to new understanding of instances in which the offshore structural geology—faults and folds in rock—directly forms the shapes of the coastline itself. Looking out over the coast, I had the visceral realization that my experience of this place was, in part, the manifestation of structures and mechanisms which cannot be directly observed.
To the geologist’s eye, the landscape is visible in terms of maps, history and underlying structures. We see time stacked up: moments just like the present, stretching back into time, their layered traces building up a story at this particular point in space. Starting with a base layer of the raw data Sam uses to build his map-understanding—a static-like pattern unintelligible to the untrained eye—I am building a layered, visually-woven surface with elements of landscape, maps, observed ephemera of place, and the diagrammatic language of unseen processes at work. In this way, I am striving to reconcile the knowing of maps and mechanisms with another (perhaps more commonly shared) experience of being in a landscape: the shapes of bluffs, rocks, and ocean; the way light changes moment to moment; observations of weather, wild flowers and things on the ground.
My background in both printmaking and geology has trained me to think in layers—layers of rock, layers of events, layers of ideas, layers of ink on a page. In my artwork, I am often drawing inspiration from scientific inquiry, reframing and recombining it with other ways of knowing, ranging from the mystical to the mundane. I feel excited and lucky both to be a participant in this project, and to have been paired with researcher Samuel Johnson.
Sam is a marine geologist—he studies worlds doubly hidden. Not only are the structures underground and stories spanning millions of years, but Sam strives to image and dissect details of parts of the earth that are obscured under the ocean’s surface. Using remote sensing technologies, Sam creates high-resolution seafloor maps and analyses their structural geology. Much of the work that he shared with me at our first meeting engaged my imagination; but it was a few days later, on a hike high in the hills overlooking Año Nuevo, that I realized the focus I wanted to take with this project. I recalled Sam mentioning how his recent work has led him to new understanding of instances in which the offshore structural geology—faults and folds in rock—directly forms the shapes of the coastline itself. Looking out over the coast, I had the visceral realization that my experience of this place was, in part, the manifestation of structures and mechanisms which cannot be directly observed.
To the geologist’s eye, the landscape is visible in terms of maps, history and underlying structures. We see time stacked up: moments just like the present, stretching back into time, their layered traces building up a story at this particular point in space. Starting with a base layer of the raw data Sam uses to build his map-understanding—a static-like pattern unintelligible to the untrained eye—I am building a layered, visually-woven surface with elements of landscape, maps, observed ephemera of place, and the diagrammatic language of unseen processes at work. In this way, I am striving to reconcile the knowing of maps and mechanisms with another (perhaps more commonly shared) experience of being in a landscape: the shapes of bluffs, rocks, and ocean; the way light changes moment to moment; observations of weather, wild flowers and things on the ground.
Adam Cardello www.adamcardello.com
The natural accumulation of sediment over time creates powerful linear and geometric compositions, forms and structures. Some of the most familiar of these are generally experienced as sensations underneath our feet: the undulating sand ripple, wet by the most recent ebbing wave, or the scalding sun-scorched sand dune, the heat of which compels us to hastily hop across. However, it is important to remind ourselves to think about how our surroundings were and are created, and that these forms deserve a deeper (visual) examination.
These landscapes are an interesting creation of years of accumulated environmental history; the circumstances of these events hidden beneath an opaque layer of earth, yet remaining there to be unburied and discovered.
USGS sedimentologist David Rubin’s research provides invaluable insight into this realm. He has created tools to observe sediment in motion over set intervals, developed three-dimensional animated diagrams that reconstruct bed forms and structures, and written analytic forecasting procedures to distinguish certain variables in sand ripples and other spatial patterns. As I learned about his work, the near perfection of linear composition in his photographs of these sand ripples evoked a strong internal response in me. I am attempting to recreate (much like his research can be used to recreate past environments) this sensation of natural composition—utilizing line, movement, and color—while preserving some evidence of the image’s intuitive development.
I am interested in methods, repetition, processes and layers. I create work that is gradually constructed, much like a sedimentary structure: Images that evolve in response to the conditions of the moment and my environment. Images with their own language of time and space – where new truths grow organically from responses to yesterday, not replacing them with a new absoluteness, but creating a threshold where there exists multiple validities.
The natural accumulation of sediment over time creates powerful linear and geometric compositions, forms and structures. Some of the most familiar of these are generally experienced as sensations underneath our feet: the undulating sand ripple, wet by the most recent ebbing wave, or the scalding sun-scorched sand dune, the heat of which compels us to hastily hop across. However, it is important to remind ourselves to think about how our surroundings were and are created, and that these forms deserve a deeper (visual) examination.
These landscapes are an interesting creation of years of accumulated environmental history; the circumstances of these events hidden beneath an opaque layer of earth, yet remaining there to be unburied and discovered.
