Small Mandalas

(Above:  Mandala V.  Each one of these small mandalas is a collection of small found objects stitched to single blocks of a tattered, vintage quilt over which a layer of pale blue tulle was placed.  Each one is framed with outer dimensions of 9 1/4" x 9 1/4".  Found objects include safety pins, plastic toys, buttons, clock gears, screw eyes, old keys, bobbins, beads, small hooks, a mechanical compass, needle threaders, tiny ceramic insulators, tweezers, 2-part snaps, fountain pen nibs, metal washers and brackets, blue cement screws, zipper pulls, and more.)

Before going to my two-week art residency at Great Basin National Park, I finished stitching five of these seven little mandalas but didn't have time to complete them all.  Since returning home, I got them all finished, framed, and photographed.  Each one was a challenge.  I didn't want to obscure the vintage quilt block on which each one was stitched. 

(Above:  Mandala VI.)

Another challenge was the odd way the old fabrics came together.  When stitching the larger mandalas, it wasn't so noticeable if a block had only a single piece of orange or didn't have darker fabrics in all four corners or had only one strangely placed plaid.  I think, however, I managed to add just the right amount of "stuff" to keep the quilt block in sight but not necessarily the odd fabric selection.

(Above:  Mandala VII.)

I am in debt to Kathy Garvey who sent me an amazing stash of zipper pulls.  (Kathy is an amazing graphic designer whose fabrics can be ordered from Spoonflower.)  Even though only one of these small mandalas have zipper pulls, I am now working on three medium-sized mandalas in which more zipper pulls will be used.  (The medium-sized mandalas are built on a piece of the vintage quilt with four blocks.  The large ones, which are already finished and blogged over a month ago, are built on a piece with nine blocks.)

(Above: Mandala VIII.)

Although I am working on the next three mandalas, they probably won't be finished soon.  I've had to turn my attention to the new "Stained Glass" and "In Box" series pieces that will be part of my participation in this year's VIRTUAL Philadelphia Museum of Art Craft Show.  I sure have a lot to do!  Below are the other, small mandalas.

(Above:  Mandala XI.)

(Above:  Mandala X.)

(Above:  Mandala IX.)

Aspen and my donation to Great Basin National Park

(Above:  Me holding my framing art quilt of aspen trees.  Click on any image to enlarge.)

One of the reasons I applied for a two-week art residency at Great Basin National Park was because Steve and I visited in June 2019.  At the time, there was so much snow still in the park that most trails could only be accessed with snowshoes!  In fact, the last part of the twelve mile scenic drive on Wheeler Peak was closed.  Steve and I didn't get to hike any of the trails but I did get some fantastic images from along the road.  One of them was of aspen trees.  I had Spoonflower print that image on cotton fabric and took that fabric with me.  During my art residency, I hiked lots of trails but was especially fond of the 1.1 mile walk from the Summit Trailhead parking lot to Lake Stella. It winds through a clone of aspen trees.  I never failed to see at least six or more mule deer (often as many as 18!) munching at the roots of these trees.

 

(Above:  Aspen.  My digital image from June 2019 printed on cotton and embellished with both free-motion machine and hand embroidery. Blanket stitched edge.  13 1/5" x 18"; framed: 20" x 24 1/2".)

Every evening I stitched on this piece, adding more and more lime green French knots for the springtime aspen leaves and darker green straight stitches for the pine needles.  The edge is my typical blanket stitching.  As I worked, the autumn aspen leaves were turning brilliant yellow and floating down to the ground.

 

(Above:  Autumn aspens along a trail at Great Basin National Park.)

 

I never felt alone when hiking in Great Basin National Park because aspen trees grow alongside every trail.  Their "eyes" seemed to keep my company. One afternoon I hiked over my favorite 1.1 mile trail and the entire Alpine Lake Loop with a sketch book.  I stopped frequently to practice drawing these eye formations on the trunks. 

 

(Above: Composite image of some of the aspen eyes.)

These eyes are formed because aspens don't grow well in shade.  As they grow, they "self-prune", dropping the lower branches that don't get enough sunlight.  The resulting eye-formations are actually the scar from these former limbs.  

