Blog
July 11th, 2010
Since I’ll be a hermit for most of the rest of the year while I finish my Rainier book, I tried to sneak a little stolen summer vacation time into June. If I was going to lock myself indoors during our sunniest season, I wanted as many mountains, oceans, flowers and skies as I could cram into a week first.
For the first few days we had a couple of friends staying with us. Since one of them was visiting from Colorado, and wanted a change from the hot, dusty summer back home, we took a day trip to the Olympic Peninsula for a good dose of lush greenery.
The West Coast highway, U.S. Route 101, ends with a 300-mile, two-lane meandering loop around the Peninsula. It’s the only thoroughfare on the entire Peninsula, and a treacherous road, full of hairpin curves, patches of fog, logging trucks and landslide-prone slopes—but the scenic beauty makes the drive a spectacular adventure.
We took the northernmost leg of the road that day. Just west of Port Angeles it winds through a tunnel of trees as it hugs the shore of Lake Crescent, where we stopped for a picnic lunch beside the impossibly blue water.
We were tempted to spend the whole day at the lake, but a bigger surprise lay down the road: the Hoh Rain Forest, one of the largest of America’s rare temperate rain forests. I’d also bet it’s the most beautiful—if it weren’t a four-hour drive away, I’d go every day.
I had only ever seen the place in a downpour (big surprise—they get up to fourteen feet of rain and over 300 cloudy days a year), but as soon as we arrived that day … the sun came out.
I almost didn’t recognize the place.
The last time I was there, droplets hung from every surface and everything shimmered with a gossamer silver glow.
This time, the glow turned to spun gold and bottle green.
As always, though, every branch was festooned with cat-tail moss, and sword ferns carpeted the forest floor.
And the clover leaves were the biggest I’ve ever seen.
So were the trees.
The best part about our road trip was the fact that it was nearly Midsummer; we still had hours of sunshine left to us. Next on the itinerary: Ruby Beach. It was a short hike down to the water, past Queen Anne’s lace and just-ripening salmonberries, with the roar of the Pacific ringing in our ears.
That bizarre stamp is still the only banana slug I’ve ever seen, alas. The search continues!
I sat down to do a watercolor,
while Ethan moved along the shore to explore the sea stacks,
and Nicole stopped to take in the view.
We made a quick contribution to the collection of obos on a nearby driftwood log, and set off for home.
Yes. Twilight firewood. For setting those vampire books on fire, I think.
On the way back we stopped for a little absurdity. Route 101 passes through Forks, home of a certain infamous vampire series; we couldn’t resist stopping to take photos of the hilarious roadside tie-ins that had popped up since the last time I passed through. I’d never read the books, but when Nicole told me that these vampires only eschew sunlight because it makes them sparkle … well. My morbid curiosity got the better of me, and before I could stop myself, I read the whole blasted page-turning accident scene of a series the following week. Ugh.
And, uh, yeah. They sparkle. And whine and brood and mope. Curiosity satisfied.
I digress. Sorry.
By that point we were starving—but not in the mood for Twi-dogs or whatever punny food might be expected in a place with a name like Forks. So I suggested we hang on a little longer and head to Port Townsend, where I knew of a fantastic seafood restaurant.
An hour later, we had traded Forks for spoons, and were digging into our bowls of the tastiest, freshest, localest carn-starn Manila clam chowder on the West Coast. And changing my definition of road food in the process.
Oh, who am I kidding? You know that whole trip was for the chowder, right?
July 9th, 2010
Well, if this isn’t a case of “be careful what you wish for,” I don’t know what is. Though for the record, I’m pretty sure I was the only person in the entire Pacific Northwest who wasn’t doing any wishing. (I like the cold.) Monday it was a sweater-perfect 65 degrees; today it scorched out at 93. As I’ve said before, as we so rarely have hot weather and air conditioning is therefore scarce (and totally unnecessary 99 percent of the time)—well, if you want to cool off, you’ve gotta get creative.
In this, my third summer here, a certain set of cooling-off routines are quickly becoming a tradition. Here, then, are my top-5 favorite heat-beating tips, Northwest style:
1. Grab a friend and get on a boat. Namely, the Bainbridge Island ferry. Since it’s always at least twenty degrees cooler on the Sound, the passage kicks up a deliciously cold breeze that puts every air conditioner in Phoenix to shame.
