LAND ART PESCADERO
August 4, 2018
Participants: Elizabeth Addison, Peggy George, Judy Johnson-Williams, Evangelina Miller, Priscilla Otani, Eleanor Ruckman, Irma Velasquez.
Photos courtesy of Elizabeth Addison, Judy Johnson-Williams & Priscilla Otani
Photos courtesy of Elizabeth Addison, Judy Johnson-Williams & Priscilla Otani
Elizabeth Addison
Ark on the River Styx
Lined with a bed of flowers, the boat sits serenely upon a sea of chaotic and overgrown grasses and weeds – hope and a haven in the deadly, storm-driven waters of environmental, human rights, and political degradation. The mast hoists a beacon of brightly-colored paper scraps from my printmaking works, popping in contrast to the Ark’s natural materials. It dances in the wind and includes two photographs; one of my mother and another of a dear friend and mentor, Rene Yanez, both having died recently, both beacons in my soul.
Judy Johnson-Williams
Untitled
With an abundance of materials, I chose to braid Timothy hay into a circle. I wanted to have a space for a performance of re-committing to save the Earth, especially in protest of the current administration. We are pretty ecologically careful but in our hearts we know there’s aways more we could do.
Evangelina Miller
Medicine Tree
A medicine tree, represented by a branch of elm and colored cotton & hemp thread wrapped around the ends of each small branch which were extended & tied to small rocks at its base. These represent how our ancestors used this to give and ask for blessings for all, including the earth: green for good health, blue for clean water, red for blood & family and white for good positive thoughts.
Priscilla Otani
Reclining Flag
The disassembled flag and girl scout handbook pages represent the fragmentation of social decorum and civil discourse. The symbols of what made "America great" historically are in tatters. The reassembled flag and book, in a different structure from the original, represent hope for a new society that is not dependent on nostalgia, but on the future of a vibrant, multicultural society. For now, though, the flag reclines in nature, letting the wounds heal so that it can fly again proudly.
Eleanor Ruckman
Uprooted
Uprooted is an offering, a prayer to release and renew, at the edge of the labyrinth located on Irma Velasquez’s land in Pescadero. Flocks of crows dip and rise on the wind blowing from the ocean, blue swallows fly in fearless, delicate aerobatics. Irma and I shared intention for release and making way for new possibilities, for ourselves and for the land itself. She had begun clearing the path to the labyrinth with a tractor, and I began the piece by clearing the paths of the labyrinth from prickly, dry overgrowth – literally clearing the sacred way.
I wove the uprooted plants together to form a boundary wall, which almost blends into the landscape. All the clearing and uprooting may look natural, but it is not.
Plants at the bottom were red, for blood. This offering honors Nia Wilson, an 18 year old who was recently stabbed to death on the MacArthur station BART platform in Oakland; and mourns all the black and brown children who have been uprooted from their families, their homes, and even their lives.
The black void at the center represents birth and death – the Mother’s vagina and the unfillable hole of loss.
The opening is contained by a mandorla of cornmeal and flour; this form surrounds Guadalupe and many other representations of the Divine Feminine.
Materials include a bird pelvis found years ago while making my first ofrenda on Irma’s land; prickly pear jelly from Tucson (honoring my own mother) and rock candy for sweetness; yellow rose petals from a witch’s urban garden; pinon nuts, black sunflower and nyjer seeds to thank the birds and animals; chili peppers and salt for protection; cedar for the ancestors; and a damiana tequila bottle from my altar holding feathers, sage, lavender and lemon verbena.
Ark on the River Styx
Lined with a bed of flowers, the boat sits serenely upon a sea of chaotic and overgrown grasses and weeds – hope and a haven in the deadly, storm-driven waters of environmental, human rights, and political degradation. The mast hoists a beacon of brightly-colored paper scraps from my printmaking works, popping in contrast to the Ark’s natural materials. It dances in the wind and includes two photographs; one of my mother and another of a dear friend and mentor, Rene Yanez, both having died recently, both beacons in my soul.
Judy Johnson-Williams
Untitled
With an abundance of materials, I chose to braid Timothy hay into a circle. I wanted to have a space for a performance of re-committing to save the Earth, especially in protest of the current administration. We are pretty ecologically careful but in our hearts we know there’s aways more we could do.
Evangelina Miller
Medicine Tree
A medicine tree, represented by a branch of elm and colored cotton & hemp thread wrapped around the ends of each small branch which were extended & tied to small rocks at its base. These represent how our ancestors used this to give and ask for blessings for all, including the earth: green for good health, blue for clean water, red for blood & family and white for good positive thoughts.
Priscilla Otani
Reclining Flag
The disassembled flag and girl scout handbook pages represent the fragmentation of social decorum and civil discourse. The symbols of what made "America great" historically are in tatters. The reassembled flag and book, in a different structure from the original, represent hope for a new society that is not dependent on nostalgia, but on the future of a vibrant, multicultural society. For now, though, the flag reclines in nature, letting the wounds heal so that it can fly again proudly.
Eleanor Ruckman
Uprooted
Uprooted is an offering, a prayer to release and renew, at the edge of the labyrinth located on Irma Velasquez’s land in Pescadero. Flocks of crows dip and rise on the wind blowing from the ocean, blue swallows fly in fearless, delicate aerobatics. Irma and I shared intention for release and making way for new possibilities, for ourselves and for the land itself. She had begun clearing the path to the labyrinth with a tractor, and I began the piece by clearing the paths of the labyrinth from prickly, dry overgrowth – literally clearing the sacred way.
I wove the uprooted plants together to form a boundary wall, which almost blends into the landscape. All the clearing and uprooting may look natural, but it is not.
Plants at the bottom were red, for blood. This offering honors Nia Wilson, an 18 year old who was recently stabbed to death on the MacArthur station BART platform in Oakland; and mourns all the black and brown children who have been uprooted from their families, their homes, and even their lives.
The black void at the center represents birth and death – the Mother’s vagina and the unfillable hole of loss.
The opening is contained by a mandorla of cornmeal and flour; this form surrounds Guadalupe and many other representations of the Divine Feminine.
Materials include a bird pelvis found years ago while making my first ofrenda on Irma’s land; prickly pear jelly from Tucson (honoring my own mother) and rock candy for sweetness; yellow rose petals from a witch’s urban garden; pinon nuts, black sunflower and nyjer seeds to thank the birds and animals; chili peppers and salt for protection; cedar for the ancestors; and a damiana tequila bottle from my altar holding feathers, sage, lavender and lemon verbena.
