Carbon Tide

CARBON TIDE/ Iteration III, from the Carbon Bomb series. Temporary environmental art installation, Pacific Coast North America, 2022.

Drawdown Peatlands Artist Residency

Homer Drawdown Peatlands Project https://www.homerdrawdown.info/blog/artist-in-residence-sheryl-maree-reily

For the past several years I have been creating work which explores humankind’s (often fraught) relationship to the natural world. It is my belief that we are inextricably linked to the landscape and it is the loss of this connection that has resulted in many of the problems we are facing today, such as climate change.

In the unraveling of these thoughts, I’ve been looking at the disappearance of natural landscapes due to human intervention, the functions of the earth’s surface layer in balancing global climate health, and Carbon as a source of both planetary balance and destabilization.

In his book 'Landmarks' Robert MacFarlane describes a theory whereby humankind's separation from the land, parallels the development of language. The theory postulates that the very act of naming indicates an awareness of the 'self' as separate, and all else as 'other.'

With this in mind I've been pondering the language of landscape. The classification and naming conventions for wetlands are extensive and alive with history. Aside from trying to fathom what distinguishes Peatlands from say a Marsh, I was puzzled by the word Peat and discovered its origins rooted in the action of piecing and parceling – not a description of peat land composition or terrain as I expected.

The historic practice of slicing and cutting Peatlands appears deeply embedded in the DNA of the word. When I look at city planning maps for the Homer area, Peatlands' fate seems pre-determined by a series of rectangles mirroring on paper the familiar block shapes of turf.

Along with documenting the local "peatscape" during the Artist Residency I've been pondering the role Carbon plays in planetary degradation, drawing connections to ways in which the Earth's surface layers, can mitigate or contribute to the cycle of warming.

Looking into the ways of Carbon, one is constantly tripping over the terms organic and inorganic. Organic produce sequestered in plastic is typical of a worldwide cultural shift toward large Box Stores with convenience packaging, as a primary source of nutrition.

Plastic is a petroleum derived hydrocarbon. Modern day systems for the harvesting, storage and distribution of food, call attention to fossil fuel’s placement in our food chain. Oil now supplies fertilizers and preservatives, as well as the means of transportation and container. We even pay for services and goods with oil in the form of plastic (credit cards). Plastic’s effects on the human body are only just beginning to be understood.

Consumer driven practices contribute to climate destabilization, the drying of Peatlands and further release of Carbon into the atmosphere.

Uniquely position within the Arctic and sub-Arctic Circle, Alaska which contains 65% of the nation’s wetlands, is tasked, along with other Arctic Nations, with a tremendous opportunity and responsibility to maintain balance.

Could Peatlands (wetlands) become the new currency in a world that needs to buy time and reverse the clock on climate change? Could these landscapes become a primary mechanism of defense against the slow bombing of the planet with Carbon waste?

It is my hope that as a result of the Artist Residency experiences, I will produce artwork which communicates some of these ideas quickly in a universal and a clearly understood visual language, with an emphasis on Peatlands as both a potential asset and a cause for future concern.

Why we won't just leave

I am honored to join the following voices in sharing Alaskan perspectives on climate change at the Social and Public Art Resource Center (SPARC) in Los Angeles: Apay'uq Moore, Ayana Young, Bernadette Demientieff, Bill Brody, Bill Hanson, Hannah Perrine Mode, Ilarion Kuuyux Merculieff, International Arctic Research Center, Jennifer Moss, Jessica Thornton, Jody Juneby Potts, Kate Troll, Keri Oberly, Klara Maisch, Lindsay Carron, Marie Sakar, Nathaniel Wilder, Quannah Chasinghorse Potts, Sheryl Reily, Sophie Sakar, Tim Musso.

Why we won’t just leave

What Alaska Is Telling The World About Climate Change

Alaska is warming twice as fast as the rest of the world, and changes in Alaska’s landscape have a global impact. ​Why We Won’t Just Leave: What Alaska is Telling the World About Climate Change ​is a virtual exhibition curated by Lindsay Carron and presented by Social and Public Art Resource Center (SPARC) that highlights the responses of Alaskans to their rapidly changing environment. This exhibition delivers messages that are key for us all if we are to reverse climate catastrophe and cultivate a healthy, vibrant future for generations to come. From activists delivering testimonies in D.C. and artists revealing truth with beauty, to scientists studying methane released from melting permafrost, Alaska has a message for the world.