USGS sedimentologist David Rubin’s research provides invaluable insight into this realm. He has created tools to observe sediment in motion over set intervals, developed three-dimensional animated diagrams that reconstruct bed forms and structures, and written analytic forecasting procedures to distinguish certain variables in sand ripples and other spatial patterns. As I learned about his work, the near perfection of linear composition in his photographs of these sand ripples evoked a strong internal response in me. I am attempting to recreate (much like his research can be used to recreate past environments) this sensation of natural composition—utilizing line, movement, and color—while preserving some evidence of the image’s intuitive development.
I am interested in methods, repetition, processes and layers. I create work that is gradually constructed, much like a sedimentary structure: Images that evolve in response to the conditions of the moment and my environment. Images with their own language of time and space – where new truths grow organically from responses to yesterday, not replacing them with a new absoluteness, but creating a threshold where there exists multiple validities.
Nanette Wylde www.preneo.org/nwylde
When Ann Gibbs and I met she told me she was a mapmaker. I am a lifelong fan of maps in all of their many forms so this totally delighted me. I even distinctly remember learning to read and make maps in elementary school. It was serendipity that I had given a group of my students a conceptual focus of mapping and cartography this term. So maps, mapping and mapmaking have been in my mind these past three months.
Ann was very generous in sharing imagery, notes and text from her research—so much so that it was daunting to know where to start. Her photographs of the Alaskan coastline were so beautiful and mesmerizing in themselves that I didn’t feel I could touch them.
I am currently working on three projects for earth•science•art. The first and almost completed is “Compass.” This work is being realized as a flexigon, which is a folding—or perhaps an unfolding—book structure. On each of the four faces is a cardinal direction, layered with an image of a compass rose, and a compass-based quote.
I am also working on a hand-made book tentatively titled On Mapping. And I have begun research on an augmented-reality work which is inspired by Ann's mapping of Hawaiian coral reefs. Augmented reality, which is relatively new to most gallery exhibitions, allows visitors to experience the work via a mobile devices such as smart phones or ipads. I hope to bring some of the life forms from the coral reef into the gallery environment using this technology.
When Ann Gibbs and I met she told me she was a mapmaker. I am a lifelong fan of maps in all of their many forms so this totally delighted me. I even distinctly remember learning to read and make maps in elementary school. It was serendipity that I had given a group of my students a conceptual focus of mapping and cartography this term. So maps, mapping and mapmaking have been in my mind these past three months.
Ann was very generous in sharing imagery, notes and text from her research—so much so that it was daunting to know where to start. Her photographs of the Alaskan coastline were so beautiful and mesmerizing in themselves that I didn’t feel I could touch them.
I am currently working on three projects for earth•science•art. The first and almost completed is “Compass.” This work is being realized as a flexigon, which is a folding—or perhaps an unfolding—book structure. On each of the four faces is a cardinal direction, layered with an image of a compass rose, and a compass-based quote.
I am also working on a hand-made book tentatively titled On Mapping. And I have begun research on an augmented-reality work which is inspired by Ann's mapping of Hawaiian coral reefs. Augmented reality, which is relatively new to most gallery exhibitions, allows visitors to experience the work via a mobile devices such as smart phones or ipads. I hope to bring some of the life forms from the coral reef into the gallery environment using this technology.
Margaret Niven www.margaretniven.com
USGS geologist, Peter Dartnell maps the seafloor of coastal California and large lakes. He is part of a team that collects high-resolution bathymetry (measurement of underwater depth of lake or ocean floors) and acoustic backscatter data (reflected sound), then verifies interpreted maps with visual documentation. With a team on board a research vessel, the researchers control a “camera sled” suspended from the hull, videotaping and photographing a cross section of the mapped area. The resulting visual imagery provides ground-truth information (facts observed in the field) for the mapped area.
Before I met with Peter, he visited my website and familiarized himself with my work. My abstract paintings of tangles and spirals resonated with him and brought to mind his on-site imagery of Izor’s Reef, an artificial reef off of Long Beach Harbor. The reef is a tangle of re-purposed cement lamp posts from the city of Los Angeles. It provides marine habitat and a place for sport fisherman to fish. Peter gave me his a video and “video mosaic” image of Izor’s Reef to work from. (The video mosaic is a beautiful, long and narrow image made from layers of video stills stitched together. I am at work on a painting based on the video mosaic.)
After beginning with a rather literal interpretation of Peter’s imagery, I am now fracturing and abstracting the color and light within the painting with layers of straight intersecting lines inspired by the structure of the lamp-post reef. The piece is taking on a stained glass quality that captures the experience of light moving through water and Peter’s experience of “looking down on a cathedral from above.” The 6' x 30" painting is made up of six individual 30" x 22" paintings on paper layered one over the other after the fashion of Peter’s video mosaic.