2. Take a cue from the seagulls and head for the prow. The breeze is stronger up there—the birds sure love it.
3. When you arrive on Bainbridge, stroll down to Mora for a cone. I’m a believer in Dessert First.
(Use a spoon as necessary to stay ahead of the melting.)
4. When you get back to the mainland, duck into an air-conditioned restaurant and follow up that dessert with a light, cold dinner and an icy drink. Do this European style, and take your sweet time.
5. When you finally finish dinner, take a walk in the evening air and watch the sun do spectacular things on its way out. That’s the best part, and the most solemn promise of hot-hot days in this neck of the woods.
July 5th, 2010
This is Carol, a fiery Sicilian kindred spirit and one of my favorite-est people on the planet. She and her fabulous husband, Jeff, hosted a Fourth of July shindig in their garden today, threats of rain and cold, dreary weather be darned.
There was a little music,
a healthy dose of croquet,
(with the added hazard of the course bordering a rhododendron thicket and a 30-foot drop to the street below)
a whole lot of laughter,
and a walloping smörgåsbord that included plenty beyond your typical Fourth o’ July fare. Hey, hummus goes great with stars-and-stripes cake!
We contributed our ice cream crank, plenty of mashed strawberries, and our upper body strength.
I’m glad there were plenty of people to share the job of cranking, because I like to cut to the chase.
Namely, this. My favorite part is when everybody grabs a spoon and helps clean off the dash,
though I’m sure the novelty alone was the highlight for some. Sure, it was a little cold for ice cream (we’re not exactly known for hot summers here), but everyone just threw on another clothing layer before digging in.
After we had all eaten ourselves silly, everyone gathered on Carol and Jeff’s porch, which faces the Sound—
—and provides a front-row seat for the main event.
Happy Independence Day!
June 24th, 2010
I did this little watercolor as part of a commissioned project that ended up being canceled. I’m a little sad the project won’t see the light of day, but the morning I spent sketching downtown will always be time well spent.
June 15th, 2010
When I have the time to take the long way to Seattle, I like to take the back road that skirts the water. The other day I stopped and got out at an overlook at Browns Point to snap this photo—until a weird sound distracted me from the scenery. It sounded like something rusty and mechanical was working back and forth, like an old-fashioned water pump. Hoik! Hoik! Hoik!
It was hard to tell, what with the echoes ricocheting everywhere, but it sounded like it was coming from a scrap barge directly below. (If you’re wondering, those are hundreds and hundreds of crushed cars on that barge.) Hoik! (hoik) Hoik! (hoik) Hoik! (hoik)
And then I caught sight of them: sea lions. Barking their fool heads off. Hoik! Hoik! Hoik! And it was loud! Even though I was 200 feet above them, the echoes amplified their voices into an impressive din.
I don’t know about you, but that made my day. Just thought I’d share.
If you don’t know what a bunch of jabbering sea lions sounds like, or you want the other members of your household to wonder what’s making that unholy racket come out of your computer, you can browse YouTube’s fine selection of videos. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
June 11th, 2010
I meant to post this last night, but it was all I could do just to get to bed and not fall asleep on the floor, buried under all the receipts and mailers.
So as of last night, twenty-four hours after posting Drill, Baby, Drill online, we are down to eleven numbered copies. Eleven! I am just completely floored. I think the response you folks have given us may have burned a hole through my computer screen.
Thank you to everybody who had to put up with my dropping the ball when it came to updating the quantities on Etsy. I wandered away from the computer a couple of times—once for this, on our garage:
and once more for this:
So thanks for being patient and flexible—we’re all straightened out now.
Now, to all of you: I simply can’t find the words to express my thanks. Your emails poured in; you called to congratulate us; you posted comments; you told your friends; you spread the word like wildfire on Twitter and Facebook; you shared your stories. You have continued to show your unflagging support for a gal trying to make a living by drawing pictures. And you have reminded me that on the whole people are good, and that we want to come together to heal the damage in the Gulf—and to come up with a better solution for everyone. That brought me to tears all over again—this time, the kind that come with a smile.
I’m off to send our donation to Oceana. With everything I have, thank you all. I can only hope my drawings can be worthy of your hearts.