 

(Above: Cut graffiti on an aspen trunk.)

Aspen bark is a chalky white that scars easily, and I'm guessing these facts account for the graffiti cut into the trunks.  The whiteness comes from the way the bark grows.  Instead of forming a thick bark like other trees, the outer cells die/shed and leave a white powder behind. This thin, white surface is relatively smooth.  When someone cuts graffiti into it, the tree slowly but surely reacts.  Over a few years, it forms a thicker, woody bark to heal the wound. 

 

(Above: Autumn aspen leaves.)

In even a slight breeze, the aspen leaves "quake", a trembling sort of movement like a twirling pirouette dancing on a stem.  When watching them, they really do appear like three dimensional orbs, like French knots!  Tiny straight stitches are obviously a lot like pine needles.

 

 

(Above:  Aspen, detail.)

 

I framed my art quilt donation with UV glass so that it can hang on a hook-and-nail and in locations that might receive indirect light.  It is an honor to have another work in the permanent collection of the National Park Services.

 

 

(Above: Baker Lake.)

For the rest of this blog post, I am going to recap a few of the things I did during the last week of my art residency, thoughts and images I couldn't manage to blog while struggling with the poor Internet connectivity.  They aren't really directly "art" related but they were so important to my creative spirit.  I managed to hike much more than I thought I could ... longer, higher, further, steeper, and even every day.  

 

(Above: Johnson Lake.)

 

I thought a lot while hiking, especially about the "new normal" that will eventually come in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic.  The art world (in fact, the whole world) will be different. I'm guessing that there will be more and more virtual exhibitions, on-line workshops and tutorials, Zoom meetings, and platforms for selling artwork on-line.  There will be a learning curve, even for someone like me who maintains my own website, navigates Facebook like a pro, and has been blogging for well over a decade.

 

(Above:  Rusted machinery and cable from WWI era tungsten mining, above Johnson Lake.)

 

I thought about the evolution of acrylic paints ... because it really wasn't that long ago when many snubbed the idea of acrylics, thinking that a "real painter" only ever used oil paint.  Times changed. I thought about the evolution of quilting ... because it really wasn't that long ago when many snubbed machine stitching, thinking that a "real quilter" only ever would quilt by hand.  Times changed.  I also thought about the evolution of digital photography. It really wasn't that long ago when juried exhibitions only accepted carefully marked slides sent by mail with a self-addressed stamped envelope for their return.  It didn't take long before digital was the only way to enter shows, apply for art residencies, share an exhibition proposal, or provide pictures for a magazine article.  Times changed and will continue to change.

 

(Above:  Dead Lake ... along one of the trails returning to the Snake Creek Trailhead.)

 

I thought about all the artists I've known who really couldn't manage these recent transitions.  The more I hiked, the more I was determined not to be among those who can't face the challenges that are already here the those that are coming.  I WILL OVERCOME THESE CHALLENGES!  That is my new mantra!

 

(Above:  The ridge of mountains between Baker and Johnson Lakes.)

 

So ... to keep a little of the internal spirit that I had while at Great Basin National Park, I'm going to list the hiking I did with the steps counted by my Fitbit counted and the equivalent in miles along with the change in elevation.  I'm not bragging about this (although I'm quite proud of this accomplishment!) I am setting it in a public record to which I might refer in the future.  After all, if I can hike like this, I can face the technical/cyber challenges that are ahead.  This is a reminder that I will not set my sights too low but aim for achievement, even if it seems too far, too high, too long of a journey.  

(Above:  The ridge of mountains between Baker and Johnson Lakes with trail marked by a cairn.)

 

So ... here's my two weeks!

 

Monday, Sept. 14:  Most of the Alpine Lake Loop, up to the bristlecone grove, and up the road from the Wheeler Peak parking lot to the Summit Trailhead parking lot.  20,536 steps/8.97 miles. 600' elevation change, starting at 9,800'.

 

Tuesday, Sept. 15:  Glacier Trail. 19,068 steps/8.33. 1,100 elevation change, starting at 9,800'.

