Artist Statement
Artist Statement for the study of Tree & Snow - Arbor + Nix
For a little while, the first flakes fall on the moist branches and loamy ground and melt, adding a kiss more water to the already damp, forested landscape. Perhaps the temperatures fall with the sun, perhaps the flakes start to chip away in a war of attrition and become self-insulating and self-perpetuating. Overnight, or over the course of weeks, the greens, reds, oranges and browns are blanketed in white. Then, like an out of control hotel maid, blanket is laid upon blanket, upon blanket, until we find ourselves, yet again, in one of the snowiest landscapes on earth.
The snows here are not average. The weather is not basic. The volumes of precipitation verge on the surreal, the intensity of the storms can be shocking, the temperature swings are vast and volatile, as cold air from the north can be replaced by atmospheric rivers from the southwest in a matter of hours, often clashing at the Pass, and mixing with the dreaded or miraculous east flow. Perfect powder sometimes lasts for days, but just as likely lasts just a few hours. Wind and rain events can turn a flawless blanket into an abstract sculpture almost unrecognizable as snow. To love winter here is to learn to love snow in all its forms.
This snow gives us the canvas and the inspiration to roam freely, and regardless of where you wander in the Snoqualmie Mountains, trees are an inescapable part of the experience. From the forests of western red cedar, sitka spruce, douglas fir and western hemlock, climbing up through thinning stands of silver fir, subalpine fir and mountain hemlock, even the highest peaks and most exposed summits have trees clinging to the most unlikely and inhospitable faces and ridgelines. For more than half of the year, these trees are buried, battered and blown, but also watered and embraced by the snows of winter. While we run into the mountains in the morning and run back to our cozy wooden structures at night, the trees in the mountains stand. In all conditions, through blizzards, windstorms, deep freezes, and avalanches. For generations. Anchoring the snowpack, giving shelter, providing landmarks and visibility, radiating strength and so much more for those who learn to listen.
Within this landscape, there is a specific tree. It’s always right there on the left. Even though the actual trail is buried under sometimes 15 feet of snow, the path it follows stays a course, and the tree is there. I used to just ski past it. Skinning up the hill in the morning, sliding down the hill in the afternoon. Now I stop. I put an arm or two around a small percentage of its massive girth. I try to connect with its energy and let it know I come in humility, respect and love. To set my intention. To honor the fact that just to be there, 15 minutes from the car, visiting this tree is enough. Everything else, the summits, the powder, the cliffs, chutes and views, all just a bonus. Perhaps this practice is a reflection of hard-earned wisdom from four-plus decades in the mountains. Perhaps the wisdom is gained through the practice of connecting with something greater, larger, more grounded, and much, much older. I don’t pretend to know. What I do know is, I’m a better human because that tree is there.
The Snoqualmie Mountains in winter are a story of Arbor and Nix. Inextricably linked, beautifully juxtaposed. Each creating a perfect canvas for the appreciation of the other.