USGS geologist, Peter Dartnell maps the seafloor of coastal California and large lakes. He is part of a team that collects high-resolution bathymetry (measurement of underwater depth of lake or ocean floors) and acoustic backscatter data (reflected sound), then verifies interpreted maps with visual documentation. With a team on board a research vessel, the researchers control a “camera sled” suspended from the hull, videotaping and photographing a cross section of the mapped area. The resulting visual imagery provides ground-truth information (facts observed in the field) for the mapped area.
Before I met with Peter, he visited my website and familiarized himself with my work. My abstract paintings of tangles and spirals resonated with him and brought to mind his on-site imagery of Izor’s Reef, an artificial reef off of Long Beach Harbor. The reef is a tangle of re-purposed cement lamp posts from the city of Los Angeles. It provides marine habitat and a place for sport fisherman to fish. Peter gave me his a video and “video mosaic” image of Izor’s Reef to work from. (The video mosaic is a beautiful, long and narrow image made from layers of video stills stitched together. I am at work on a painting based on the video mosaic.)
After beginning with a rather literal interpretation of Peter’s imagery, I am now fracturing and abstracting the color and light within the painting with layers of straight intersecting lines inspired by the structure of the lamp-post reef. The piece is taking on a stained glass quality that captures the experience of light moving through water and Peter’s experience of “looking down on a cathedral from above.” The 6' x 30" painting is made up of six individual 30" x 22" paintings on paper layered one over the other after the fashion of Peter’s video mosaic.
Jim Collum www.jcollum.com
I have been a photographer for over 30 years. Throughout those years, most of my work has been done with 4" x 5" sheet film, using an old wood field camera, or medium format. About the same time that I started doing photography, I started a career as a software engineer and followed the technologies over the years as they slowly converged. Rather than having the older photographic materials replaced by the progress in digital technology, I’ve just added the new to those I’ve used over the years.
When I started photographing the USGS facility, I wasn’t certain how I would capture the images, which tools I’d use, or how I’d print them. I used one of the most recent iPhones as my “sketch book,” returning over and over with different cameras to see what would work. After multiple visits, I realized that the sketches themselves were becoming the finished body of work. Although not as mature a tool as some of the others I’ve used, the iPhone was bringing forth what I was seeing and feeling in the early mornings at the machine shop. All images were captured and processed on the iPhone itself. I’m still deciding how I will print them.
I feel most comfortable when working with a project format, using my camera as a sketch book, and progressing with an idea until it congeals as a body of work. I often approach contemporary architecture as “modern archeology.” Over the years I’ve spent time in structures that are now historical archeological sites (Angkor Wat, Egypt, Anasazi ruins of the Southwest.) I like to think that our current structures may someday be viewed in the same light.
I have been a photographer for over 30 years. Throughout those years, most of my work has been done with 4" x 5" sheet film, using an old wood field camera, or medium format. About the same time that I started doing photography, I started a career as a software engineer and followed the technologies over the years as they slowly converged. Rather than having the older photographic materials replaced by the progress in digital technology, I’ve just added the new to those I’ve used over the years.
When I started photographing the USGS facility, I wasn’t certain how I would capture the images, which tools I’d use, or how I’d print them. I used one of the most recent iPhones as my “sketch book,” returning over and over with different cameras to see what would work. After multiple visits, I realized that the sketches themselves were becoming the finished body of work. Although not as mature a tool as some of the others I’ve used, the iPhone was bringing forth what I was seeing and feeling in the early mornings at the machine shop. All images were captured and processed on the iPhone itself. I’m still deciding how I will print them.
I feel most comfortable when working with a project format, using my camera as a sketch book, and progressing with an idea until it congeals as a body of work. I often approach contemporary architecture as “modern archeology.” Over the years I’ve spent time in structures that are now historical archeological sites (Angkor Wat, Egypt, Anasazi ruins of the Southwest.) I like to think that our current structures may someday be viewed in the same light.
Helen Golden www.helengolden.com
I am in new creative territory with this project, that is, I usually work with images percolating through me, until I find myself making art that intrigues me. I am often not able to describe quite how I got there.
This project presented itself in a new way. After I was invited to participate, I looked forward to collaborating with USGS scientist, Nadine Golden, who also is my daughter. I was thrilled to talk to her about the work she does and the piece of the world she knows well and cares so much about. But when I saw the raw materials that I would be working with, my mind froze. Those pictures of the sea floor looked to me, blurred, undifferentiated and with few visible organisms—not a lot of subject matter to my eyes—so what could I do with them? I was forced to look closer and with more attention. What was I looking at?
As Nadine and I discussed the Santa Barbara Channel Scientific Investigation Map I became entranced. She explained the science behind her research and I spent a great deal of time simply looking at and thinking about what was depicted in these images of an unfamiliar world. I turned my focus to the sea floor and the forces that might have acted on its surfaces; I began to wonder about how much time it has taken to create what I was seeing. Here was something for me to pounce on! From that point, I began dreaming, sketching and playing with ideas. The project is an evolving one. At this stage I’m working on a metal structure that will be an integral part of the finished piece. I am immersed in my work and excited about where the process is taking me.