 

Wednesday, Sept. 16.  Took it easy by preparing for the Art in the Dark program but walked the nature trail behind the Lehman Caves Visitor Center three times and set up The Clothesline Installation. 10,454 steps/4.68 miles. 80' elevation change, starting at 6,825'.

 

Thursday, Sept. 17. Wheeler Peak and set-up for Art in the Dark. 36,912 steps/16.16 miles. 2,900' elevation change, starting at 10,160.  Highest point in the park at 13,063.

 

Friday, Sept. 18. Took it easy but walked the nature trail behind Lehman Caves Visitor Center three times. 13,274 steps/5.83 miles. 80' elevation change, starting at 6,825'.

 

Saturday, Sept. 19. Star-gazing night hike to Stella Lake. 14,173 steps/6.28 miles. 600' elevation change, starting at 9,800'.

 

Sunday, Sept. 20. Osceola Trail. 26,329 steps/11.48 miles. 100' elevation change, starting at 8,400'.

 

Monday, Sept. 21. Sage Loop and Strawberry Creek Trail. 20,241 steps/8.84 miles. 1,100 elevation change, starting at 8,216'

 

Tuesday, Sept. 22. Sketching along the entire Alpine Lake Loop. 13,473 steps/5.88 miles. 600' elevation change, starting at 9,800'.

 

Wednesday, Sept. 23. Baker Lake Trail. 34,266 steps/14.97 miles. 2,620 elevation change, starting at 8,000'.

 

Thursday, Sept. 24. Took it easy and conducted a mini workshop for home school students but walked the nature trail behind Lehman Caves Visitors Center twice. 11,265 steps/4.92 miles.

 

Friday, Sept. 25. Johnson Lake and up to the top of the ridge between there and Baker Lake.  32,171 steps/14.05 miles. 3,290 elevation change, starting at 8,320'.

Saturday, Sept. 26. Serviceberry Trail and Snake Canyon loop. 20,583 steps/9.00 miles. 728' elevation change, starting at 8,320'.

Sunday, Sept. 27. Return to Glacier Trail but scrambling further up and over the boulders to reach the snow field. 22,827 steps/9.95 miles. At least 1,300' elevation change (not listed because the "scrambling" isn't actually on a trail, starting at 9,800'.

Monday, Sept. 28. Return to the Alpine Loop and taking down The Clothesline Installation. Packing the vehicle to sadly leave. 19,881/8.68 miles. 600' elevation change, starting at 9,800'.

 

(Above:  Me on the snow field above the Glacier Trail.)

The spirit of determination, the peacefulness found in both quietness and relaxation, remembering how much I love reading a book, and the profound inspiration of natural beauty are things that will feed my soul for a long time ... hopefully for the rest of my life.  It was a wonderful art residency.

(Above:  Robert Smithson's Spiral Jetty.)

 

My husband Steve flew into the Salt Lake City airport on the day I left Great Basin. Together we went to see Robert Smithson's iconic earthen sculpture set in 1970 on the banks of the Great Salt Lake.  We talked about many things ... including the fact that I will need to put my convictions to "keep up with technology" to work.  

(Above:  Inside the unique building at Dinosaur National Monument.)

COVID-19 cancelled many things this year.  Other events went "virtual" ... including the upcoming Philadelphia Museum of Art Craft Show.  Instead of being in my booth and talking about my work to potential buyers who physically come to the show, I will be uploading images to a newly revamped on-line sales site, changing the look of my website to reflect this important show, and figuring out how to effectively show and sell VIRTUALLY!  As restful as my time was in Nevada, it is now imperative that I get really, really busy!

The Clothesline Installation and mini workshop at Great Basin National Park

 

(Above:  Newest pieces for The Clothesline Installation hanging outside the Lehman Caves Visitor Center at Great Basin National Park in Nevada.  Click on any image to enlarge.)

Sadly, my two-weeks as the artist-in-residence at Great Basin National Park came to an end. I will miss the quietness, the aspen leaves changing colors, the mule deer along the trails, and the Milky Way nights.  I learned much about myself, my approach to art making, and the benefits of solitude.  I will not miss the frustrations of poor Internet connectivity.  I'm back home now and able to post a few more entries about the experience ... like the opportunity to hang new pieces in my Clothesline Installation.