This coming Saturday, February 27th at the virtual curatorial walk-through on Zoom 4pm PST. If you haven’t yet, please RSVP to join the Zoom room: https://sparcinla.org/why-we-wont/

The Bone Dome

the Bone Dome | sixth mass extinction

Everybody’s talking to one another. The camera’s talking to the the scanner, the scanner’s talking to the the projector and the computer - and nobody needs the internet to do it!

Just waiting for the lights to go out in about a month to take the next step.

Statewide Art Intervention

"Funding to art in the state has been cut not because of its excess but because of its power"

Sheryl Maree Reily

Art Widow

|Black drape

https://fm.kuac.org/post/artists-stage-intervention-die

2019 was a busy year, interrupted in part by the closing of the Alaska State Council on the Arts along with other programs vital to the socio-cultural and economic well-being of the state.

As a member of the agency’s visual arts advisory council for a number of years, I have a deep understanding and respect for the role the agency plays in the lives of Alaskans.

In response to these events I initiated two performance interventions and coordinated a statewide call to action in response to Governor Dunleavy of Alaska’s decision.

Although we were unable to halt the dismantling of the agency by joining forces with others we were able to amplify our voices and let it be known we are not subject to erasure.

I am so grateful to the artists, patrons, institutions and politicians who worked side by side in a unified bi-partisan effort, which eventually resulted in the reinstatement of funding of the agency.

#saveAKarts #ArtsAdvocacy #ASCA #alaskastatecouncilonthearts #thisisalaska #saveourarts #saveourstate #OverRideTheVeto #ArtWidow

https://www.sfchronicle.com/news/article/Alaska-State-Arts-Council-shuts-down-after-14099624.php

Beyond Land’s End

http://dnr.alaska.gov/parks/asp/parksblog.htm

Artist Gone Wild|artist residency

Alaska offers unique opportunities for artists to engage in wilderness based artist residencies.

View of Kachemak Bay from Bishop’s Beach, Homer

I am experiencing a major case of color intoxication. I peer into a tide pool as if it were a snow globe, and marvel at the combustion of colors. In my memory, I am gliding effortlessly on a magic tapestry of anemone, urchins, chiton, kelp, mollusks, with starfish splayed in hues of orange, purple and blue carpeting the floor of the lagoon beneath the canvas deck of the kayak. Watching droplets slice silently from the blade of the paddle animating the scene below, I am reminded of antique mirrors and horror houses. Only this is not horrible, it's delicious.

I promised myself I would be back. Only next time I would load the film in the SLR correctly, come armed with the right tools - art supplies, uninterrupted time, and the space for thoughts. And yet, that day, as I looked into my tide pool gazing ball, I could not have predicted a future without film, or that it would be three decades before I would return to China Poot Lagoon in Kachemak Bay, Alaska.

Sounding like some exotic location from a Pearl S. Buck novel, China Poot lagoon, quixotically named after Henry Poot - an early Homerite who employed Chinese immigrants to work in his herring factory, is neatly tucked into the coastline of Kachemak Bay, Alaska. As displaced as the words China Poot may sound in the Alaskan landscape, the lagoon itself is perfectly placed - beyond expectations, as is the entire Kachemak Bay State Park.

This past summer I was invited to return to the area as the Kachemak Bay State Park (KBSP) Artist-in-Residence (AIR). The agreement with the park was simple, I would spend a week alone at the ranger station in exchange for giving a public presentation and donating art. In my public presentation titled 'The Importance of Artist Residencies in Wilderness Spaces' I shared the mutual goal of these partnerships, to inspire future work which expands the reach of the park and to contribute to the creative growth of the artist.

I arrived at Homer Spit, a four and a half mile finger of land pointing directly across the water toward Kachemak Bay State Park, having driven my mobile art studio from Fairbanks through South Central Alaska and the Kenai Peninsula. I was to meet the park crew at the top of Ramp 4 at 8:30am for the boat ride across the bay to the ranger station. From past personal experience I know if you miss the tide you miss the ride, so I was standing at the top of the dock EXTRA early in my EXTRATUFs ® when the skiff pulled in. (No self-respecting Alaskan would ever approach water without wearing a pair of the iconic rubber boots. EXTRATUFs ® also work well for piles of bear scat and fish slime - more on that later).