I am in new creative territory with this project, that is, I usually work with images percolating through me, until I find myself making art that intrigues me. I am often not able to describe quite how I got there.
This project presented itself in a new way. After I was invited to participate, I looked forward to collaborating with USGS scientist, Nadine Golden, who also is my daughter. I was thrilled to talk to her about the work she does and the piece of the world she knows well and cares so much about. But when I saw the raw materials that I would be working with, my mind froze. Those pictures of the sea floor looked to me, blurred, undifferentiated and with few visible organisms—not a lot of subject matter to my eyes—so what could I do with them? I was forced to look closer and with more attention. What was I looking at?
As Nadine and I discussed the Santa Barbara Channel Scientific Investigation Map I became entranced. She explained the science behind her research and I spent a great deal of time simply looking at and thinking about what was depicted in these images of an unfamiliar world. I turned my focus to the sea floor and the forces that might have acted on its surfaces; I began to wonder about how much time it has taken to create what I was seeing. Here was something for me to pounce on! From that point, I began dreaming, sketching and playing with ideas. The project is an evolving one. At this stage I’m working on a metal structure that will be an integral part of the finished piece. I am immersed in my work and excited about where the process is taking me.
Robin Kandel www.asgallery.com
“My scientist,” Renee Takesue, is an environmental geochemist. Renee collects and analyzes such things as soil, sand, mud, sediment, and shells. She measures and determines the chemical make up of these samples, which in turn reflects on the status of the environment they were collected from. When Renee and I first met she explained her work and we talked about how her tasks break down—time in the field collecting samples, time in the lab analyzing samples, and time in the office spent reading, writing, and creating spreadsheets of data on her samples.
As a non-representational artist I don't make pictures of my subject matter, I develop a process or system in order to understand my subject matter. As Renee collects, measures and tracks data, I decided to collect, measure and track data on Renee. At the end of each week during our collaboration Renee sends me a tally of her hours spent in the office, lab and field. I measure these hours, literally, using a system I devised where one second of Renee’s work equals one millimeter of a pencil line. With this data I make “line density” drawings that reflect the status of Renee’s individual work environment
“My scientist,” Renee Takesue, is an environmental geochemist. Renee collects and analyzes such things as soil, sand, mud, sediment, and shells. She measures and determines the chemical make up of these samples, which in turn reflects on the status of the environment they were collected from. When Renee and I first met she explained her work and we talked about how her tasks break down—time in the field collecting samples, time in the lab analyzing samples, and time in the office spent reading, writing, and creating spreadsheets of data on her samples.
As a non-representational artist I don't make pictures of my subject matter, I develop a process or system in order to understand my subject matter. As Renee collects, measures and tracks data, I decided to collect, measure and track data on Renee. At the end of each week during our collaboration Renee sends me a tally of her hours spent in the office, lab and field. I measure these hours, literally, using a system I devised where one second of Renee’s work equals one millimeter of a pencil line. With this data I make “line density” drawings that reflect the status of Renee’s individual work environment
Amadeo Bachar www.abachar.com
Upon the invitation to be part of this group show, my brain began to whiz through its inspiration Rolodex pulling out old ideas that never made it into any of my clients or my projects. A bit premature perhaps, as I had not met or heard a single presentation on the research from which we, the artists, were to choose. I’m a science illustrator I was/am excited.
After hearing the USGS researchers present their work, it was obvious that much of my life up to this point has been driven by waves of all forms. Water, sand, and light play keystone roles daily in my life, whether walking a half mile down the beach looking for a good sand bar to surf, timing the tides for premium visibility when going for a dive, or mixing pigments in my palette. My fascination with Patrick Barnard’s research began with these thoughts firmly in mind.
Of the multiple systems Patrick was researching, the one that really caught my eye was his observations of seafloor morphology and sediment movement within San Francisco Bay and outside the Golden Gate to the surrounding coastline. This system that is driven by many factors—primarily tides, sediment discharge from the San Joaquin and Sacramento Rivers, and human impact—produces sand waves (some up to 33 feett tall) in and just outside of the Bay. As this sediment moves south, this system is a primary source for the sand that makes up Ocean Beach in San Francisco. In turn, seasonal wave action, current and good conditions make Ocean Beach one of the beach breaks for surfing in California. It is a system made of or influenced by waves in many forms.
So this is where I’ve started. Combining my background in science illustration with some really cool science, I hope to create a piece of art for you all to enjoy. (You can follow along with photo log of my process on twitter @abacharillus.)
Upon the invitation to be part of this group show, my brain began to whiz through its inspiration Rolodex pulling out old ideas that never made it into any of my clients or my projects. A bit premature perhaps, as I had not met or heard a single presentation on the research from which we, the artists, were to choose. I’m a science illustrator I was/am excited.