  

  The Clothesline's newest pieces.)

I brought a small collection of recently uncovered household linens and vintage fabric.  After arriving, I went to work.  Newly cut fabric hand prints were fused and zigzag stitched and then hung under the covered walkway leading to Lehman Caves' entrance.  They stayed up until the day before I left. Unfortunately, there are no tours of the cave at this time.  There is no way to social distance a cave tour. 

(Above:The sign I stitched for the installation.)  

In order to let viewers know what and why these pieces were hanging, I stitched a sign on an old handkerchief atop a piece of heavy upholstery fabric.  I hung it with a line of safety pins.  The sign reads: The Clothesline is a reminder to save energy through line drying, to do more things by hand, and to help stop the spread of the virus by washing our hand. Created by artist-in-residence. Susan Lenz.

 

  (Above:  Detail of the Clothesline while hanging at Great Basin National Park.)

Each one of these pieces is attached to the zigzag cording that serves as my clothesline with a clothespin, but each one is also safety pinned to that cord.  The wind can really kick up at these high elevations, flipping the pieces.  I took these images right before taking down the installation.  The sign really shows the force of the wind; the edges were raw and definitely frayed after only ten days!

 

(Above: Cutting out a fabric hand print.)

The Clothesline Installation was important part of my art residency. It was the inspiration behind a mini-workshop for local home school students.  I prepared several pieces of vintage fabric by ironing Wonder Under (a heat-activated adhesive) to the reverse side.  The participants traced their hand print on the facing paper of the Wonder Under and cut each one out.

After cutting out a hand print, the facing paper was removed and the hand print was ironed onto a vintage napkin.

Each person had a turn zigzag stitching around his or her hand print.

After the zigzag stitching, I stitched the machine to free-motion stitching.  Everyone wrote their name in thread on their hand print.

(Above:  Four of the five participants holding up their finished piece.)

It was a great way to inspire people to stitch, to talk about the low humidity in the area which really makes line drying easy, and about the common sense ways we can help stop COVID-19 from spreading to others. 

 

More from Great Basin National Park

(Above:  ELK ... as in big, bugling to potential mates, and way too close to me!)

I would have enjoyed blogging every day from Great Basin National Park but the Internet connectivity between my old, 3G iPhone and my laptop just doesn't always seem to find a "sweet spot" ... aka a "hotspot".  Even when it does, the speed at which data moves is almost like my hiking ... the speed of a snail!  (Well ... not quite!  I'm actually finding that I'm rather "normal" on these high elevation trails and have every right to be very proud of my sixty-one year old body navigating trails deemed "moderate" or even "strenuous".)

After hiking the Osceola Trail, I returned to the distance parking lot that was at the far end of the trail.  Of course during the first hike, I had to walk back the entire trail to get to my cargo van ... but I decided to drive to the far end the next day in order to hike the Sage Loop Trail and the Strawberry Creek Trail which started from that very remote place.  I was the only vehicle when I arrived.  I was the only vehicle when I left.  Basically, it was just me and the wilderness ... and an elk!

I'd heard that elk lived in that area of the national park and that this was the season for bugling.  Yes ... bugling.  That's the official word for the sounds elk make, and it's a good one.  I didn't realize how metallic the sound was.  So starting off down the trail ... in the middle of a high desert sort of pasture with nothing growing above knee height ... I heard this strange sound coming from two places on the nearby mountainside.  A similar sound seemed to be coming from ahead of me.  I wondered if it might be elk.  I hoped to see an elk!  I should have hoped that the elk NOT SEE ME! But that's not what happened.

As I peered at the mountainside looking for elk, I nearly walked into one!  He was laying on the ground.  (In my imaginations, an elk would have been standing proudly ... and obviously ... not not blending into the short shrubs ... and certainly not with his back to me and allowing me to stupidly come within about twenty-five yards of him ... but that is what happened!) I was petrified. 

 

(Above:  The beautiful aspen and pine forest just off the open field where the elk was.)

