Signal Fire Arts: Wide Open Studios
Waiting for Salmon
“Wide Open Studios is Signal Fire’s arts and ecology field institute, making our innovative wilderness excursions available to college students, emerging artists, or anyone seeking an immersive, hands-on, and transformative arts education. These trips invite students to explore their studio practice in dynamic wilderness locations, amidst an atmosphere of friendship and critical thinking. Our curriculum is centered on the natural and cultural histories of the sites we visit, and the possibilities of making art in— and in response to— wild places. Individual and collaborative projects invite students to see the wild as a place of wonder, empowerment, action and connection.” -Signal Fire
WEEK ONE
The Wallowas, OR
Every Wide Open Studios trip focuses on a theme. The Waiting for Salmon trip centered around the First Foods of the Columbia River Watershed. ‘First Foods’ refers to the native berries, roots, and animals each of which can be found in different geographic areas depending on the time in the year, which the tribes of the Pacific Northwest would harvest on a seasonal round. The salmon is one of the most critical First Foods for the native tribes of the Columbia River watershed, and one that has been vastly disrupted by the impacts of colonization, in particular the damming of many of the rivers of the Columbia River watershed. Many of our daily class discussions centered around salmon as a keystone species, both culturally and ecologically. We used salmon as a lens to explore the impacts of colonization on native land and life.
The first day of our trip was spent learning about First Foods from Wenix Red Elk, a member and an Education Specialist of the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla. We spent the afternoon digging for roots and peeling camas bulbs to prepare for baking. In the evening, we set up our tents around a wooded lake near the reservation. The next day we began our trek into the Wallowa Mountains in North Eastern Oregon. The first week was full of the discomforts of newness, both physical and emotional. I spent the first week definitely missing home quite a bit, which manifested in my first trip project: four objects I’d brought from home accompanied by an ink drawing of each paired with a short description of its significance in my life.
WEEK TWO
The Selway River, ID
The Selway River was hot and ridden with rattlesnakes. As we hiked into our campsite, the trail was speckled with sun-bleached snail shells and sherbet colored quartz crystals which later became the foundation of my week two project. The heat of the Selway was more than welcome after the snow-capped Wallowa Mountains. We spent our nights camped out on the bank of the river, slumber-party style. The initial discomfort we had felt with one another was abating and it would have been impossible not to become friends.
WEEK THREE
The Bitterroots, MT
The hike up to our campsite in the Bitteroots was by far the most grueling, and left me tired the rest of the week. We camped out by a lake surrounded on both sides by mountains. Every morning would begin with a blue sky dotted with clouds which would slowly grow into a full on storm. 4pm reliably signaled the start of thunder, lightning, rain, hail everyday in the Bitterroots, which made me grateful to have a (mostly) waterproof tent and gear. While dodging rain, I thought about my internal conflict with “leave no trace” ethics and my tendency towards collection of natural objects. I wanted to develop ways of preserving a memory of a place through objects without removing them from their homes. This resulted in the cyanotypes pictured below: half drawings from observation done on-site, half sun-prints of pressed objects from the mountains I later left behind.
WEEK FOUR
Methow Wilderness, WA
The last week of the residency, we were each designated a small campsite along the bank of the Methow River to spend 48 hours in isolation. During this time, we were to finish our final project: a reflection of our trip thus far and a meditation upon the experience of our solitude in the backcountry. My time on my solo was unexpectedly one of the happiest experiences I’d had in many months. Wandering through my allotted campsite, I reflected upon my attraction to certain objects. The leaves, branches, trees, and stones I gathered all had a particular character and reason for their significance to me; they were all tied to someone important in my life.
When I left for Signal Fire, I also left my relationship in a place of uncertainty. I had a feeling my girlfriend and I were nearing the end of our time together as partners. This tension manifested in some sort of love-letter book to my girlfriend. The last three pages call attention to the ways she’s changed my way of going about the world, and the habits I will hold onto long after we’ve separated, strung together with similar stories from friends, crushes, and mentors in my life.