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Update: we are now completely SOLD OUT. Thanks, everyone!
June 9th, 2010
Okay, I know the title is a bit controversial. But it was either that or something laden with obscenities—Jessica and I are feeling murderous less than charitable towards the oil industry at the moment. Thus far the Deepwater Horizon/British Petroleum oil “spill” (leak? deluge? hemorrhage?) has poured tens of millions of gallons of oil into the Gulf of Mexico—a fact that stopped us in our tracks, mid-way through a different piece, and changed our course for this season’s broadside.
I wish I could say this was a fun piece to create; dwelling on current events and spending days poring through images of oil-soaked animals has been one of the most depressing, enraging experiences I’ve had in my career. Luckily, I could spend the rest of my energy drawing the inspiring quote by writer, scientist and environmentalist Rachel Carson:
“To stand at the edge of the sea, to sense the ebb and flow of the tides, to feel the breath of a mist moving over a great salt marsh, to watch the flight of shore birds that have swept up and down the sun lines of the continents for untold thousands of year* … is to have knowledge of things that are as nearly eternal as any earthly life can be.”
(*not a typo, I promise.)
This is by far the longest quote we’ve tackled yet, and I needed convincing before I could justify the pins and needles I’d feel in my hand afterward. But along the way, it occurred to me that the quote reads like a poem—with a rhythm that opened up all kinds of image possibilities.
I couldn’t face the idea of drawing any of the oil spill’s destruction, so I chose instead to focus on the wildlife affected by the spill—including several already-endangered species—and create an image absolutely teeming with life. A manatee and dolphin play in deep ocean blue, while plovers dash by in a sandy gold that becomes the sickly tea-colored oil pouring from a hidden offshore rig (okay, so maybe a little of my anger found its way into the drawing). Baby sea turtles inch their way to the shore; a roseate spoonbill nests in a corner; a brown pelican sits, surveying the scene. How many creatures can you find?
One positive note that we can hold onto is the hope that we might make a bit of difference with our art. Our Dead Feminists have made their way to 40 states and 9 countries outside the U.S., so the word is definitely spreading. And we’ll be donating a portion of the proceeds from Drill, Baby, Drill to Oceana, an international organization focused on ocean conservation and dedicated to ending offshore drilling.
There. I said it. We want to ban offshore drilling outright. Forever.
I don’t mean to offend any readers on the other side of that particular fence (if any are left; sometimes I wonder if our series hasn’t already alienated half of the population…), but this is one issue around which I simply cannot tiptoe.
But then again, Rachel Carson wouldn’t have, either.
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Drill, Baby, Drill: No. 8 in the Dead Feminists series
Edition size: 136
Poster size: 10 x 18 inches
Printed on an antique Vandercook Universal One press, on archival, 100% rag paper. Each piece is hand-colored and signed by both artists.
Colophon reads:
Rachel Louise Carson (1907 – 1964) was born in rural Pennsylvania, where she was “happiest with wild birds and creatures as companions.” After majoring in science in college, Rachel won a fellowship at the Marine Biological Laboratory at Woods Hole and pursued marine zoology at Johns Hopkins. Carson had a long career with the US Fish and Wildlife Service and wrote numerous books and articles, including Under the Sea-Wind, The Sea Around Us, The Sense of Wonder, and the best-seller Silent Spring, in which she warned an uninformed public about the dangerous overuse of chemicals like DDT. The book—reminding us of our critical part in nature and the potential to cause irreversible harm—launched the environmental movement that led to the formation of the Environmental Protection Agency and the passage of the Endangered Species Act. Carson is memorialized with a National Wildlife Refuge in her name and a posthumous Presidential Medal of Freedom.
Illustrated by Chandler O’Leary and printed by Jessica Spring, as oil pours into the Gulf Coast, leaving tar balls on the beaches and moving inland towards salt marshes. 136 copies were printed by hand at Springtide Press in Tacoma. June 2010
UPDATE: poster is sold out. Reproduction postcards available in the Dead Feminists shop!
June 5th, 2010
If I ran the world, there would be a national holiday to celebrate the first strawberries and cream of the season. This is worth the closing of stores, school cancellations, paid vacation time. I would send greeting cards for this. Happy Berry Day!