 

Thankfully, one of a few, burned and downed trees was only about ten feet away.  Quietly, I shuffled over to the bare branches thinking it might make me look bigger if the elk turned his head (or at least put a few dried twigs between the elk and me!)  Of course, the elk bugled a few more times and turned his head in my direction.  He saw me.  He stood up. He stared at me. I could have fainted but that would mean moving.  I didn't move a muscle.  

 

Last year when Steve and I visited Rocky Mountain National Park.  We saw an elk.  A park ranger was also there.  He told us that elk are very skittish.  They will only charge if feeling threatened. But, how does one know if an elk feels threatened? If he felt half as intimidated as me, it could be a problem.  Then, the elk slowly walked about ten yards, stopped, stared at me, and walked another ten yards.  I had my camera in my hands. I aimed and took the photo.  For more than twenty minutes, I watched the elk as he walked, stopped, stared back at me, and got further and further away.  I waited until he was out of sight.  Why?  Well, of course he was walking in the general direction of my trail!  I sort of tiptoed up the path which finally turned into a lovely aspen and pine forest (away from where the elk went ... though I hear more bugling for another half hour!)

 

(Above:  Example of graffiti carved into the trunks of the aspen trees along Strawberry Creek Trail.)

 

I felt much more safe among the trees and aimed my camera at the literally dozens and dozens of aspen tree trunks with cut graffiti. This area is known for these inscriptions. Some of the signatures were dated to as early as 1911.  Many were from the 30s and 40s. This is, of course, wisely prohibited nowadays. I also snapped pictures of the eye-like patterns on the trunks.  I was so busy taking pictures that I hardly noticed the trail ascending over 1000 feet in elevation.  The trail is two miles up and two miles back.  

(Above:  Eye-like formations on the tree trunks.)

Every day I have walked over my Fitbit goal of 10,000 steps.  On the day I saw the elk, I hit 20,241 steps.  That's 8.84 miles!  When I initially wrote my proposal for this residency, I said I would hike during the day and stitch at night.  Honestly, I never thought I would hike for as long or as far or up so many feet in elevation.  I never thought I could be outside walking for five to seven hours ... but apparently I can!  What's even more eye-opening is how little stitching I am doing.  Sure, I've stitched a little every day, at least an hour, but that's not like me!

In the past I've always been driven to be productive, focused on the process of making in which I could lose myself, and happy to have plenty to show for any time spent during an art residency. That isn't happening here at Great Basin.  Something different is happening ... something meaningful on spiritual, emotional, and even intellectual levels. 

What do I mean by that?  Well, about fifteen years ago (shortly after I decided to "become an artist when I grew up" despite having no academic background in art), I went through Julia Cameron's twelve-step program called The Artist's Way.  It is a process meant to unblock artist, help them reach their potential, take their work and their creative calling seriously, and find internal support and confidence.  In a nutshell, the program teaches artist to do two important things: 1) write daily, stream-of-consciousness journal entries and 2) take a weekly "artist date".  Like millions of others (yes ... millions ... as the book has been translated into just about every known language since it was first published), my life was changed.  I've been writing my "Morning Pages" on my laptop since 2007.  Before that, I journaled long-hand.  I know that this habit propels me.

Because I've been so successful being "unblocked" and so easily productive, I never really put much stock into the weekly artist date.  Yet, Julia Cameron insisted it was important for maintaining inspiration and awe and spiritual/emotional balance in life.  She called it "filling the well".  For the first time, I'm experiencing what she really meant.  I thought I understood before, but I really didn't.  Here at Great Basin National Park, I am amazing myself with my own physical ability to hike, the awe found in nature, and the feeling of relaxation.  I am working but I am taking it easy, putting my brief time here with nature as the first priority ... putting "output" in second place.  This is new.  I always seem to learn something new during an art residency and this is most unexpected but certainly welcomed.

Working at Great Basin National Park

(Above:  Me stitching cording from eight different skeins of yarn.)

