Archive for July, 2009

July 29, 2009
Blue blazes

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They’re predicting 105 degrees today here in T-town—that’s an all-time, record-breaking high. Now, if you’re in the Midwest, the South, or the Southwest and you’re reading this, you’re probably thinking, “And this is news how?” Well, this is where the part about “all-time” comes in—since white settlement of this area, at least, it has never, ever been this hot before. This place ain’t made for 105°. Almost nobody has air conditioning, but the discomfort is only the half of it. Who knows what this will mean for the snow pack in the mountains, or the water supply?

Beastly or not, though, it seemed a shame to let all this amazing solar energy go to waste. So over the weekend the Tailor devised a passive food dehydrator out of old window panes (buying an electric dryer, to us, seemed to defeat the purpose of home sustainability). Our first attempt at drying berries seemed successful, so at 5:30 this morning,before the heat kicked in, we headed to Blueberry Park to pick about three gallons more. (The berries are happy with the heat, even if nobody else is!)

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Here’s how it works: four nylon window screens (don’t use aluminum! It reacts with the food) hover over the pavement, propped up on wooden beams to allow for air circulation. Tied to each screen is a black linen cloth to absorb more heat and provide a clean surface for the food, while still letting air pass through. The glass windows fit right on top, providing the perfect space to trap hot air, just like a greenhouse.

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Now, on to the fruit itself. For blueberries, at least, the dried yield ends up being about a quarter of what you started with (so for example, two quarts of fresh berries will become about a pint dried), so it’s best to start with a big batch—another vote for a large, homemade drier over those tiny electric ones. Our drying system will hold five or six quarts of fresh berries.

Wash the berries and remove any stems, petals, grass and unripened fruit (and especially spiders!), and set a large stockpot of water to boil. Place about a quart of berries into a steamer —the berries will dry faster if you split the skins first, and smaller batches seem to be more effective than boiling the whole batch at once.

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Once your water is boiling, put the steamer into the pot, and boil for thirty seconds—just long enough for the skins to split. Then remove the steamer and dump the hot berries into a colander in a cold sink (the ice water stops the cooking process).

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Here’s what the split berries look like; they should feel squishy, and you should be able to see the pale interior flesh on some of them. (Sorry about the photo quality—that red tile just kills the light.)

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Okay, now you’re ready to take ‘em outside. Distribute the berries evenly over the cloth-covered screens,

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and spread them out until you have a single layer.

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Now, just put the glass back into place, and let the sun do the work. It’s amazing how quickly the humidity inside the glass disappears, and how hot it gets in there. The ideal temperature for drying blueberries is about 140°F, but we’ve already seen our dryer get up to 155°. It doesn’t seem to hurt the final product, but at the hottest part of the day we cover the glass with a sheet for an hour or so, just to cool it down a bit.

About once a day it’s good to redistribute and un-stick the fruit, which helps it dry faster and more evenly. It takes about three full, sunny days  to dry the berries completely—unlike raisins, you want blueberries to be so dry they rattle. You should end up with hard little husks that don’t squish and don’t stick together.

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Here you can see the difference between fresh, split berries and ones that are almost done. Once they’re dry, pasteurize them for fifteen minutes in a 175° oven to kill any residual germs, and store in a sealed, air-tight jar.

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Since we’ll probably use our dried berries for a wide variety of recipes, we left them unsweetened. That way we can reconstitute them for pancakes, sauces and baked goods this winter without any recipe guesswork. They’re still sweet enough to eat plain, too (trail mix, anyone?), although if you prefer your berries pre-sweetened, you can coat them in simple syrup before drying.

Either way, you’ll end up with sunshine in a jar.

Posted by Chandler at 2:24 PM in Adventure, Life, Pacific Northwest, Sustainability, T-Town  |  Permalink  |   Comments (4)
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July 26, 2009
Interview: Sarah Christianson

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Portraits of the photographer by Jesse Mullan

Photographer Sarah Christianson has captured the history, beauty, and social relevance of her family’s independent farm in her latest body of work, Homeplace, a series of images that will later be collected in a limited-edition artist book. I’ve had the privilege of watching this project take shape, beginning with a pile of contact sheets littering Sarah’s living room floor. The photographs were full of enormous potential, but the over-abundance of information made for a frustrating and daunting task ahead. Over the next three-plus years, Sarah returned again and again to the farm for more images. She ruthlessly self-edited, cutting exquisite photographs out of the series when they didn’t fit the project. She mined her family archives for documents and vintage photos, and made the decision to include them as part of the artwork itself. The result is a pictorial narrative that transcends its rural setting to tell the story of American labor, family life, and the sense of place that is so important in our culture. I asked Sarah if she would share some information and imagery from Homeplace—below is our conversation.

