A Position on Retreat, Cowichan, Vancouver Island, B.C.

Douglas Fir Forest

Arriving in a new place requires a certain amount of settling in. Part of that process is getting out and exploring, seeing where you’ve landed, and learning something about this new environment. For me, it’s a very tactile connection that I seek. I like to immerse myself in a place to understand it—not only the grand vistas and views but also the small details. They all contribute to the story of the place.

Likewise, it’s important to connect with and get to know your fellow companions. I’m always curious when meeting new people or artists. There’s the initial impulse to compare yourself, but this eventually gives way to companionship through shared adventures, making meals together, and talking at the table or in the studio. It’s a delicate balance to show an interest in the work of others while also allowing them the time and space to create new things, even when they themselves may not be entirely sure of them.

Kika at her daily practice.

Dan with his ancestor portraits.

Elaine painting in the sun porch.

Dividing time between outings and art-making can be challenging. I came to Lake Cowichan to spend time in the forest, exploring, observing, or rather just being—sensing, and tuning into the slow rhythm of the woods. The small town of Lake Cowichan leads directly into endless forests, so there’s plenty of territory to explore. Much of the area, however, seemed to be either clear-cut, replanted, or actively being logged.

A magical visit to Botanical Beach.

Botanical Beach at low tide.

Treasures in the clear water of the tidal pools.

We arrived in early spring, a time of transition. Snow still covered the mountaintops, making the clear-cut areas—sections of the mountainside where all the trees had been removed for logging—very visible. It was shocking to imagine the forests I loved so much being reduced to piles of logs, loaded onto trucks and driven down the highway. But at the same time, I loved the Douglas Fir flooring throughout the house where we were staying.

The forest loaded on logging truck headed down the highway.

My initial plan was to create a series of environmental portraits using masks I had made from materials gathered in the forest. I set out looking for suitable locations and then planned photoshoots when the weather and timing allowed. Scouting locations that would allow the masks to blend into the environment brought a particular focus to how I observed my surroundings, allowing me to notice details I might otherwise have overlooked.

Forest Kyn mask embeded in the trees.

Along the way, between various outings and adventures, I began to notice what Dr. Suzanne Simard calls “mother trees.” These are old, fallen trees that become the foundation and support for the next generation of trees. It’s not unusual to see many new trees sprouting from a stump or log. Inspired by this idea, I noticed a large piece of driftwood at the back of the residency house, and an idea landed: I would create a series of “Mother Tree” images featuring mosses, lichens, and spring ephemerals—native wildflowers.

The begining of Mother Tree compositions.

Skunk Cabbage or Swamp Lantern is one of the spring effemerials that is very striking in the forest.

With the cooperation of my fellow resident artists, I was also able to create a couple of environmental portraits set in the clear-cut areas, featuring my Forest Kyn masks. It took considerable planning and negotiation to set up a photoshoot while en route across the island to visit the wild beaches on the west coast. The weather didn’t look promising, but as we drove toward the site I had scouted on an earlier trip, the weather changed, and the rain stopped. Sometimes, you get lucky!

Forest Kyn in the cut block.

Masked Forest Kyn figures in the cut block.

All in all, the residency experience was perfect. I was able to accomplish what I had planned and also tackle some new ideas that hadn’t been previewed. What more can an artist ask for?