
Vanishing Seattle Comes to Bumbershoot!



In the long distance between this post and the last I have been single-mindedly focused on creating my first book: The Water Tower Project. I have always moved back and forth between word and image, and as time has passed the words have grown from notes in the margins of sketchbooks and social media into essays in their own right. The urgency of recent political events has sparked an idea that has been waiting to take shape since 2020.
As a long-time designer of letterforms, I always look first to words and symbols to wrestle meaning out of chaos. During pandemic’s first months I created a series of 20 pieces of photographic art called The Water Tower Project. The water tower emerged as a symbol that evolved into an image; the form became a container into which I could pour my sense of disequilibrium, and hope to stumble into transformation. The water tower, hand-hammered, crafted by artisans, and hoisted to the city skyline, is the German Shepherd of industrial infrastructure. Noble, resilient, stoic, a timeless architectural archetype poised on the rooftop between heaven and earth. Judge or Witness? It is also a character and a canvas on which to project collective story.
Five years post-2020, as we are confronted with a new order of global and national disruption, this series has become more relevant than ever. I have returned to the subject with three new pieces included in the book. The pages alternate between image and story, reflecting on parallel streams of politics, history, personal evolution and collective struggle as we move through unprecedented times.


A big thank you to the friends and collectors who came out to my open studio and party November 16th! You made the year a great one, and work continues to go out the door, as those who could not make the open house stop by to visit. There were many requests for the swans to appear as cards, and as promised, they are now live, in The Swans Suite in my shop. All of the works are available as larger prints as well. A few of the swans are available only as larger prints. I may make a second Swans stationary collection as time goes on.
As a holiday thank you I am offering a 20% discount in my shop from now through the Solstice. If you have had your eye on a larger piece this is your chance to save big on any purchase over $150, cards excluded. Enter SOLSTICE24 at check out.
A note on upcoming price increases: Due to the inflation of costs for ink, paper and postage, I will be raising prices to catch up next year. This is one of your last chances to purchase cards at the current rate of 6 for $33

I have long been in love with the idea of the Kakemono, or hanging scroll, that brings elegance to a vertical space in the home. These new pieces are created with washes of ink with brushes and other studio tools. The washes and calligraphic markings are then blended and composed digitally in improvisational sequences that suggest landscape, the memory of place and the moods of weather. A muted monochrome palette gives them a photographic feeling, and as with photographs they can be printed in warm tones or cool. The Kakemono form lends itself best to paper or fabric. I like to use a fine-grained slightly iridescent canvas from Hahnemuhle.

I loved the Viaduct, a fact that is documented by acres of elegies, eulogies and shrines made in its honor. As one of its passionate defenders, I mourned when it came down for the as-yet unproven benefits of a “park” and an “underground tunnel.” The viaduct’s mood range was immense. Beneath its clumsy mastodon pillars one could wallow in the dank smells and charcoal smears of pure grime. Above, given a tenth of a gallon of gas and any class of car, a million dollar view rolled out from sea to shining sea and a white-capped mountain. It was our last glimpse of The View, as contrasted with our current life with an ever-diminishing View Corridor. We now see the world beyond the city in slivers, something blue or gray and moving slowly as atmosphere does, sliced against a block-long bank of windows that only reflect the sky and will never be it.
All that said, what a difference in perspective 10 years and a pandemic: Never again will I write eulogies to graffiti in the same way. Now that random scrawls are inescapable and cover every inch of our city with relentless self-regard I just want the power of a large hose filled with bleach and the god-powers of erasure. This shift in perspective hit me with bracing clarity as I stumbled into the Waterfront Park Construction project on a gray Sunday morning. With no hall monitors present, no generators, no growling excavators or men in hard hats shouting at me to leave or show my permit I had freedom to walk during Sunday matins like a slow monk observing, shooting, revising, studying every angle of scaffold and ramp and the lyric possibilities of fresh concrete. [Read more…]