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Christianson Farm, Cummings, ND, August 2007

Could you give me a brief description of your background?
I am a photographic artist and recent MFA graduate of the University of Minnesota. I grew up on a farm in eastern North Dakota, immersed in family traditions and the endlessly flat landscape of the Red River Valley. Because of this deep connection to family and place, my work explores the many facets of Midwestern experience.

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Homestead Certificate, 1884 (Family Archive)

Tell me about Homeplace.
Homeplace is a project I’ve worked on for the past three years. It examines the history and potential future of my family’s four-generation, 1200 acre farm by combining my images with materials from our family archive, such as maps, snapshots, diary entries, etc. The farm was started in 1884 by my great-great grandfather, Hans Olai Cornelius Christianson. Now, my parents will probably be the last generation of Christiansons to run it, as my siblings and I have chosen other careers. I felt compelled to document this place and make sense of its history before it was gone, especially because so many family farms are disappearing across the country.

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Traces, 2007

In some of your statements about this project, you mention the word “palimpsest.” Can you explain what you mean by that, and how it relates to the farmland in your photographs?
Palimpsest refers to an ancient text or manuscript that has been reused: the text has been scraped off its surface so another text could be written on it. This was done before the widespread use of paper when writing surfaces were more expensive and scarce. However, traces of previous text layers were often still visible and mixed with the layers on top of it. Just as these texts intermingle, I weave together different layers of the farm’s history and identity in Homeplace, jumping backward and forward with chronology.

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Rain (Section 23)

One recurring element I document is the marks made on the land. Like a palimpsest, these marks mix time together, evidencing seasonal agricultural practices (planting, cultivating, harvesting) and older traces of habitation that can’t be erased from the land’s surface.

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Left: Living Room-Dining Room; Right: Barn;
Former Anderson-Christianson Farm 2006

Please explain your creative process for Homeplace. Has the project gone how you expected it to?
When I started this project, I was documenting the farmhouse my grandmother had just moved out of. It was a natural transition from the project I had just finished (Merricourt:  Somewhere & Nowhere, North Dakota) in which I was documenting an abandoned town. But I quickly realized it wasn’t just one farmhouse passing out of the family: the original Christianson homestead had already been demolished, and the farm where I grew up (where my parents still live & work) would eventually be gone too when my parents retire. There was a larger story to tell about its history and future. That’s when I began exploring our family archive, searching for photographs and materials that contextualized the different images I found myself making. It was definitely an unexpected turn, but I went with it and let the project naturally evolve.

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From Homestead to Field (Out West/Uncle Bud’s, Section 5): 1942 & 2007

Why do you combine your photographs with old family photos in this body of work?
As I said, these family mementos provide a larger and historical context for my images and build on the idea of a palimpsest. They also serve as an easy way into the work, as many people have similar photos and items in their family collections. It’s something people can easily relate to.

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Christianson Cutter: 1941 & 2007

You seem to prefer working with series of images that tell a story. Why are you drawn to this method? Why a series, rather than an individual photograph?
I enjoy building complex narratives, with images that interconnect and play off of one another. An individual photograph is too limiting for the statement I want to make.

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From Claire Anderson’s 5-Year Diary, 1945-1949 (Family Archive)

You have been exploring the medium of artist books over the last few years. What drew you to artist books, and how does the medium fit with Homeplace?
The book is a narrative vehicle, which fits perfectly with my intimate and personal style of photography. The book is a great equalizer, too, for all the disparate materials I’m using. For Homeplace, I’ve made several mock-ups via online self-publishing services. Now that I have figured out the editing and pacing, I’m looking forward to creating a limited edition, handmade artist’s book for the project.

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Equipment, Christianson Farm, January 2008

How do you see yourself in today’s art world? Have you found it difficult to work with traditional, black-and-white film techniques in a world full of instant, color, digital photography? Have you received criticism or resistance from others for that?
So many people get caught up in the latest-and-greatest trends in art, and they feel pressured to conform to these trends in order to “make it.” But art-making is full of approaches and possibilities that are as valid and valuable as the next. I use materials and techniques that support my concepts. For Homeplace, a project about family tradition, I wanted to draw upon the traditions of black and white documentary and landscape photography. A black and white palette also equalizes my images with those from family albums, again playing with time and the idea of a palimpsest. I use color selectively to further mark time and to reference a change in family tradition and the trends of contemporary photography.