After hearing the USGS researchers present their work, it was obvious that much of my life up to this point has been driven by waves of all forms. Water, sand, and light play keystone roles daily in my life, whether walking a half mile down the beach looking for a good sand bar to surf, timing the tides for premium visibility when going for a dive, or mixing pigments in my palette. My fascination with Patrick Barnard’s research began with these thoughts firmly in mind.
Of the multiple systems Patrick was researching, the one that really caught my eye was his observations of seafloor morphology and sediment movement within San Francisco Bay and outside the Golden Gate to the surrounding coastline. This system that is driven by many factors—primarily tides, sediment discharge from the San Joaquin and Sacramento Rivers, and human impact—produces sand waves (some up to 33 feett tall) in and just outside of the Bay. As this sediment moves south, this system is a primary source for the sand that makes up Ocean Beach in San Francisco. In turn, seasonal wave action, current and good conditions make Ocean Beach one of the beach breaks for surfing in California. It is a system made of or influenced by waves in many forms.
So this is where I’ve started. Combining my background in science illustration with some really cool science, I hope to create a piece of art for you all to enjoy. (You can follow along with photo log of my process on twitter @abacharillus.)
Jamie Abbott www.jamieabbottdesign.com
At our introductory meeting, I was immediately drawn to Amy Draut's work on the dam removal and river restoration project for the Elwha River in Washington state. (Two dams on the Elwha River—the Elwha Dam and the Glines Canyon Dam—were built almost 100 years ago to provide electrical power to a private timber and paper company. Since their installation, the dams have contributed to steep decline of the region's salmon populations. Undertaking a large-scale watershed restoration project and the largest dam removal in world history, the Department of the Interior began removing both dams in 2011.) After Amy’s presentation I thought I had a fairly clear idea of how I would approach the project. A few rough sketches, some written thoughts, a sit-down meeting with Amy, and, I thought, away we go. Amy and I selected a spot in the gallery, I purchased some wood—and then we completely changed directions. So, more time, more ideas, another meeting in the Gallery and now we are in motion.
I have always been interested in historical lore, and how places and people adapt to change. This project has presented me with a complex interweaving of cultures, use of resources, engineering, and scientific research. Each of these elements has been integral to designing and planning our piece and will be reflected in the finished sculptural installation. In my studio I’m working on a large freestanding structure, as well as a series of wall panels that Amy and I will piece together. The panels incorporate images of the Elwha River and the area’s history from different periods and perspectives. I plan on visiting the area this summer, and look forward to seeing the Elwha River.
I always welcome visitors to drop by my studio and check out the progress.
At our introductory meeting, I was immediately drawn to Amy Draut's work on the dam removal and river restoration project for the Elwha River in Washington state. (Two dams on the Elwha River—the Elwha Dam and the Glines Canyon Dam—were built almost 100 years ago to provide electrical power to a private timber and paper company. Since their installation, the dams have contributed to steep decline of the region's salmon populations. Undertaking a large-scale watershed restoration project and the largest dam removal in world history, the Department of the Interior began removing both dams in 2011.) After Amy’s presentation I thought I had a fairly clear idea of how I would approach the project. A few rough sketches, some written thoughts, a sit-down meeting with Amy, and, I thought, away we go. Amy and I selected a spot in the gallery, I purchased some wood—and then we completely changed directions. So, more time, more ideas, another meeting in the Gallery and now we are in motion.
I have always been interested in historical lore, and how places and people adapt to change. This project has presented me with a complex interweaving of cultures, use of resources, engineering, and scientific research. Each of these elements has been integral to designing and planning our piece and will be reflected in the finished sculptural installation. In my studio I’m working on a large freestanding structure, as well as a series of wall panels that Amy and I will piece together. The panels incorporate images of the Elwha River and the area’s history from different periods and perspectives. I plan on visiting the area this summer, and look forward to seeing the Elwha River.
I always welcome visitors to drop by my studio and check out the progress.
Denise Smith DeniseSmith2005@comcast.net
Li Erikson’s research in environmental and coastal engineering takes her to many locations, including the San Francisco Bay Area and Alaska’s North Slope. I was inspired to concentrate on her work in Alaska after being struck not only by huge changes in climate that are redefining the coastline there, but also by how those changes are impacting native populations. In response to the increasing temperatures, decreasing sea ice extent, and eroding coastline, Iñupiat residents of Arctic Alaska are struggling to maintain their cultural heritage as traditional hunting techniques become less relevant and the possible need to relocate further inland looms.
When I met with Li, she shared photographs of the North Slope, as well as data she has collected in her research. Several different ideas occurred to me centered around before and after representations of this area. In one of the two prints that’s near completion, Li’s data serves as a layer of information, overprinted with a woodcut image that I have created. As I was carving into the wood I was struck by how the process of taking away material was similar to the erosion process depicted in my image.