Adaptation is important when experiencing an art residency.  For me, this means finding a place for my sewing machine.  I stand to stitch.  Here at Great Basin National Park, the kitchen counter is the right height, but the more amazing part of stitching in the kitchen was utilizing all the empty drawers!  I had two balls of yarn on the floor and two in each of three different drawers.  Never once did anything get tangled.  At home, I put yarn in boxes to avoid tangles.  This new approach worked wonderfully!  (The drawers on the side of the kitchen did contain flatware and cooking utensils.  The kitchen is fully operational even with my sewing!)

My residency proposal does not actually call for me to make cording or a fiber vessel from the cording, but I had an idea for "Art in the Dark", the public programing that included my work and me.  Much of what I've been doing these last few days is impossible to capture with a point-and-shot camera or an iPhone.  "Art in the Dark" is obviously such an occasion ... but it was great!

(Above:  The White-lined Sphinx Moth.)

"Art in the Dark" was one of the programs for Great Basin National Park's 11th annual Astronomy Festival.  Up to twenty socially distanced, masked participants were allowed to register for it.  The concept was to illustrate the fact that we humans do not actually see color at night.  Rebecca Gordon, a park ranger, and I brain-stormed about this over a month ago.  We needed a "pretty", symmetrical night-flying and night pollinating moth that was native to this area and had a high resolution image in the public domain.  I did the research and found the white-lined sphinx moth (commonly known as the "hummingbird moth").  I took the image and created a line drawing.  Rebecca secured crayons, clipboards, and printed my drawing on 11" x 17" paper.  Each page was folding in half.  In the area outside the Lehman Caves Visitor Center chairs and two types of lighting were set up.  Participants got to color half the moth with all the lights on.  Then, the white lights were turned off, leaving only the red/dark imitating lights.  While their eyes adjusted, I showed my fiber vessel.  It was stitched with glow-in-the-dark thread.  I also stitched a vintage doily with the bear Ursa Major, a constellation.  It was impressive.  I took no photos.  Why?  Well ... it was dark!  Only a professional with years of experience taking such images could have gotten anything worth keeping.  Finally, the other half of the moth was colored under the red lights.  Participants were supposed to color the other half just like they did the first half, but all the crayons had their labels taped over. It was impossible to figure out what colors were used!  (I also got to show the specimen of the white-lined moth.  Believe or not, I found it on the pavement at a gas station on the drive here!  It was meant to be!)

(Above:  The Osceola Trail.)

Since helping with the "Art in the Dark" presentation, I've attended two star-gazing events.  One was held in the same place as "Art in the Dark".  I learned plenty, but last night was even better.  Starting at 7:00 PM, twenty masked people followed another park ranger down a 1.1 mile trail to Stella Lake.  It was beyond beautiful to see Jupiter, Saturn, the Milky Way, the Big Dipper, and all sorts of other constellations and the reflections of stars in the water.  I also saw two satellites and a couple shooting stars.  Great Basin National Park is a certified dark sky area.

 

(Along the Osceola Trail.)

 

Today I walked the Osecola Trail.  It is rated "easy" but it is pretty long.  The Park's paper trail listing claims it is 9.2 miles round trip.  The signs at the trailhead indicate that it is 5.1 miles one-way.  My Fitbit clocked 26,034 steps which is supposed to be 11.36 miles in all.  (Okay, I walked ten feet to my van and ten feet from the van back into the house ... but still!)  The landscape changed drastically.  I saw eleven deer, two western flickers, lots of crows and really enjoyed the hike.

 

(Above:  One of tens-of-thousands of pinecones along the Osceola Trail.)

 

I took well over one hundred images of burnt bark, pinecones, and even cacti.  The pinecones, in particular, were just beautiful.  They reminded me of blooming roses and I just adore the deep rust color. Everything about today was great ... but ... my feet hurt!

 

(Above:  My feet after I took off the Walmart hiking boots.)

 

I bought my hiking boots several years ago at a Walmart in New Mexico.  I'd forgotten to pack proper footwear on that trip.  I will be leaving them here in a dumpster at Great Basin National Park.  I really don't think that much dirt should be getting inside the pair!

