Ah, how time ticks on in the singular nature, appearing to always move forward with the loss of the past. The past is with us, though, present in the growth and thoughts we have, our movements fueled by the happenings. The season is changing, and the fruit of the summer rests in the cooling of the fall.

I am sitting in presence of the past; the magpies picking amongst the soil, searching for tidbits from the warmer season, the garden eking out the shortened days and the declining warmth, and the horses browsing for the remaining nutritious grasses and leaves on the overburdened land. That transfer and continuation of energy lives on in the present, and thus informs the future.

The studio is filled with paintings I began this summer, with even a few from last winter, anxiously awaiting my return from the sun-filled days. And so, as these days shorten and the sun appears and disappears more to the south, I will begin my changing of routines, from the abundance of the outside season to the fall cultivation of summer activities and thoughts.

I'm sitting in UnCorked, a wine and cheese bar, in Livingston, MT as my Husband, Wes Urbaniak, plays music for the evening. I'm grateful for the opportunity to have a block of time to update my website while I listen to my favorite musician and sip a delightful malbec/cabernet blend. I'm thinking about the various stories and talents that we all carry with us, and the intersection of those moments as we converge in the same realm of time.

I've been immersing myself in a variety of podcasts lately as I complete my daily drive to take care of my newest horse, Ren. I am a fledgling in understanding the principles of physics and time and reality, but these thoughts have been heavily in my mind as of late. Coupled with that is the investigation into geology and the formation, be it the rising or settling, of the land.  I recently donated a painting to the Christikon Benefit Auction in order to raise money for their ministry of the Lutheran faith.

The Christikon Camp is located along the Boulder River, a place that I passed on the way to a trailhead many summers ago for an extended backpacking trip with my sister. Many days of hiking through the forests and over the Columbine Pass to a variety of high alpine lakes eventually led to the extensive switchbacks of the Upsidedown Trail. Coupled with my memory of my own experience of the days spent exploring was the large expansion of time that these mountains in which these mountains have been formed. And then, one day as I was sitting at home last summer, Mark Donald, the director of the Christikon Camp, sent me a text showing four lost horses that had found their way to the camp's grassy meadow. As I worked through my vision for this work, I relied heavily on these experiences set in a variety of time:

         "One can go back to a place, but one cannot go back to a time. Yet, each place is a culmination of such time, and all is in constant flux.
           Research of the geologic forces of the northern Absaroka Mountain Range between the Boulder River and Yellowstone River Drainages fielded such ideas as crustal warping, uplift, and erosion. Further delving into the formation led me to the merging of glacial carving, immense floods and lifting land to form what we now consider the Absaroka Beartooths. The understanding is as vast as the high alpine lands, and I hold but a small glimpse into it.
            Upon this immense span of time lie the intersections of the present. A 2008 backcountry trip, a wayward journey of 3 horses and 1 mule to the Christikon meadow in 2016, and the creation of this piece in the spring of 2017 center on the layers of the land. Time melds to a place of now."

​

As I'm studying and recording marks as I draw this evening, I am listening to the conversation of the physicist Carlo Rovelli and Krista Tippett. I am holding the beginnings of thoughts about the concept of existence and reality...we and others exist within the interactions of the surroundings. I link this so strongly as I draw lines that intersect, darken, lighten, widen, all to create the impression of a specific shape. We are that which we come up against, defined by our outer boundaries. But what is happening from the relational subjective perception on the inside?

I tie this back into a thought I had while walking the other evening. That which we touch is only felt by the resistance of it. I attempted to feel of the finest fibers of a winter grass, but I couldn't quite grasp the texture as it bent beneath my finger. Rovelli poses such a compelling idea: "I don't think that I as a person exist without the rest. I am my friends, my love, my enemies, my everything that I interact with. " He goes on to discuss the relational aspect of our lives and, from my point of listening, the influences of the environment.  I work so heavily in finding the curves and connections of shape and life in my work.
​