I start my prints with an idea and then see where it leads me. I often end up in a completely different place from where I started, which can be said of scientific research; that the conclusions don’t always match the hypothesis. This element of surprise is both fun and creatively challenging as the wood grain and ink both direct me towards the final print.
Li Erikson’s research in environmental and coastal engineering takes her to many locations, including the San Francisco Bay Area and Alaska’s North Slope. I was inspired to concentrate on her work in Alaska after being struck not only by huge changes in climate that are redefining the coastline there, but also by how those changes are impacting native populations. In response to the increasing temperatures, decreasing sea ice extent, and eroding coastline, Iñupiat residents of Arctic Alaska are struggling to maintain their cultural heritage as traditional hunting techniques become less relevant and the possible need to relocate further inland looms.
When I met with Li, she shared photographs of the North Slope, as well as data she has collected in her research. Several different ideas occurred to me centered around before and after representations of this area. In one of the two prints that’s near completion, Li’s data serves as a layer of information, overprinted with a woodcut image that I have created. As I was carving into the wood I was struck by how the process of taking away material was similar to the erosion process depicted in my image.
I start my prints with an idea and then see where it leads me. I often end up in a completely different place from where I started, which can be said of scientific research; that the conclusions don’t always match the hypothesis. This element of surprise is both fun and creatively challenging as the wood grain and ink both direct me towards the final print.
Sarah Sanford www.sarahsanfordart.com
The world of science has always influenced my work as an artist. Having a physician as a father and being married to a molecular biologist has given me insight into the many complex structural systems found in nature. Being part of the USGS collaboration has introduced me to the work of Curt Storlazzi, an oceanographer who studies coral reef systems in the central and western Pacific Ocean. In learning about the evolution and biology behind corals, a deceptively simple organism, I became extremely interested in their reproductive system of broadcast spawning. This act happens during the darkest night of the summer months where bundles of egg and sperm bundles (white dots), float to the surface and break apart to fertilize and develop into larvae, at which point they disperse by floating with the ocean’s currents. Once these larvae settle onto the sea floor they may grow into new coral.
As a printmaker, I was excited to push myself into new territory for this exhibition. I wanted to experiment with a new process that linked strongly to water and yet still had ties to my love of paper and the process of layering. My process evolved into hand dyeing paper and working with bleach to create the movement of these bundles slowly releasing and coming to the surface in random patterns. This process of adding and subtracting produces a number of unexpected results. Through various alterations and manipulations a sense of conflict and interplay between ocean currents and living networks is revealed.
Throughout my discussions with Curt, I have become more aware of not only the vast diversity of plant and animal life within coral reefs, but also their importance in sustaining other ecosystems. Serious dangers, both globally and locally are threatening their future growth, thus, destabilizing the delicate balance between life and death of this tropical ecosystem. Therefore, the work for this exhibition ultimately hopes to engage the viewer in recognizing such challenges and the importance for research and understanding for future generations.
The world of science has always influenced my work as an artist. Having a physician as a father and being married to a molecular biologist has given me insight into the many complex structural systems found in nature. Being part of the USGS collaboration has introduced me to the work of Curt Storlazzi, an oceanographer who studies coral reef systems in the central and western Pacific Ocean. In learning about the evolution and biology behind corals, a deceptively simple organism, I became extremely interested in their reproductive system of broadcast spawning. This act happens during the darkest night of the summer months where bundles of egg and sperm bundles (white dots), float to the surface and break apart to fertilize and develop into larvae, at which point they disperse by floating with the ocean’s currents. Once these larvae settle onto the sea floor they may grow into new coral.
As a printmaker, I was excited to push myself into new territory for this exhibition. I wanted to experiment with a new process that linked strongly to water and yet still had ties to my love of paper and the process of layering. My process evolved into hand dyeing paper and working with bleach to create the movement of these bundles slowly releasing and coming to the surface in random patterns. This process of adding and subtracting produces a number of unexpected results. Through various alterations and manipulations a sense of conflict and interplay between ocean currents and living networks is revealed.
Throughout my discussions with Curt, I have become more aware of not only the vast diversity of plant and animal life within coral reefs, but also their importance in sustaining other ecosystems. Serious dangers, both globally and locally are threatening their future growth, thus, destabilizing the delicate balance between life and death of this tropical ecosystem. Therefore, the work for this exhibition ultimately hopes to engage the viewer in recognizing such challenges and the importance for research and understanding for future generations.
Nora Raggio www.cubberleyartists.com/Nora.php
I am an interdisciplinary artist with a background in biochemistry, though in recent years my main focus has been on art. I am curious about the issues in different disciplines and working in a variety of media. I’m delighted to be participating in this project with my mentor/partner Jim Hein, who studies the accretion of rare metals (such as Tellurium) to slow-growing ferromanganese crusts in the deep ocean seabed. These materials are central to the production of much of the technology we rely on daily—technology that is increasingly in demand in developing countries. How we use, preserve, and reuse these particular resources is something I never thought of until I started working on this project.
