Paintbrushes and Elephants.

Art+Adventure

Molly. Colorado native, living in Wyoming for the time being.

Aspiring artist, and adventure seeker.

Check out the links for personal artwork, writing, and travel/ adventure updates and photos.
It was pretty surreal to look out from artist’s point at the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone and reflect on the generations of artists who have sketched and pictured this view. Each with their own approach and method of working. To be a part of such a deep tradition was hard to describe.

It was pretty surreal to look out from artist’s point at the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone and reflect on the generations of artists who have sketched and pictured this view. Each with their own approach and method of working. To be a part of such a deep tradition was hard to describe.

So much of this place is easy on the eyes. In the sense, of course, that your eyes have no work to do. Not much to look at. That, fellow citizens, is what makes our homeland convenient. From access roads, to parking lots, from tarped-up construction fences running through a stand of young, recently planted trees to the empty grass acres and smoked glass windows of a million business headquarters – there’s a lot of things you’re just not supposed to look at. No one notices or even mentions these spaces that aren’t anywhere really, filled with things we are intended to ignore. You’ve never seen them represented, talked or sung about or discussed. Not meant to be looked at, they are meant to be overlooked. It’s not polite to stare at the tool-sheds outside the moon-white gas and go, they can’t sell you the tools after all, and besides, you’re on your way to see Mount Rushmore, or Glacier Park, some spectacular view. Take a photograph of one of these places, however, and you’ve delved deep into the forbidden banalities.

“Those roads provided breath-taking views. There’s something special about an empty road going on and on and on to the horizon where the sun burns the world away into a dancing, shmmering heat haze that reflects the crystal blue sky, literally blurring the line between heaven and earth.”
Dave Gorman

Washington fires and wildflowers.

The haze was thick. Obscuring our views of Lake Pend Orielle and the surrounding mountain ranges. As a result of fires in Washington, Northern Idaho and the surrounding Montana area were plagued with a blanket of white fog.

Initially I was immensely disappointed. Typically, when I’m hiking and exploring I live for the sweeping panoramic views. I focus on getting to the top and taking in the breath-taking expanses. However, I wouldn’t be doing that much on this trip.

With that said, I headed out with my uncle to hike around Schweitzer Mountain. What I didn’t realize was how the lack of long distance views would offer a literal shift in perspective.

As we hiked, I felt the smoky air in my chest and the dirt under my feet. I opened my eyes and observed the beauty of the trail. Fields of bear grass, indian paintbrush and lush wildflowers flourished around every corner. I noticed how a few hundred feet of elevation change and the presence of a waterfall deeply affects the surrounding ecosystem.

In life and in outdoor pursuits it is a constant challenge to experience the present moment. I am always thinking about the top of the mountain, the next adventure, the weekend’s plans, the future.

image

So slow down, smell the wildflowers and enjoy the journey.

Sweeping valleys swallowed my pride

while loneliness stabbed at the bones I didn’t know I had

taking root, spreading through the confines

of the dark spaces,

worn, thin.

Road Reflection #1

I’ve been struggling to write about the last two months of travel- largely because there is everything and nothing to say.

A quote from Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino says, ” “Memory’s images, once they are fixed in words, are erased,” Polo said. “Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at once, if I speak of it, or perhaps, speaking of other cities, I have already lost it, little by little.”

This  holds great significance for me while reflecting on the experiences of this summer. There are so many moments I don’t want to forget. On one hand I feel I must write about them in order to preserve them, infinitely. On the other, writing about them seems like a disservice to the sort of events that bring you to tears. How do you put to words the feeling of living in such vivid colors?

Above all else, it is about leaving a mark that I existed: I was here. I was hungry. I was defeated. I was happy. I was sad. I was in love. I was afraid. I was hopeful. I had an idea and I had a good purpose and that’s why I made works of art.

—Felix Gonzalez-Torres (via feellng)

(Source: feellng, via hangloosekaseylou)

We can’t jump off bridges anymore because our iPhones will get ruined. We can’t take skinny dips in the ocean, because there’s no service on the beach and adventures aren’t real unless they’re on Instagram. Technology has doomed the spontaneity of adventure and we’re helping destroy it every time we Google, check-in, and hashtag.

—Jeremy Glass, We Can’t Get Lost Anymore   (via blackbruise)

(Source: her0inchic, via 2amconversations)

Watercolor tip No. 93:

thinknorth:

Don’t put your coffee mug, full of coffee that you want to drink, right next to your water color cup, full of watercolor water you don’t want to drink…

This is my life.

…the amount of paint water I’ve consumed will probably kill me.