Source: https://www.orartswatch.org/author/sabina-poole/
Timestamp: 2019-04-23 05:13:50+00:00

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There’s A Dog In My Studio…..
This week Connective Conversations Inside Oregon Art takes a quick diversion to reveal some of the closest and best friends of the Oregon artists featured on the studio tours and photographed by Sabina Poole.
We are taking a different tack this week: an unabashedly minimalistic approach, a photo essay, if you will. This will be a bit of a divergence from a focus solely on the artist and the studio. Mostly, because in more than a few studio spaces there was another living, breathing, very essential being…one who observed, protected, interacted with a loving keenness and remarkably attentive attitude. We, are of course, talking about the artist’s dog. And in one case, cat. From Spanky to Gretta, from Saga and Yarn to Jacques Louis, the dogs peered at me, barked at me, and sooner or later settled into a calm curiosity or a blaise indifference.
Click on any of the images to view in larger format.
[Editor’s Note: University of Oregon School of Architecture and Allied Arts’ Sabina Poole visited 70 artist studios in 2014 to illustrate a new book published by The Ford Family Foundation with the University of Oregon School of Architecture and Allied Arts, Connective Conversations: Inside Oregon Art, 2011-2014. You can read her introduction to this series here. On behalf of The Ford Family Foundation and the UO, Poole travelled around the state to photograph artists who had received studio visits from the curators and critics of the Connective Conversations | Inside Oregon Art 2011-2014, The Ford Family Foundation and the University of Oregon School of Architecture and Allied Arts Curator and Critic Tours and Lectures program for the years since the program’s inauguration in 2011. She travels light, only one camera, no lighting equipment, one lens. Her goal is to show these artists in their environment—authentic, uncontrived, at ease. Learn about the project,Connective Conversations Inside Oregon Art 2011-2014 and the release of the book October 2015.
Studio of Brittany Powell Parich.
And only because, the world can never have enough photos of cats…..
Photographer Sabina Poole visited 70 artist studios around the state for a new book, Connective Conversations Inside Oregon Art. This week meet, Ryan LaBar.
From Portland to Enterprise you drive past Hood River, right on through The Dalles, watch the landscape change from lush Northwest Columbia River Gorge to the leveled plains of Central Oregon. Wind your way past Pendleton, too, and into Enterprise. What you will notice most are the mountains, the Wallowas.
Ryan LaBar stands outside his Enterprise, Oregon LH Project studio.
I arrived in the late afternoon. Right as the mountains were beginning to surrender to a late summer sunset. By the time night arrived, the sky had become an inky black peppered with flakes of gold. I could imagine a life here, forever. But, I was not in Enterprise to enjoy the nocturnal sky nor fantasize about daring relocations, I was here to meet artist, Ryan LaBar.
LaBar uses an exacto knife to cut patterns and designs in the newly made piece.
About Connective Conversations: In the summer of 2014, I began my travels around Oregon to photograph the artists who had received studio visits from the curators and critics of the Connective Conversations | Inside Oregon Art 2011-2014, The Ford Family Foundation and the University of Oregon School of Architecture and Allied Arts Curator and Critic Tours and Lectures program for the years since the program’s inauguration in 2011. I travel light, only one camera, no lighting equipment, one lens. My goal is to show these artists in their environment—authentic, uncontrived, at ease. Learn about the project, Connective Conversations Inside Oregon Art 2011-2014 and the release of the book October 2015 at this year’s Oregon Arts Summit.
LaBar works with clay, and his creations are something to behold—large or small they twist, contort, tangle, and intertwine in ceramic layers glazed and fired to produce works of intricate complexity. LaBar, for this visit, was the reigning executive director of the LH Project and invited me to come to the studio (the home of the LH Project and utilized by both LaBar and several artists-in-residence) and then to tour the grounds.
Just glazed pieces being put into a new work of art, next step, firing.