Because of the distribution of these minerals, Jim’s work is involved not only with science, but also with the global politics of international sea waters and trying to convince the U.S. government of the environmental and economic importance of these minerals. (One of the things he mentioned to me early on was that even though the U.S. had signed the United Nations "Law of the Sea" (UNLOS) convention, we still had not ratified it. Many policies regarding to how these rare-metal resources are going to be researched, explored, and potentially exploited will be in the hands of nations that have ratified the convention, which currently leaves the U.S. out of many important decisions.)
During the first phase of my the project, I met regularly with Jim and was able to do my own research based on materials that he directed me to. I feel as if I’m in middle of a class, studying the convergence of these different issues. The sketches in the photos show some of my thought process as I explore and elaborate on how I might use Jim’s work in the finished piece or pieces. For now I’m focusing on the distribution and redistribution of resources from deep sea to land.
I am an interdisciplinary artist with a background in biochemistry, though in recent years my main focus has been on art. I am curious about the issues in different disciplines and working in a variety of media. I’m delighted to be participating in this project with my mentor/partner Jim Hein, who studies the accretion of rare metals (such as Tellurium) to slow-growing ferromanganese crusts in the deep ocean seabed. These materials are central to the production of much of the technology we rely on daily—technology that is increasingly in demand in developing countries. How we use, preserve, and reuse these particular resources is something I never thought of until I started working on this project.
Because of the distribution of these minerals, Jim’s work is involved not only with science, but also with the global politics of international sea waters and trying to convince the U.S. government of the environmental and economic importance of these minerals. (One of the things he mentioned to me early on was that even though the U.S. had signed the United Nations "Law of the Sea" (UNLOS) convention, we still had not ratified it. Many policies regarding to how these rare-metal resources are going to be researched, explored, and potentially exploited will be in the hands of nations that have ratified the convention, which currently leaves the U.S. out of many important decisions.)
During the first phase of my the project, I met regularly with Jim and was able to do my own research based on materials that he directed me to. I feel as if I’m in middle of a class, studying the convergence of these different issues. The sketches in the photos show some of my thought process as I explore and elaborate on how I might use Jim’s work in the finished piece or pieces. For now I’m focusing on the distribution and redistribution of resources from deep sea to land.
Kent Manske www.preneo.org/kent
Field Journal Notes 4/03/12
Something that inspired me about Lissa MacVean’s research included her process of working and interest in simplifying and distilling. Lisa commented, “I think science is useful when it improves your intuition about complex processes, and my goal is to pick out the most important relationships and mechanisms for any given problem.” Noting that both our work was about discovery, I shared that I’m comfortable when my art prompts more questions then answers and it’s the fringes of thoughts, ideas, and feelings that present the most contemplative space for me. Lissa shared that wandering is a natural process of scientific research also, acknowledging that explorations in science don’t always result in significant findings, but does contribute to accumulated knowledge, including where one doesn’t need to travel again. So true, like life itself.
Lissa’s work in fluid mechanics and her field work in the San Francisco Bay have inspired me to focus my work on the bay itself. I’ve spent the last month researching the Bay, exploring it, and producing conceptual sketches for work I think would engage myself and engage viewers to think about and appreciate the bay as a valued, complex and global ecosystem (and a Bay Area treasure). Finished work will likely fuse scientific data inspired by Lissa and imaginary symbolism by myself. I envision the work to be thought provoking and celebratory.
What I’m currently reading always influences my work. In “The Fifth Agreement,” Don Miguel Ruiz and Don Jose Ruiz comment “the truth is objective and we call it science. Our interpretation of the truth is subjective and we call it art.” They also share, “Interpretation is a reflection of the truth, and that reflection is what we call the human mind.” In “The Path,” Shinzen Young writes, “If anyone asks you what the path is about, it’s about generosity. It’s about morality. It’s about concentration. It’s about gaining insight through focused self observation of subjective states of compassion and love based on insight and it’s about translating that compassion and love into actions in the real world.” I have a feeling the body of work of work I create will be about learning, appreciating, and caring for the San Francisco Bay. Lissa pointed me to Young’s writing about mathematics. I found the math component of Lissa’s work both fascinating and perplexing. My brain doesn’t work that way. Long live art and science!
Field Journal Notes 4/03/12
Something that inspired me about Lissa MacVean’s research included her process of working and interest in simplifying and distilling. Lisa commented, “I think science is useful when it improves your intuition about complex processes, and my goal is to pick out the most important relationships and mechanisms for any given problem.” Noting that both our work was about discovery, I shared that I’m comfortable when my art prompts more questions then answers and it’s the fringes of thoughts, ideas, and feelings that present the most contemplative space for me. Lissa shared that wandering is a natural process of scientific research also, acknowledging that explorations in science don’t always result in significant findings, but does contribute to accumulated knowledge, including where one doesn’t need to travel again. So true, like life itself.
