For the past few months I have been working on a series of prints and stationery brought to you by a new (somewhat fictional) entity called The Atlas of Memory. The Atlas is a repository for images of Seattle’s landmark buildings, parks, and iconic wonders that hold an enduring sense of place. You could say the Atlas is where I live and where I would like more people to dwell with me: in appreciation for the history of Seattle as a frontier town with all of its ungainly aspirations for the culture and grandeur of Europe and “The East” (ie. Chicago and New York.)
What remains of Seattle’s historic legacy is vanishingly small, and all the more important to preserve. My hope is that this series of works, which will eventually number a dozen or more, will encourage enthusiasts of rapid change and the transformation of Seattle into AnywhereUSA to pause, sit down on a bench or a boulder and just look. See what’s here. Study the history of this little outpost at the edge of the world. Think about how change might be accommodated in a way that does not just erase, but that brings history forward, maintaining the best of design and artisanship that created treasures like The Fox Theater (Music Hall), demolished in spite of years of preservationist efforts, in 1992.
My subjects will range from official landmarks like the the Volunteer Park Conservatory to the oversized kitsch of 1950’s signage to the left-over furniture of the World’s Fair. I take the Space Needle personally. It’s where my 6th grade class went, at graduation, for its first formal dinner. I wore green tennis shoes and a purple Nehru ensemble with pleated skirt. Some kid named Bob picked up chicken with sauce on it with his hands and ate it like a drumstick at a picnic. Hashtags had not yet been invented, but it was #etiquettefail. As I mentioned above, Seattle began as a frontier town . . .
The Smith Tower Limited Edition Print
The Smith Tower was an attempt at dignity, and from my perspective it succeeded brilliantly. When first built in 1914 it was Seattle’s first skyscraper, and the tallest building west of the Mississippi. Its builder, L.C. Smith, made his fortune manufacturing firearms and typewriters, two businesses that seem metaphorically if not mechanically linked. (Although come to think of it both inventions make similar sounds when firing).
This print began as part of a series called “Sweet Old World” inspired by the look and feeling of old tintypes and silver mirrors. I have revisited it in a new edition with tints of subtle color: Smith Tower in Vintage Light. The image began with a photograph I took in Pioneer Square, which I then blended with watercolor and ink in my process of digital alchemy. The Smith Tower, like all the work in this series, is not a reproduction of a painting, but fine art contemporary printmaking mixing processes of photographic separation and painting. The process of building these images is painstaking and detailed: from an original color photograph thin veils of detail and value are separated and digitally layered one over the other, mirroring how work is made with traditional printing plates. I then scan hand-painted watercolor done on separate sheets of paper to create backgrounds and subtle tints across the surface. The modern blend of digital and analog processes reflects the experience of looking at the past through the present.
The prints in this series are created as limited editions in four sizes and as cards.
Seattle Iconic Landmarks Limited Edition Prints: Volunteer Park
Seattle’s Volunteer Park Conservatory was built in 1912. It was modeled on Europe’s Victorian glass houses and constructed from a kit shipped from New York by rail. The engineering required to design and manufacture such a structure and make possible assembly by laborers far away is remarkable. I have heard Seattle’s Craftsman neighborhoods dismissed as being “not really historical” because they too came from “mass-produced kits” – but the mass production of yesteryear was not quite the same as today’s box of Leggos.
As the Volunteer Park Conservatory celebrated its centennial in 2012, David Helgeson noted that Seattle’s conservatory stood stalwart during its 100 years, more than some of its counterparts. It survived the massive 1916 snowstorm that collapsed the dome of Seattle’s St. James Cathedral. It withstood the earthquakes of 1949, 1965, and 2001. It remained opened during the Great Depression and two world wars. The conservatory’s only closure was a 10-month period in 1979 and 1980 for renovations to the Palm House.
In contrast, conservatories built for the 1853 New York World’s Fair and the 1876 Philadelphia Centennial Celebration were soon destroyed by fire. The famed Crystal Palace in London burned down in 1936. The Volunteer Park Conservatory is one of just three historic glasshouses on the West Coast. The other two are the W. W. Seymour Botanical Conservatory in Tacoma’s Wright Park and the Conservatory of Flowers in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park. In September 2008, the historic conservatory on the Capitol Campus in Olympia was closed by the state due to lack of funds. –History Link
Within the glass jewel box of the Conservatory the collection of tropical plants provides a living botany museum of exotic plants from around the world. Few things could be more welcome during Seattle’s long winters than to walk from drizzle and snow into these perfumed rooms and get lost in the kaleidoscope of bromeliads, cacti, ferns and palms. I will be studying art and gardens in England in August, and one of my quests is to visit every glass palace I can. (Inflation note: Seattle’s Conservatory cost $20,000 to build in 1912. The restoration of Kew Gardens’ in 2018, $51 million. Think about that when espresso seems expensive.)
If you want to get really high, one of the most historic places to do so may be at the Volunteer Park Water Tower. Volunteer Park has long been known, to those who know, as a place of altered consciousness. Whether that arrives for you in the form of Laurie Anderson’s electric violin on the great lawn 1982, or Seattle’s first Be-In in 1967, or simply via cutting Algebra Class in the 8th Grade to sit in a tree, all good trips end with a panoramic view of the city.
From the top of this certified historical landmark (circa 1907), at a dizzying elevation of 520 feet above the bay, you can contemplate how water gets from the Cedar River watershed (it runs uphill and down hill). You can look for snow on the glimpse of Mt. Rainier, wonder if the view is better from the space needle, (which looks very very tiny), and consider what exactly is a standpipe? How high is 883,000 gallons? (do gallons “stack” in a “standpipe”? or sprawl horizontally?) Does a glass of water from the tower taste different from other water? You might even meet a handsome fireman on a first date doing the stairs. You could call the experience an education in infrastructure.
These musings can be texted, delivered instantly to a phone to be deleted in the next OS update, or posted on a social media platform where no one will see them anymore because #LateStageSocialMedia. Or: you can write them on fine rag stationary from The Atlas of Memory, which will guarantee your receiver will treasure your thoughts for years if not decades. The cards are available in sets of 6 in various configurations.
*If you would like to participate in this project consider commissioning me to do a piece of art based on your favorite place or building. I also welcome suggestions for the next sets of images, and your comments here or on my Instagram about your own memories of Seattle’s Iconic Landmarks.
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