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Soybean Harvest (Section 36) #1, October 2008

There was some resistance at first to the choices I made for Homeplace. Why are you using film? Why are you using black and white? Why are you even making prints? But this mostly occurred when I hadn’t fully developed the project yet and didn’t quite realize how it all fit together. It was hard for others to envision the work coming together until they had seen the final product. At that point, all resistance disappeared. What’s important is that I trusted my creative instincts throughout the process, even if I couldn’t fully explain these instincts until later.

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Driveway, February 2009

You tend to take on projects that consume your time and energy for long periods of time—years, often. How do you keep your enthusiasm going? How do you get over creative blocks?
I need that time for ideas to fully mature because I tend to work with complex narratives. It’s not easy to undertake and complete these projects, but I’m driven by the desire to make others aware of these stories, that what I have to put out into the world is important. Creative blocks are a natural part of the artistic process. It definitely helps to have a core group of people you can turn to that understand your work when you lose momentum. They’re a step removed from the process, and bouncing ideas off them can show you possibilities and solutions you can’t see when you’re stuck in the middle.

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East Blanchard Township (Bloomfield), from Traill County, ND Plat Directory, 1892 (Family Archive)

What projects are on the horizon? Will you continue Homeplace, or is there another project you’re working on?
Homeplace is done, for the most part. I’m currently working on creating a limited edition artist’s book of it and finding a commercial publisher. I anticipate also creating a sequel over the next 20 or so years—Homeplace: Revisited, or something like that—that examines the farm as my parents age and its ultimate fate is decided.

In the meantime, another project, Gamlelandet (Old Country), grew out of Homeplace about a year ago. As I dug deeper into our family archive and heard more stories from my grandmother about our family, I grew increasingly more curious to know what happened to the farms my ancestors left behind in Norway. After extensive genealogy research, my grandparents visited these farms in the 1970s and 1990s. But I wanted to see them for myself, to reconnect with this distant past, and to add another layer to Homeplace. With a fellowship from the University of Minnesota, I photographed these Norwegian farms that were no longer associated with my family and the current farm owners now operating them.

This project is still in its infancy, even if I have exhibited some of the photographs from it already. I’m still working out the relationships between images; I’m again pairing them with family archival materials, juxtaposing my ancestors with the current farm owners and the land/place they have in common. It’s a much more complicated relationship than the diptychs and triptychs in Homeplace, for those were fairly straightforward rephotographs. I’m finding that Gamlelandet relies much more on text to explain image relationships. And I’m still trying to sort that out because it’s something I’m not used to in my work. I would love to return to Norway to expand this project—I was only there for three weeks, barely enough time to scratch the surface of potential. As with Homeplace, I’d also like to create a limited edition artist’s book for this project once it reaches maturity.

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Christianson Farm

You’ve just moved to the Bay Area of California—a very different world from your roots. How do you see this affecting your work?
I feel this change will only strengthen my work. I’m still very passionate about the Midwest and my roots there and probably will be my entire life. Moving to the west will freshen my perspective on the previous work I’ve created and the future work I hope to create when I periodically return to North Dakota. But I don’t want to limit my artistic investigations only to the Midwest. I’m excited about researching and finding stories to connect with in the Bay area that may become part of my work. No matter where I am, the core of my work will remain the same: I love exploring places, their history, and my relation to them.

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Front Door Looking East, April 2008

How do you promote your work? How do you find funding or gallery shows? Any advice for emerging photographers or artists out there?
I send regular updates on my work and exhibits via my mailing list, which consists of photo and gallery professionals as well as friends and family. I also send physical postcards to the list members for exhibitions I’m in. These updates promote my work by keeping it fresh in people’s thoughts. Many surprising things have happened through my mailing list. In fact, as I was moving across the country, a gallery director from my mailing list called me out of the blue with an offer to exhibit Homeplace. And this was a person I added a few years ago (when they purchased one of my pieces from a juried exhibit they hosted) that I really hadn’t heard anything else from.

I’m an active member of the Society for Photographic Education, an organization where I can meet other photographic professionals and learn about the latest in my field. Their conferences are a great way to promote your work via portfolio reviews and networking.

I’m constantly researching funding and exhibition opportunities. While I certainly don’t apply for everything, it’s good to know what’s out there, especially for the future. And for the applications I do send, I get a lot of rejections! But I’m persistent. Probably the greatest resource for photographers is Mary Virginia Swanson and her blog; it’s full of photo opportunities.

My advice? Promotion & professional development is hard and never-ending. Try to set aside time each week for this. And only create work you’re passionate about. Why waste your time otherwise?

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Grandmothers & Granddaughters

Thanks, Sarah! I can’t wait to see it in artist-book form.