Lissa’s work in fluid mechanics and her field work in the San Francisco Bay have inspired me to focus my work on the bay itself. I’ve spent the last month researching the Bay, exploring it, and producing conceptual sketches for work I think would engage myself and engage viewers to think about and appreciate the bay as a valued, complex and global ecosystem (and a Bay Area treasure). Finished work will likely fuse scientific data inspired by Lissa and imaginary symbolism by myself. I envision the work to be thought provoking and celebratory.
What I’m currently reading always influences my work. In “The Fifth Agreement,” Don Miguel Ruiz and Don Jose Ruiz comment “the truth is objective and we call it science. Our interpretation of the truth is subjective and we call it art.” They also share, “Interpretation is a reflection of the truth, and that reflection is what we call the human mind.” In “The Path,” Shinzen Young writes, “If anyone asks you what the path is about, it’s about generosity. It’s about morality. It’s about concentration. It’s about gaining insight through focused self observation of subjective states of compassion and love based on insight and it’s about translating that compassion and love into actions in the real world.” I have a feeling the body of work of work I create will be about learning, appreciating, and caring for the San Francisco Bay. Lissa pointed me to Young’s writing about mathematics. I found the math component of Lissa’s work both fascinating and perplexing. My brain doesn’t work that way. Long live art and science!
Stephanie Metz www.stephaniemetz.com
For the past ten years I have been sculpting with felted wool, a unique material with fascinating physical and conceptual possibilities. I have long been intrigued with the idea of exploring the kinetic potential of wool forms, which can be lightweight yet structural and therefore perhaps could be animated by moving air. When I was approached about the USGS collaboration project I thought it would be a great opportunity to push myself in a new direction and see if I could make something that would speak to the synthesis of science and art.
Jessie Lacy’s research resonated with me immediately: she studies overlapping temporal cycles of tides and waves as they affect the motion of eelgrass and thus sediment in the shallow coastline. As we spoke about her work, the visuals of graceful grasses bowing and swaying in the water and the idea of objects affected by distinct cyclical forces led me to my project.
I hoped to create a multitude of hanging felt pieces that would be affected by the oscillations of two different fans, causing them to move in ways that would be somewhat chaotic yet reveal a pattern, and have some kinship with Jessie’s work, if not in a totally direct way. The process has been engaging and humbling. Like most of my art-making, this effort began with observation of the natural world and a hands-on approach to understanding and creating the forms I wanted, however this project was different: I had an intuitive sense of how the pieces might be made to move, but getting them to do so involved a lot of rules and interconnected variables… also known as physics. I had to do some research and a lot of trial and error to arrive at a configuration that would work visually, physically, and thematically. The art-making process called for far more structure than my usual, yet I found I enjoyed the challenge to my normal way of working. Ultimately I’ve created an example of imperfect harmonic motion: visual traveling waves of hanging felt pieces that move in response to different air cycles, sometimes in synchrony, sometimes in opposition. My hope is that this will be an elegant visual way to prompt viewers to think about overlapping natural cycles… complete with a bit of chaos.
For the past ten years I have been sculpting with felted wool, a unique material with fascinating physical and conceptual possibilities. I have long been intrigued with the idea of exploring the kinetic potential of wool forms, which can be lightweight yet structural and therefore perhaps could be animated by moving air. When I was approached about the USGS collaboration project I thought it would be a great opportunity to push myself in a new direction and see if I could make something that would speak to the synthesis of science and art.
Jessie Lacy’s research resonated with me immediately: she studies overlapping temporal cycles of tides and waves as they affect the motion of eelgrass and thus sediment in the shallow coastline. As we spoke about her work, the visuals of graceful grasses bowing and swaying in the water and the idea of objects affected by distinct cyclical forces led me to my project.
I hoped to create a multitude of hanging felt pieces that would be affected by the oscillations of two different fans, causing them to move in ways that would be somewhat chaotic yet reveal a pattern, and have some kinship with Jessie’s work, if not in a totally direct way. The process has been engaging and humbling. Like most of my art-making, this effort began with observation of the natural world and a hands-on approach to understanding and creating the forms I wanted, however this project was different: I had an intuitive sense of how the pieces might be made to move, but getting them to do so involved a lot of rules and interconnected variables… also known as physics. I had to do some research and a lot of trial and error to arrive at a configuration that would work visually, physically, and thematically. The art-making process called for far more structure than my usual, yet I found I enjoyed the challenge to my normal way of working. Ultimately I’ve created an example of imperfect harmonic motion: visual traveling waves of hanging felt pieces that move in response to different air cycles, sometimes in synchrony, sometimes in opposition. My hope is that this will be an elegant visual way to prompt viewers to think about overlapping natural cycles… complete with a bit of chaos.