Amidst the rays of the Montana July sun, my husband and I first traveled to Ennis for a music gig at the Gravel Bar, and then made our way to a spot just north of Bozeman. Purpose lie in photographing horses for commissioned pieces, and as we meandered along the dirt roads, thoughts of time and influence lie heavy in my mind. The abstract questions of the geological lifting of the Bridger Range and the relationship to the plains lend themselves to a deepening exploration of existence in time. The bedrock upon which we exist and the underlying structures merge with the ideas of growth and decay, impermanence of form within the seasons, and transformation of energy. The reaching, curing grasses along the dusty road rely on the nutrients of those before them, as they, too, will become nourishment for tomorrow. Engaging with the very present and aware horses as they interact with us and each other supplies a level of immediacy. As much as we are defined and determined by the influences of the before, we live in the exacting time of now. In translation of these ever-forming understandings, my piece titled "Emergence; Revenant Castilleja" works within the layers of structure, place, and life. The dichotomy of our place continues with this painting. At first conceived beneath the period of growth, photosynthesis, and abundance, and then worked on under the cover of snows and dormancy, I worked amongst the interplay of the influence of land and life. Life, held within the ever graceful and dynamic horse called Raven emerges amongst the landscape. The semi-parasitic Indian paintbrush (Castilleja) exists using the roots of others, here, the Arnica. This continuation of reliance threads itself into continuity; mountain sediments flowing to the plains, Indian paintbrush gaining sustenance from others, horses shaped by their environment.

I am thrilled to have this painting in the 29th Annual Women's Works Show. Reminiscent of the fissures cut by water through the landscape and echoing the colors of the area's native sandstone, this piece serves to investigate the intangible demands of sorrow. I've found that as I am developing a work, it begins to have specific characteristics.  My task then is to integrate those characteristics and underlying thoughts in order to convey them accurately and aesthetically.  With this specific painting, I found an elusiveness in the lines that I wanted to maintain, as well as an intense level of realism and emotion around her eyes and the way she holds her ears. 

It is currently displayed at the Old Court House Arts Center in Woodstock, IL from March 10 through April 30, 2016.  The annual exhibit is the Northwest Area Arts Council's international juried competition. More information and the catalog can be found at http://www.womensworks.org/ .

The eclipse of the Harvest Moon in September of 2015 was a striking event as the earth's shadow gradually infused the moon with a hue of red. I wanted to portray the horse as pushing through this unavoidable event that is shrouded in mystery.  Research regarding various myths about the Blood Moon indicate a level of destruction or, interestingly enough, growth.  

My latest piece is explores the concept of amending while building on flaws.  I first created this painting by intentionally and irregularly dripping tinted medium on a color-washed canvas. The horse was then enmeshed with the marring lines.  The duality of paint application and texture expressed within the painting speaks to the nature of self and the environment.  I am working with the idea of the various layers of ourselves. This painting became a search to regain the beauty and balance upset by the initial rift.  His gaze seems to implore the viewer to face...something.  He calls to engage with him.

Part of my quest, or development, as an artist is sharing my work and ideas.  For without that, I have pondered my purpose.  What is this drive to create that which has been unseen before? 

Georgia O'Keeffe said, "Whether you succeed or not is irrelevant, there is no such thing. Making your unknown known is the important thing--and keeping the unknown always beyond you." The portion of her words that ring with resounding clarity is the idea that sharing that piece of myself, yourself, ourselves, is the primary focus.  

Eva Hesse, an influential sculptor working in the 1960s in New York, said, "I am interested in solving an unknown factor of art and an unknown factor of life." I can appreciate her insight as I work through my pieces.  There is a juxtaposition that I cannot quite grasp between myself, my subject, the material, and that unknown essence.  Each painting is a reach to come to the full understanding of a concept.

I am honored to be exhibiting my piece titled "Adjust; Movement Above 11,000 Feet", showcasing my interpretation of a Montana mountain goat, with whom I shared the Froze to Death Plateau on my way down from Granite Peak.  They live in a wild, vast, and extreme environment, and I marveled at the ease that this particular goat navigated the terrain.

For more information regarding the show, please click on the following: "Life in the Wild" show

The truth of shadows lie in the relationship between the entity, the surface contours, and the light. Without each other, the shadow would simply not exist. That blocking of the source of illumination; that elusive shape that creates depth, mystery, intrigue. It's a fleeting moment, a difference constructed by the confluence of factors that rely on each other. In the change lies a distant effect that we may not yet, or ever, see.  Does the grass grow a little less where your shadow fell?  Does an insect scurry in a different direction?  In that elusive moment in time, what truths are in the phantom nature of the shadow? 

Capturing those shadows lends legitimacy to each essence of the trinity: object, surface, and illumination.
                                                                                                        - Whitney