June 3rd, 2010
The next print in our Dead Feminists series will be making its in-person debut on Tuesday—these few snippets might give you a clue as to our latest theme. Jessica and I will be doing our dog-and-pony show at the Gig Harbor branch of the Pierce County Library; if you’ve missed our previous lectures, come check it out! If you have seen seen it, you’ll already know our schtick, but you’ll still get to see the new piece first! As always, you can also get up to speed by reading about our process here.
Pressing Matters: local letterpress artists combine craft with history
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
7:00 p.m., free!
Gig Harbor Branch, Pierce County Library
4424 Point Fosdick Drive NW, Gig Harbor, WA
We’re a month late with the new broadside for a couple of reasons. The longest (4 months!) and most annoying delay came from the fact that we’ve had to switch to a different paper. I know that sounds silly, but the paper industry is very volatile, and if you’ve ever used a type of paper that you love, only to have it be discontinued (or worse, the company goes out of business), you’ll know how frustrating it can be to find a reasonable facsimile. I guess we should have seen this one coming—the paper we’ve been using is not only extremely unusual (made from recycled clothing!), but it’s also made by a tiny, independent paper company. It’s a long story, but the short version is that the paper is now perpetually on back-order, and we had begun to notice quality issues. So! We’ve finally found a very good, high-quality replacement, and while it doesn’t quite have the Cool Factor of the other stuff, we certainly have a lot less to worry about.
The broadside will appear online (both here and in the shop) on Wednesday, so stay tuned for more information. And in the meantime, in case you’re debating whether it’s worth the Sturdy Gertie bridge toll to attend the talk, you can say hello to the giant octopus* on the way!
*I just learned that one of the world’s largest species of octopus lives in the Tacoma Narrows, right under the bridge—a fact that completely made my week, and that I’ve obviously been dying to work in to a blog post.
May 30th, 2010
The Tailor and I had some errands to run in Portland yesterday, and since the the rain that has been pounding us for two weeks was finally starting to give way to sun, we decided to take the long way home, along the winding coastal road.
We stopped for clam chowder in Astoria, Oregon—a historic hill town (and one of the oldest settlements in the Pacific Northwest) perched above the mouth of the Columbia River. Beautiful views and Victorian houses aside, the really fun thing to do in Astoria is to look for the locations used in films like Short Circuit, Kindergarten Cop (it’s not a too-muh!), and The Goonies.
We meandered through a few neighborhood streets and an antique shop on the main drag, but as we had several hours to drive yet, and since the sun was setting in earnest by the time we finished dinner, there wasn’t time to play movie tourist. But as we walked back to the car, we saw a theatre marquee announcing that next weekend, Astoria would have a celebration honoring the 25th anniversary of The Goonies!
After a few depressing moments where we realized how old that made us feel, and that we had uncancellable plans for next weekend (though if you want Corey Feldman’s autograph, you might want to check it out), the Tailor started getting excited.
Him: I want to watch The Goonies when we get home!
Me: We don’t have The Goonies.
Him: We’ll swing by Stadium Video!
Me: I seriously doubt they’ll still be open.
Him: What if we bought a copy on the way home? There’s got to be a Target or something between here and Tacoma.
Me: Didn’t we decide to take the back road so we’d miss all that? There’s nothing for a hundred miles!
Him: Well, yeah. C’mon, everything is closing here. Where can we go to find DVDs for sale?
Me: Hmm, if we can get to Olympia by 10:00, we might find a store that’s still open.
Well, as expected, the drive was beautiful but desolate. When we finally reached the outer suburban ring of West Olympia, it was 10:30, but since we had arrived in the land of chain stores, it was worth a try. Despite the guilt over our sudden willingness to hand our money over to corporations, we tried three big-box stores that start with a “B,” two of which that, like everything else at that hour, were shut tight. Since we still had that last shred of hippie conviction that prevented us from trying to find a Walmart, we gave up and headed for home.
But then, just before we reached the highway again, I spotted (through my doubloon, of course) a Blockbuster Video on the left, with a neon “Open” sign in the window. I had just enough time to roll my eyes and slam on the turn signal before some instinct took over and steered the car into the parking lot. It took some digging, but buried in a corner was a miraculous, unassuming copy of The Goonies.
Needless to say, we stayed up way too late last night. Goonies never say die!
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