The Kachemak Bay State Park Artist-in-Residency program is situated in one of the most spectacular locations in the world. Viewed from Land's End at the tip of that finger I  mentioned earlier, the more than 400,000 acres contained in the park will steal your breath away. This is nature's majesty on a grand scale, a place where glaciers cleave snow-capped mountains and plunge into the ocean flanked by lush green forest, a terrestrial goddess slipping into a saline pool of emerald green. On a clear day it's hard to know where the sea ends and the sky begins, as disorienting as it is delightful. And the abundance of marine and land based wildlife is staggering.

There was no way for me to access China Poot by water so I decided to hike an unmaintained trail that climbs the ridge separating the ranger station from the two lagoons. While hiking the two-mile stretch, wearing my XTRATUFs ®, flanked by devil's club and crops of prehistoric looking sulphur-shelf (a psychedelic orange colored 'shroom that attaches itself to conifers) I counted thirty-three piles of bear scat (poop). Admittedly it was not all steaming, but the insipid tinkle of bear bells did little to reassure me and I felt compelled to augment the soundscape by reciting nursery rhymes and Spanish verb conjugations - using my loudest outdoor voice. I don't sing.

Sometimes small shifts portend an avalanche of change. Beneath the liquid surface of Kachemak Bay colors have shifted in the past three decades. During the residency I did not see a single starfish. A disease called starfish wasting has dulled the waters of China Poot Lagoon. Little is known about the cause of this disease which has slowly crept north via the West Coast. There have been other changes, fewer mollusks, and most noticeable, rafts of sea otter. At times these flotillas host as many as a hundred or more otter, a roiling island of flesh, smacking their lips and rocks against chest perched clam shells, slurping down the seafood cocktail innards. The exploding population of crustacean crunching connoisseurs, is challenging the ecological balance of the bay.

My experience commercial fishing and living in remote areas prepared me for managing the off-the-grid systems at the Ranger station. But you don't have to be a 'Wilderness Woman' or 'Mountain Man' to enjoy the park. With a little planning it's all accessible, with common-sense it's doable. There are public use cabins and water taxis to deliver you to trail heads leading to all kinds of options - want to see a lake, a glacier, a mountain, forest, sea-life, birds, large mammals, a jökulhlaup (probably not)? It's all there.

Sound travels long distances over water in undeveloped landscapes. One of the sweetest moments for me came one evening while observing a family kayak around the bay, baby strapped securely to her mom's chest, singing 'Only You' by the Platters. It was the one-year anniversary of their daughter's first trip to the park and they had returned to celebrate her first birthday!

What exactly is an Artist-in-Residency program? At first blush it might sound like an all expenses paid vacation for the artist (if only), or a good way to decorate the home office headquarters, but an Artist-in-Residency program is a privilege for both the artist and the sponsoring institution.

From the artist's point of view the purpose of such programs is to provide uninterrupted time and the resources needed to reflect, research, experiment or produce art, away from the distractions of normal life. Each residency offers its' own unique set of opportunities and challenges for both the artist and agency. There are as many kinds of AIR programs as there are artists. I have encountered programs where an artist could sleep for three months and the institution wouldn't blink an eye - trusting if the artist needed this to recharge their creative batteries, the residency had fulfilled its’ purpose! Other residencies will run an artist ragged with expectations and givebacks. Most often the artist and institution find a happy medium.

Parks throughout the nation have a long history of working with artists and Alaska has embraced this relationship. Today's savvy resource managers know they must reach audiences beyond the walls of the visitor center. Breaking convention, they look for new ways to communicate the value of their charge, using innovative methods to capture the attention of the nation with new media and interventions. That's where I come in.

I am a conceptual artist. Chances are, if you find yourself asking whether a particular piece of artwork is art? [or not] - it's more than likely conceptual art. The driving force behind my work is an idea and it is the idea that determines my choice of materials, and discipline. You might wonder why a park would want to form a partnership with an artist whose work is often temporary, seldom hung on a wall or sold in a gallery, who weaves plastic bags into a life size sarcophagus and strings fishing floats to form a fifty-foot rosary?