LaBar’s studio is housed in a red barn, surrounded by grassy fields, an oblivious grazing deer, a trickling creek, and, it is hot. The dry summer heat doesn’t seem stifling, instead it feels slightly forceful, a bit tempestuous as to inspire. The studio is bathed in the summer sun, windows letting in light, inviting brightness to wash over the throwing areas, shifting and shadowing over surfaces, shelves, and furniture. The space is teeming with his work—and a large screen TV (perfect for those lonely, long nights in the studio, LaBar commented). As the sun snooped in through windows here and there restlessly reflecting and playing with the patterns and cutouts in his ceramics, LaBar made himself comfortable in his studio chair.
My gaze and my camera wandered around the neat, clean and organized place. Shelves held drying ceramics, kilns stood outside under weather-sheltering overhangs, rows of five-gallon plastic buckets filled with glazes ready to be mixed with an electric paddle bit balanced within a bucket.
Mixing glazes and then dipping a piece.
LaBar proudly showed me the various kilns; and handing me protective glasses, invited me to put down the camera and peer into the small round hole of the studio’s largest, raging hot baking master. Pulling out the little blaze and light-blocking plug, and stooping over to look into the firey depths, heat pouring out of even this small hole with unexpected intensity, LaBar demonstrated how to check temperature, how to look for signs of ceramics ready to remove, and showed just how incredibly powerful this firing contraption really was.
LaBar carefully removes the plug to view the pieces within the kiln.
As he prepared a new batch of clay, making it malleable and evenly smooth, LaBar talked about the dark, cold, desolate winters in Eastern Oregon, the isolation of the studio and how that contributed to his prodigious productivity level. He also confided a desire for more human contact and his dream of having a family—-which he didn’t think he had much of a chance of finding in a remote Eastern Oregon town. Still, he had a charming rascally way of revealing a real, deep love of this remote region. Comments kept slipping into the conversation about the beauty of the mountains, the glow of the sunlight, the warmth his ceramics got from the afternoon sun, and the materials and equipment in the studio that made it feel like home. After all, he was here, and had been for several years. And he looked incredibly happy.
LaBar works with a sense of joy and appreciation–one of his works installed on the wall behind him.
LaBar continued the tour of the studio. Throwing the sensual earthen clay on the studio wheel came next; then, when the desired shape was attained—in this case, a convex vessel—LaBar picked up an exacto knife to cut intricate designs and patterns into the piece. Taking me outside, he demonstrated how, at times, he will let a piece cure slightly to a firm drying point out in the Eastern Oregon summer sun—simply by placing it outside the barn-studio door and letting it bask in the warm light.
LaBar carries a new piece outside for afternoon sun baking.
The artist dipped and dunked clay pieces into his buckets of waiting glazes that would produce colors reminiscent of the earth tones of Eastern Oregon’s Painted Hills—cobalts, ochres, siennas. The glazes were pale versions of the colors of the earth and sky—whitewash-looking liquids waiting to be liberated by the fire and heat of the kiln. And, then while pieces lay in the sun, and baked in the kiln out back, LaBar showed me the storage container he keeps in the field behind the studio that houses his projects and serves as a place to prepare pieces to be shipped around the world.
LaBar’s container where his work is stored and prepared to ship around the world for exhibitions.
It was time for us to make our way to the LH Project. The LH Project is a short 20 minute drive away into nearby Joseph, Oregon. Tucked away under the shelter of a cathedral forest and bordering on land that stretches into a view of the Seven Devils mountain range, LH Project is a mecca of kilns, cabins and gallery space, all designed and built in styles found around the world, a ceramicist’s nirvana.
The LH Project’s owner-founder Jacob Haßlacher talked about the gallery space, the exhibitions, the residencies and the work. LaBar got involved with the LH Project in 2009 and by 2010 he was appointed the program director.
LaBar stands with one of his pieces on exhibition at the LH Project gallery.