Posted by Chandler at 4:51 PM in Book Arts, Kindred Spirits, Life  |  Permalink  |   Comments (4)
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July 22, 2009
Kerplink, kerplank, kerplunk

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Maybe I’m still not over the shock of moving from Zone Three to Zone Eight, but the sheer variety of fresh produce ’round these parts never ceases to amaze me. Now, if I can barely contain my excitement over what I see at the farmer’s market every week, you can imagine the heart attack I had when the Tailor and I discovered Tacoma’s very own Blueberry Park.

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That’s right: a public park. Filled to the brim with blueberry bushes. Four thousand of them. Once upon a time this was a working blueberry farm—after the farm folded or moved on, the land sat vacant and overgrown for years. Eventually Metro Parks took over the land, and decided to free the sixty-year-old bushes from the bracken.

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It took years of volunteer labor and many passes by a goat herd to hack back (or eat, depending on one’s preference) the scotch broom and blackberry vines. Now, though, the jungle is mostly kept at bay, and the result is an incredible bounty of pesticide-free berries. The best part? The pickin’ is free. Yes—all the fresh blueberries you, or I, or anyone and their maiden aunt can possibly pick, as many times as we like, for free. And with 4,000 bushes, there’s more than enough to go around. Talk about your tax dollars at work.

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The Tailor and I woke up before the sun today for our third berry-picking session. Our two previous trips to Blueberry Park didn’t yield much, as we were a little early for blueberry season. Today, though, an impressive crop was ready to take home, so with metal pails in hand, we dove right in.

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The sound of those first berries hitting the bottom of my pail—kerplink, kerplank, kerplunk—reminded me of one of my favorite children’s books of all time.

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Since we had big plans for these berries, we made sure to arrive with a full stomach.

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Well, alright, I did eat a few (even with my dirty hands).

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This is the yield of three hours’ work.

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That’s a two-gallon bucket, mind you. We don’t mess around!

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Our ultimate goal? The same as Sal’s mum: winter preserves. After all, if you’re a seasonal foodie, the only way to indulge a January craving for berries is to pop open one of your home-canned mason jars.

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This sparkling jam, yielded by just four quarts of berries, is only the beginning.

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Our house is filled with the scent of baking and the excitement of so many possibilities—pies, pancakes, syrup, glazes, dried berries. What would you do with all the berries you can pick?

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Grab a pail, head to East D and 75th Streets, and find out.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

P.S. Tomorrow (Thursday, July 23) I’ll be one of the artists featured on “Cityline,” a TV Tacoma program. Tune in to channel 12 at 9 am for a live broadcast, or watch it online here.

Posted by Chandler at 3:35 PM in Adventure, Life, Pacific Northwest, Sustainability, T-Town  |  Permalink  |   Comments (11)
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July 20, 2009
My kinda farm

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I serve on the board of the Book Arts Guild, a group that started as little gathering place for like-minded souls in the Pacific Northwest. It has since spiraled outward to include hundreds of members in all corners of the art form and the country—and suddenly thirty years have gone by. On Saturday fifty or so of us got together to celebrate the occasion at the Stern & Faye “Printing Farm” in the Skagit Valley.

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We couldn’t have asked for a better day—I could have stayed all afternoon in the orchard, chatting with kindred spirits.

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I had heard so much about the studio, however—so while most of the group was drawing for prizes in the loft,

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I wandered downstairs to do a bit of exploring.

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This is Jules Remedios Faye, “Proprietrix” of the Farm. She and her husband, Chris Stern, moved to the Skagit Valley fourteen years ago and turned an old barn into a letterpress printer’s dream.

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The space is at once cozy and seemingly never-ending,

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serving as both a working studio and a living relic.

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The place is chock-a-block with tools, type and ephemera, and functions as a type foundry as well—one of a small and dwindling number remaining in the U.S. these days.

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After Chris passed away in 2006, Jules was forced to scale back the studio a bit to continue managing it alone. The barn is still very much alive, though—the walls are festooned with prints, and evidence of well-loved and continuing use is all around. It feels like their space, not just hers.

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His presence is everywhere—a fitting memorial.

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The Printing Farm was the absolute, most fitting place to celebrate the anniversary of the Book Arts Guild. It served as a touching reminder that no matter how far into the past our roots go, no matter who has gone before us or what new trends have appeared, we’re still here—still breathing, still practicing, still creating.

After all, that’s what we’re here for.

Posted by Chandler at 4:58 PM in Book Arts, Kindred Spirits, Letterpress, Pacific Northwest  |  Permalink  |   Comments (3)
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July 13, 2009
Recipe for a summer day

First, invite your family down for the day;

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squeeze out some fresh lemonade;

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and fry up a free-range chicken.