 

 

 

Wheeler Peak

These images are not in the order I'd select.  They each took more than five minutes to upload, but I am thankful! This morning my poor, old 3G iPhone managed to connect my laptop to an individual hotspot.  It is frustrating but that is life in a remote location ... Great Basin National Park in northeastern Nevada ... where for two weeks I'm honored to be the park's annual artist-in-residence!

The last time I had an Internet connection, I couldn't upload a photo of the other lake on the Alpine Lake loop trail.  Above is Lake Teresa ... not as big or as visually pretty as Lake Stella but one that shows the significant drought this area has been experiencing. 

I arrived here on Monday in the late morning.  That afternoon, I hiked the Alpine Lake Loop trail and walked .7 miles to a beautiful grove of bristlecone pine trees.  The next day, I decided to take a trail from the lower parking lot directly to the bristlecone pine trees and continue hiking up onto the rock glacier.  The path was mostly loose rocks.  The photo above shows one of the better views.  Often, it took a few moments to contemplate exactly where the path was headed!  I took a video on the path but obviously can't upload it to You Tube at this time.  Why did I take the video?  Well, the sounds of footsteps over these rocks was actually quite melodious.  It reminded me of the movie What's Up Doc? featuring Barbra Streisand, Ryan O'Neill, and Madelaine Kahn.  In that comic film, iconic 70s red plaid Samsonite suitcases get mixed up between various couples including a jewel thief and a music professor (O'Neill) on his way to present his research to an academic music consortium. His suitcase contains rocks and his theory is that the first musical instruments were rocks used by cavemen.  Of course I thought this a silly idea ... but walking over these rocks and hearing what really sounded like musical notes had me laughing the entire trip.

I couldn't take a video yesterday. Why?  Well the loose rock trail to the glacier was simple, easy, clearly marked ... a cakewalk compared to the second half of the trek up Wheeler Peak.  Starting in the trailhead parking lot at an elevation around 10,000, this trail ascends to the highest part of the National Park, the summit of Wheeler Peak at 13,063'.  I went at a snail pace and took plenty of short breaks ... but I MADE IT!  Other hikers passed me going up.  Three young girls passed me going up and then passed me while they started back down but I was still climbing up.  Later, I passed them on my slow descent.  Why?  Well, one of them slipped and hurt her ankle so badly that a search and rescue squad was called.  I passed several of the rescuers on my trip back down and saw the emergency vehicle in the parking lot when I got back to my cargo van.  So ... I was slow ... but I wasn't carried out on a stretcher!  Frankly when looking back at that peak from the parking lot, I couldn't believe I made it myself!

During the seven hours I took to hike Wheeler Peak, I saw eighteen deer!  There were at least three bucks and two fawns.  By the end of the day, my Fitbit clocked over 36,000 steps.  I'm a bit sunburned despite the fact that the temperatures were in the sixties.  (According to the gauge in my cargo van, it was fifty-six degrees in the 10,000' parking lot when I started. It was sixty-six when I ended.  It was 80 degrees back in the provided housing which is at about 7000'.)  I really didn't feel the sun burning me ... perhaps because the wind was often howling and trying to blow me over!  I'm proud that I made it!  It was amazing ... and the views were tremendous.  Little Teresa lake looked like a dot.  The sky was big and wide but already starting to become hazy as smoke from fires in Washington, Oregon, and California headed this way.  I'm glad I made the hike yesterday.  I doubt I could make it if smoke was also an issue!

Learning new tricks in a remote setting

(Above: Fellow SAQA professional level member Vicki Conley and me visiting in the provided art residency housing at Great Basin National Park)

The Internet is a wonderful thing when it works! Here at Great Basin National Park, my access isn’t extremely limited, but after struggling to post my first blog entry, I was rewarded with an email from another SAQA (Studio Art Quilt Associate) member who just happened to be camping in the Park. We talked about residencies, art quilts, and the life of working professional artist. It was great!

(Above: My cargo van outside the residency house)

Since then, I haven’t been able to use my iPhone hotspot for more than a minute or two. Perhaps this is Verizon’s way of convincing me that I need to upgrade my 3G device! LOL!

So, I’m trying to learn how to use my poor phone to blog directly. Below are images from inside the house!