LaBar stands with one of the kilns at the LH Project, Joseph, Oregon.
LH Project was a fascinating place and made all the more intriguing by the remote location. But what was truly engaging was LaBar’s dedication to the work and his productivity, in both locations. At the studio, he was focused, intent, in full creating mode, enthusiastically showing his space and his work. At the LH Project, LaBar was equally enthusiastic—talking about and showing other artists’ work, explaining their use of the kilns.
A few of the magnificent kilns at the LH Project.
The impressive 18′ long Toadagama kiln at the LH Project in Joseph, Oregon.
LaBar at the LH Project Toadagama kiln with work by other artists in the background.
Gazing out across the valley at the barely visible distant jagged edge of Seven Devil’s mountain range chiseled against the sky, the mysteries of Hell’s Canyon only a vague concept in the distance, and the beginning of Idaho just beyond view, the location of LaBar’s studio and the LH Project brought a singular quality to both places. Here was tremendous work being done by remarkable artists, isolated yet more connected to a greater global perspective than most of us where kilns and techniques exemplified an array and collaboration of international methods both modern and historic. As I drove away, it was with a sense of melancholy. The beauty I left behind, the quiet, remote, dedication of an artist’s retreat was extraordinarily captivating.
Working in the studio, LaBar creates a piece that will soon be put outside to dry slightly before taking on a glaze and being fired in one of the studio’s kilns.
In my mind I will always associate LaBar with the farthest reaches of the Connective Conversations program and imagine those studios and the hot summer sun.
Photographer Sabina Poole visited 70 artist studios around the state for a new book, Connective Conversations Inside Oregon Art. This week meet, Julia Oldham.
In a moment you will meet the woman you see in the portrait below. First, I must explain a few things about myself.
I am not vegan. I was gifted my first-ever pair of Birkenstocks at age 47 (I love them). I do not own a single tie-dye item. I probably would not be able to tell the difference between a tune by the Grateful Dead and Phish. I have never seen Animal House. I have yet to attend a Ducks football game. Yet, I have a fondness for Eugene. I’ll just admit that straight up.
Julia Oldham Portrait. Image Sabina Poole.
My academic years were spent there and many a positive experience took place there in the years that followed. It is a charming, tangled up in bohemia, earthy, unpretentious place. I might be predisposed to like the people, there too, I’ll forewarn you. Quite a few of the artists I photographed for Connective Conversations were based in Eugene/Springfield: Michael Salter, Colin Ives, Rick Silva, Laura Vandenburgh, Tannaz Farsi, Brian Gillis, Sylvan Lionni, Christopher Michlig, Amanda Wojick, Michael Boonstra, to name a few. Many connected to the University of Oregon, some not.
Writer’s Note: In the summer of 2014, I began my travels around Oregon to photograph the artists who had received studio visits from the curators and critics of the Connective Conversations | Inside Oregon Art 2011-2014, The Ford Family Foundation and the University of Oregon School of Architecture and Allied Arts Curator and Critic Tours and Lectures program for the years since the program’s inauguration in 2011. I travel light, only one camera, no lighting equipment, one lens. My goal is to show these artists in their environment—authentic, uncontrived, at ease. Learn about the project, Connective Conversations Inside Oregon Art 2011-2014 and the release of the book October 2015 at this year’s Oregon Arts Summit.
In my extensive social media amblings and readings of artistic happenings, I bumbled upon this singular, off-beat, idiosyncratic woman who looked as if she called Eugene home. Based solely on location, I was inclined to think she was fantastic. I had blithely scrolled into a post on Facebook (a friend of a friend had liked or shared or did some such viral-media spreading action), and there it was—this tremendous photograph of a woman with a coal-black, jaws gaping, teeth-bared wolf mask perched on her head. Dazzlingly brilliant platinum blonde hair cascaded out the back of the mask, her skin a pale translucence that seemed a bit otherworldly. The wolf-mask looked papier-mache, PETA-approved. The woman’s name was Julia Oldham, an artist sharing her time between Eugene and New York. OK, so I instantly adored her—here was an appreciation of drama, humor, and brilliant commentary. And, as she would tell me later, she had a love of Eugene, too.