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Then mix up some cream, sugar, and fresh berries (plus just a pinch of that lemon juice to bring out the flavor);

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pack ice and salt around it;

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and start crankin’.

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Let everyone pitch in—the longer you churn, the harder it’ll get.

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Finally, when even teamwork won’t turn that handle, you’re ready.

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And hey, presto—

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summer in a bowl.

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If all that ice cream gives you a chill, just head for the hot shop;

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gather around the fire;

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and bask in the perfect day you made.

Posted by Chandler at 10:01 PM in Life, Miscellany, T-Town, Uncategorized  |  Permalink  |   Comments (3)
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July 06, 2009
Stand-ins

In my (so far) limited experience, Washingtonians tend to be outdoor types—and with good reason. With so much beauty at our fingertips, it’s no wonder that with the first hint of a sunny day, we’re out in force. Add to that the near-clockwork arrival of the dry season by Independence Day, and the fact that huge swaths of the mountains are inaccessible for nine months out of the year—well, you can see where I’m going with this. Since the Fourth of July was kind enough to fall on a Saturday this year, the cities emptied and thousands headed Outward. And this year, though we’re normally Off-Season, Off-the-Beaten-Path types, the Tailor and I were no exception. Like zombies we staggered outdoors to pack our tiny Subaru sedan—must … go … camping!

We knew it was probably folly, but we had a goal in mind: find a beautiful, mountainous campsite away from the teeming hordes. We knew Mount Rainier would be out of the question, as were the Olympic Peninsula, Mount St. Helens, or any other popular tourist destinations—but even though we had a head start by leaving on Thursday afternoon, our hope faded as we saw the crush of fellow vacationers on the freeway. “Camper … camper … RV … canoe … RV … kayaks … cyclists … camper,” the Tailor droned, counting cars, “this was a dumb idea.” Yet as our route took us on smaller and smaller roads, the number of fellow travelers dwindled almost to none. It began to seem like our instincts were right after all.

Our destination? The Morrison Creek Campground, located on the southern slope of Mount Adams, Rainier’s slightly-smaller, lesser-known brother.

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While we were nervous of the possibility of any volcano attracting busloads of holiday tourists, our choice had a couple of points in our favor. For one thing, one can’t reserve a campsite in a national forest; all sites are taken on a first-come, first-served basis. For another, Morrison Creek is in the middle of freakin’ nowhere.


View Larger Map

The only way to get there from the north is to use the system of Forest Service roads that wind through the Gifford-Pinchot National Forest. The paved sections are breathtakingly beautiful and awfully fun to drive (especially with a stick shift; I felt like I was filming a car commercial). The “unimproved” stretches, on the other hand, range from challenging to terrifying. Mindful of the consequences of puncturing an oil pan or snapping an axle on a holiday weekend in one of the most remote pockets of the state, I took my sweet time picking my way around the detritus of recent rock slides and dodging monstrous potholes.

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When we pitched our tent just as the last light faded, however, we knew that it was absolutely worth the trip. Our campsite was in a lovely, secluded spot, adjacent to the Creek, just below the last traces of mountain snow, and surrounded by pockets of blooming beargrass. And to our immense surprise, we had Adams almost entirely to ourselves, for the whole weekend—funny, considering that the next campground, three miles up the road, was crawling with mountain climbers.

I was hoping our travels would afford us at least one view of Rainier in the distance—that way I’d have another sketch to add to my store of potential artist book imagery. FS Route 23, however, doesn’t afford such a vista, and any potential viewpoint reached by hiking trail was well out of range of our abilities. A two-mile hike from our tent did give us a spectacular, alpine-meadow view of Adams, though—and I realized that for my research purposes, I could use the peak as a sort of stunt double.

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From certain angles, Adams is remarkably similar to Rainier (and the two are often mistaken for one another when viewed from a distance). All the more reason to use my time there for drawing. I was surprised to see, however, how drastically Adams’ appearance changed, depending on the vantage point. This is the view from Bird Lake, on Yakama Nation land, just a couple of miles (as the crow flies) east of Morrison Creek:

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And though there was nowhere to sit to capture it in my sketchbook, a gap in the trees gave me the chance to glimpse another stand-in to the south: Mount Hood.

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What an incredible weekend. As you can probably guess, Adams is on the short list for Best Camping Spots Ever, and I’m sure we’ll end up returning again and again. Next time, though, it might behoove us to reconsider our mode of transportation; it’s doable in a compact car (just barely), but I think I’d rather rent a pickup truck—or a mountain goat.

Posted by Chandler at 6:30 PM in Adventure, Book Arts, Drawing, Pacific Northwest, Travel  |  Permalink  |   Comments (2)
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