Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Artist's Statement

(Graduating Senior Project June 2000)
Digging in the past, I'm republishing my artist's statement from my senior project.  You many note that it was all about the smell of darkroom chemicals, something I haven't used in years.  The digital age has changed how I create art, but hasn't changed how I feel about it.


Emergent Nude 1999
I associate art with odor.

My early memories as a five year old are posing in my grandmother's studio, breathing in the sharp sweet smells of oil paint and turpentine. She would work quietly and swiftly, trying to finish the portrait she had started of me from a photograph. A few years later I am in my dad's darkroom, earning my first Girl Scout merit badge for photography. The pungent smells of stop-bath and fixer sting my sinuses and make my eyes water. I didn't like it then, but years later it evokes special memories of that all too rare time alone with my dad.

Bodie 1996
Since then, I have worked in a number of different mediums. Whether it is the sweetness of freshly milled wood or the infusion of paint and thinner, the greasy smell of theatrical make-up or the tanginess of printmaking, each discipline has its own special aromas. Now that I've settled on photography, it's in the darkroom, with the scent of chemicals swirling around me, that I am the happiest.

Fort Point 1986
What excites me about making art is the process. While some people are stimulated by the anticipation of creation, others are only satisfied by the results. My fulfillment is found in the activity - being immersed in the aroma of the chemistry, the rhythmic rocking of the trays, the ticking of the timers and the changing interplay of the lights. Working in the darkroom is a sensual dance of creativity. It is a solitary labor of love.


Andrew 1986
My art speaks of that solitude and sensuality. Whether it is a single human figure painted by light or an old musty bed in an uninhabited building, my images are conjured up out of the darkness, smelling of sweat or reeking of age. Cannonballs sit stacked in readiness for a war that will never come. An elderly lady sits waiting for grandchildren that rarely visit. A baby reaches its sticky fingers, trying to capture dust motes floating in the air. Art is a poignant fragrance that evokes a memory of the past.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Remembering Michael


Last week, the world lost a good guy.  Michael Ray Vega was killed by a hit and run driver as he left his job at the Apple Genius bar.  The driver is still at large.  


This is my remembrance.

It was October 1996 when our two families pulled their kids from their regularly scheduled classes at Hawthorne Elementary for a long weekend of camping and fishing in the Sierras. The destinations? Rock Creek Lake and Silver Lake in the June Lakes Loop. Rock Creek Lake is very high (in altitude) and very cold in the fall. We fished by day and shivered in our tents at night – it was so cold that our water bottles were frozen solid by morning. We had our challenges - the propane didn't work so well first thing in the morning or late in the evening. Early one morning a bear visited our campsite and we were awakened by Michelle and the kids banging pans and yelling at it to scare it away. The bear tried to make off with Andy's tackle box. Powerbait must smell pretty good to a bear.

During this time, we had a chance observe the Vega family in all their boisterous glory. Michael had his own role in the family – protective big brother to Danielle, catalyst to Jordan's misdeeds and deliberate thorn in his parent's sides. He was always ready with a joke or a comeback - sporting that cocky smile even at a young age, and always dancing just out of arm's reach and retribution.

On this trip, I had an opportunity to see another side of Michael. My husband and I decided to hike further up the mountain to the Little Lakes Valley – our own kids declined the pleasure, but Michael wanted to come with us. At 9 years old, I wasn't sure how he'd do on the hike, but Michael surprised me. He kept up without complaining. He was determined and focused. He'd left the joker behind in our campsite and brought a different kid on that hike. He was thoughtful and appreciative of our surroundings. He loved all the alpine lakes and little wild flowers. My husband recalls that he had a camera and was taking photographs. He seemed to really love the high mountain peaks and the challenges of hiking at altitude.
Michael  on the Little Lakes Valley trail.

We had more adventures on that trip – renting a boat on Silver Lake and staying in the cabins. We went to the ghost town at Bodie and saw naked foreigners bathing at Hot Creek, but the best moments for me were on that hike with Michael. I was really glad we took him on that hike – to be able to see the Sierras through someone else's eyes gives you a new clarity and appreciation. It also gave me a new appreciation for Michael.


Life is so full of paradoxes. We are preparing for our oldest daughter to get married next week. (She and Michael were in Kindergarten together.) One moment I am so full of joy preparing for the event, but the next I remember that Michael is gone and my friend dear Michelle is experiencing the worst of heartaches imaginable. I start to feel that nagging despair again, but it occurs to me that Michael would NOT want that. His legacy must be Peace, Love and Joy. That is my wish to you Michelle, Andy, Jordan and Danielle. Peace, Love and Joy.