Julia Oldham, an afternoon studio visit with Yarn and Saga. Image Sabina Poole.
Wolf-mask aside, I was lucky enough that she also happened to be on my list of Connective Conversations artists who had been visited by one of the program’s curators|critics. I was enthused—a photo shoot in Eugene with someone I could fully investigate via social media in the weeks that led up to her photo appointment. So, I did what anyone with a shred of investigative, voyeuristic curiosity would do, I trailed her from afar via her social media presence—which I might add, was nothing short of mesmerizing. Each post progressively displayed her as someone with a distinctively quirky sense of costuming and theatrics. It might have been sort of lurker-like on my part, but it was well worth it.
At work in her studio, artist Julia Oldham. Image Sabina Poole.
I discovered a lover of nature, an appreciator of all living things in all forms and some not living things (hello, NASCAR!?), a dog-owner, a collector of small skeletal remains of diminutive, once timorous beasties, an experimentrix, a feral-like waxen wanderer. I stumbled along behind from the vantage point of an Instagram account, feeling less and less interesting myself and more and more self-diagnosed with FOMO (“fear of missing out”) should I fail to see one of her posts. I discovered her adoration of the decomposing and decaying of natural things, the beauty of a swampy field, a spider, insects copulating in a “#sexytime” embrace, simple masked self-portraits of her body wrapped, clothed or integrated into a selfless, fearless expose. In the everyday, Oldham was finding intrigue, drama and beauty. And she seemed to be passionately infatuated with every minute of it, every post, every shared image.
Julia Oldham in her Eugene, Oregon studio with companion, Yarn. Image Sabina Poole.
Above all, I was watching an artist self-promoting with social media being utilized at its best intentioned–revealing herself as natural, provocative, seeking indigenous connections to her environment and openly inviting her extended worldwideweb network to appreciate this journey right alongside her revelry. Bravo! It was captivating and I couldn’t wait to photograph her.
I have two rambunctious dogs. I can keep them penned upstairs of you like, though they are a big part of my studio practice so if you are OK with dogs maybe they could be there too?
In her Eugene, Oregon studio, Julia Oldham works under the watchful eye of her two dogs. Image Sabina Poole.
When I arrived at her south Eugene residence and studio (a well-foliaged place tucked up in the southeast hills, suitably quirky and down-to-earth), Julia greeted me, as did her two energetic confidantes, Saga and Yarn. Saga is a large, black wolf-like creature; Yarn, a tumble of overly loving black and tan hound. “Shall I put the dogs away?” Julia asked. No, absolutely not. They seemed just as important to the photograph as Julia’s collection of bovine skulls, prodigious computers and film editing equipment.
As she talked to me about her interest in collecting skeletons and observing the natural world around her, I was struck with her sense of compassion and empathy. Each piece of bone, each decaying form was peered at delicately and handled with extreme gentleness with a reverence for what had once been, an ethereal sense for the form and the once living creature.
Oldham examines a recently obtained skeletal skull that she will use for inspiration in her work. Image Sabina Poole.
And, if that is not enough to showcase her deeply ingrained aura of compassion, let me suggest you attempt delving into the work she has done revolving around the Soviet space dog, Laika— this work will catapult you into an emotionally-wrenching cosmic spin.
As our photoshoot drew to a close, Julia talked of her regular NYC trips, and connections and work done on the east coast. I soon found out that love keeps Julia firmly anchored to Eugene as a homebase and for her studio location (her husband is a physics professor at UO), but her professional associations take her eastward. She says “I love living in Eugene because it’s the right place for me and I love nature.” She spends several months a year in NYC doing residences, exhibiting, and making work with her Brooklyn-based collaborator, Chad Stayrook.