As an artist I have a unique platform for communicating ideas and the concerns of others. I can say a lot and never open my mouth. You can't fire, furlough or build a wall around me.

For several years, I have participated in wilderness artist residencies as a means of un-tethering from the studio, connecting with the physical world, and obtaining access to remote areas, and oddly enough meeting people. Wilderness residencies have become an integral part of my creative practice and an essential resource and source of inspiration for a personal project title, the ReWilding project.

https://www.sherylmareereily.com/#/rewilding-lab/

My primary concerns as an artist are human and environmental well-being. I believe the two are inseparable. Wilderness-based artist-in-residency opportunities mesh well with my interest in investigating humankind's complicated and often fraught relationship to wilderness. The ReWilding project is as much about our human inner landscape as it is about the outdoor environment, and the setting aside of public lands as parks and preserves, is an act that acknowledges both the intrinsic and extrinsic value of the landscape - it's a great partnership

Gas and a Glacier Light Art Installation

Conceptual Rendering

Memorial to china poot

China Poot Lagoon sounds exotic and displaced in an Alaskan landscape. And yet, true to its name, it is perfectly placed -  beyond expectations.

Thirty years ago I kayaked to the cove with a friend. I recall the visual tapestry of sea life in the transparent waters beneath the canvas of the kayak  - tide pools exploding with anemone, urchins, chiton, seaweed, kelp, mussels and a color combustion of starfish across the seabed. It was an image that nested in me, strong enough to make me want to return to that roust. It was the moment my friend realized she was pregnant.

I chose to print this image in B&W because things have changed. The floor of the lagoon is a silty brown, the tapestry shredded.

Relocation of sea otter from Prince William Sound after the Exxon Valdez Oil Spill has nurtured a biological incline. This mountain of survivors is shifting the ecology of the bay. During the week long artist residency I did not see a single starfish. No fireworks, not even a sparklers worth of presence. A disease called starfish wasting has extinguished the light.

Kachemak Bay State Parks Artist Residency

Ya!

Participating in wilderness residencies is such a privilege. I get to be and see places I probably wouldn't experience otherwise. Listening to others, reading, and just plain feet on the ground spending time in the space - I learn so much, become inspired, grow.

My work seldom travels in a straight line, and time is an important component of my practice. I'm still processing the experience. There have been a lot of changes since I kayaked this area thirty years ago. Until the work materializes I can share words, be the eyes for others, give a shout out for the wilderness and a vote for it's preservation.

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A few images from the fringe (Broad Pass, & Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center)

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The wilderness - where you're hardly ever alone.

To call the road between Cantwell and Paxson Alaska a highway - is a stretch. I met Barbara and Kathleen and their broke down Toyota in the middle of the Denali Highway. So while my husband fixed the tire (hey he wanted to) we did what strangers do - we stood around exchanging stories. Both women have interesting life histories. Barbara, originally from Philly, a veteran dog musher and Iditarod competitor, with a side gig as a lawyer and Judge, has spent many years in the Alaska wilderness.

When I was in my early twenties exploring Mexico and the Caribbean, people asked if I was afraid to travel alone? Rarely ever alone I was only scared once. Traveling in the wilderness is a little like that - there are very few spaces with absolutely no evidence of human activity. Even in places where the only access is by plane or boat, pre-colonial occupation exists.

The recent addition of the sonic boom to the soundscape is a notch up from the rare crack of a distant gun shot. A cairn, empty bullet casings, flint naps, an archeological observation site, a blaze on a tree, crumbling cabin foundation, rusty can or a GU wrapper, are the more typical time displaced remnants of human passage.

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Angel Creek Hillside Trail

I needed this.  My body is doing its job of healing really well - but my soul needed feeding. So I selfishly dragged my husband, our fifteen year old dog and the ReWilding [Lab] to the fringes of wilderness.

While my husband mountain biked I walked. I broke protocol, I didn't follow the flight plan - I took the winter trail so I could watch the weather brew above the Hillside Trail.  I read - The Emperor of all Maladies: A Biography of Cancer by Sidhartha Mukherjee, I looked, I cooked, I smiled.

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