Her bi-coastal sensibilities made her only more alluring. In the softly-beatnik south Eugene utopia, striding about her studio in cowboy boots, graphite colored lycra shorts and a silky shirt, a black feather tattoo climbing up her bare shin, she casually chatted– selectively merging a knowledge of and familiarity with New York, alongside a distinct appreciation for things, social interactions, and exhibition opportunities NYC’s urban environment has to offer. All the while Julia maintained a grounded, naturalist-next-door love of nature, proudly adored her affectionate dogs, and described in great detail what she discovers from a simple walk in the woods. As I listened, charmed by her approachable openness, she continued explaining how much she loved Eugene: “I would describe Eugene as a gentle, lush university town with great restaurants, glorious access to nature, and the friendliest, quirkiest people I’ve ever met.” And although we didn’t share the same enthusiasm for sport, (she divulged: “I’ve been to Ducks basketball games and watch Ducks football games out at bars with friends. I haven’t been to any track events yet but plan on it. I had never been a big sports fan before moving to Eugene but am now devoted to the Ducks!”). I still wanted to know more. So, I asked Oldham to tell me a bit more about herself.
One of the inspirational pieces Julia works to collect and examine at her studio in Eugene, Oregon. Image Sabina Poole.
She has been professionally trained as a snake handler.
She is exceptionally good at bleating like a goat, but could never do a cartwheel.
She loves car racing. And movies about car racing.
She likes to know the end of every book she reads before she starts because otherwise she gets really anxious. Same with movies.
She loves insects (and other invertebrates) and finds them endlessly fascinating, but she has an irrational and all-consuming fear of wasps. While she was an artist in residence at Bernheim Arboretum in Kentucky, she got so upset about a hornet that had gotten into her cabin that she called the forest ranger. Everyone at Bernheim found out and teased her terribly.
She tried to learn how to whittle and had such high hopes but gave up after realizing she was only capable of making pointy sticks.
Julia Oldham, Arts Watch readers, surrounding herself in the best of both worlds, Eugene and New York and….a force for nature.
In the summer of 2014, I began my travels around Oregon to photograph the artists who had received studio visits from the curators and critics of the Connective Conversations | Inside Oregon Art program for the years since the program’s inauguration in 2011. From the list of addresses, I knew the 70 artists would be sprinkled throughout the state, and for me, this was a chance to enjoy and observe artists in their own spaces, to go deeper into the place we call home and meet people here who are doing amazing work.
The Ford Family Foundation with the University of Oregon School of Architecture and Allied Arts are pleased to announce the upcoming October 2015 release of the book, Connective Conversations | Inside Oregon Art, 2011-2014. Connective Conversations is The Ford Family Foundation’s Curator and Critic Tours and Lecture Series program, conducted in partnership with the University of Oregon School of Architecture and Allied Arts. The full-color book will be available at the 2015 Oregon Arts Summit’s Visual Arts Ecology workshop, supported by The Foundation; and, subsequently, will available for purchase [locations TBA].
The book is a collaborative work representing the series launched in 2011, which brought national curators and critics to visit Oregon artists in their studios across the state, to present lectures and to participate in community dialogue. The book contains images of the 70 Oregon artists and their studio spaces visited between 2011-2014.
I knew it would be an adventure to document the homes and studios of the 70 artists involved. Realizing this was an absolute privilege, I embarked upon the project with a keen sense of enthusiasm and a little bit of adrenaline. Despite being familiar with their artwork (some more than others), most of these artists, as people, were complete strangers to me, and I had never before visited some of the locations of their studios. Before each photo shoot, I did not have any idea what I would encounter, and the unexpected nature of these visits made the project all the more attractive to me.
My method was, I hoped, unobtrusive. I organized a shoot primarily via email—leaving the choice of time and place up to the artist. The studio, the place where the work was done, needed to be tantamount. I chose to arrive simply, unencumbered—no lighting equipment, one camera, no superfluous accessories. My role was to document the artists in their unique environment—in the lighting they were used to, in the rooms they lived and worked in, surrounded by the things they loved and cared about, even if that meant dogs and children or other unanticipated creatures.
What you will see in the weekly posts that follow are little snippets of these studio photo sessions: close encounters with remarkable people who have chosen to live in extraordinary places, while doing exceptional things with independence, creativity, resolute determination, confidence, and success while surrounded by things they find captivating, in locations of inspiration, all with a quintessential Oregon-ness.
Above all, the 70 people I photographed were not only artists of amazing calibre but also individuals who help define this region. In the coming weeks, Oregon Arts Watch will introduce some of the artists included in Connective Conversations from a closer perspective. The book will show you a photo or two of each studio, an image of each artist, and several examples of their work. The book will illuminate career highlights and biographical information. Here, in an Oregon Arts Watch exclusive, you will get a closer glimpse of each artist’s work space, the objects that surround them, the light sources they rely on, and the things that make each studio a unique place to create in. I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves. These Connective Conversations studio portraits will, I hope, enable a greater understanding of these artists and how their work relates to and is made within the studio.
To get started, you can jump immediately to the first subject: Renee Couture and her “trailer” studio in Peel, Oregon. See you there!
Connective Conversations | Inside Oregon Art is part of The Ford Family Foundation’s seven-pronged Visual Arts program launched in 2010 to honor the interests in the visual arts by the late Mrs. Hallie Ford, a co-founder of The Foundation. Principal goals of the overall program are to help enhance the quality of artistic endeavor and body of work by Oregon’s most promising visual artists and to improve Oregon’s visual arts ecology by making strategic investments in Oregon visual arts institutions. Some program components The Foundation directs; others, it elects to work with regionally-based institutions such as it has done in partnering with the University of Oregon with the first four years of the Curator and Critic Tours and Lecture series. Such collaborations are invaluable in maximizing the delivery and impact of the program components for which The Foundation is most grateful.
“I’m very much tied to my property; my life ebbs and flows with the seasons.” – Renee Couture, Oregon artist living in Peel.
Peel, Oregon. It’s near a place called No Fog. No kidding.
Peel is a bit of a drive eastward from Roseburg, past the only place in the world where rivers collide, the Colliding Rivers of the Little River and the North Umpqua, and down the road from the recession-knocked about town of Glide, (population about 1700 in 2010—it seemed less when I drove through). Miles and miles of human-planted forest spanning mountain upon mountain are visible from the road: Despite the lack of old growth, the forests still hold up the sky out here.
Real work is done in these parts: As in days gone by, burly men wear suspenders over plaid flannel shirted-shoulders and have work-worn, oil and dirt stained hands. Here, for summer fun, the teenagers throw themselves off the cliff into the emerald cold of the Colliding Rivers, much to the stunned Instagram-delight of tourist passersby. On a drive through Glide, rivers rumble right next to the roadside and thundering logging trucks lurk around the next corner.
I arrived at my motel around 5 pm and find that my room key had been left under the doormat of my room’s front entry (motel staff had left me a voicemail). I drove up to Renee Couture’s homestead property around dinnertime. She was outside cooking in well-seasoned cast iron pans on a stove and kitchen she had set up beneath a breezeway connected to a cabin-like home. She told me she loves to cook—and even more so if she’s cooking food she has grown in her garden. A couple of big, fuzzy dogs provided a cacophony of canine sounds while Renee and I got acquainted.
Renee explained the outside kitchen was necessary in the heat of summer; and she proceeded to saute homegrown vegetables—it smelled delicious, both home-cozy and wilderness camp-like. Once dinner was made, but with her husband yet to arrive to join us, we took a tour of the property. The big attraction was her studio—which she had informed me was in a “trailer.” By tour, I should clarify, it was more of a hillside hike.

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