It's been a sad week, seeing so many animals struck on the road. The intoxication of spring has perhaps made them too lively, and they forget the danger of humans. This sweet fox was warm when I went to pull her off the road. She was a young mother. I felt she needed a burial in honor of her life, and made a memorial imprint. It's not an ideal day for cyanotypes, the sun dips behind clouds and the wind blows everything everywhere, the paper, my hair, her fur, and the stream of water from the outdoor shower, everywhere. The lizards and hummingbirds and my bird crush, the Pacific flycatcher, are here to keep our spirits up. Later, Kate will come over and we'll bury the fox on the hillside with a view facing west as the sun sinks below the ridge.
Kickapoo River Valley, Wisconsin
Madison, WI
En route from Chaco Canyon
Lopez Island, Washington
In the bed at the K-Shack
Two Peak, Taos Mesa, New Mexico
I was feeling increasingly irritated walking up the road. Nothing about it was peaceful. Cars passed constantly, and every five minutes a dump truck barreled by. It was garbage day. The truck would pass me, clanking and rattling, and leaving behind the stench of decay. Then I would catch up to it as it collected garbage, pass it, and then again, it would pass me. It would happen like this, a leapfrog, as the heat of the sun beat down. I was hugging the edge of the road, trying to take note of the trees, the light, and the plants around me, attempting a walking meditation, but instead, the lingering smells of garbage and diesel, the roar of engines and the squealing of brakes of massive construction trucks. I was thinking about j and his dispassionate nature towards me, and how I wished I had stepped away from him that very first night we met, under the full moon. I learned everything I needed to know then, but I was seduced by the moonlight and continued forward until it came true and I’m left with the same lesson I can’t seem to learn. Maybe that lesson is to stop moving towards, but to remain still. It was then that I saw the squirrel. Its head was crushed into the asphalt, but its body intact, a slender string of entrails fanning downhill. It was fresh, and I could smell both the blood and the shit. I pulled the bag of cyanotype paper out of my backpack. I would make my first imprint of this walk here, on the road, not of leaves or stones, but of death. A metaphor for the thoughts filling my mind. Perhaps the squirrel, too, should have remained still. But, like myself, that is against its nature. I placed a sheet under its paw. Then I placed another under its tail, where it curved elegantly along the edge. I stepped back, looking, and thinking where to place the third one. I always prefer things in threes. It was then that an enormous dump truck came towards me. As it gained speed upon descent, I stepped back another few inches. The wheels ran right over the squirrel, squeezing its guts across the paper and into the air, fluttering down the road. I stood there with my mouth open and my arms stretched wide. The rush of air and blood so close, I looked down, imagining pieces of intestines clinging to my bare thighs.
You poor thing. I could no longer make out your tail, there was no real recognizable form left of you. I stared at you for a long time, squirrel. I had meant to make your imprint in respect of your life. I dug into my backpack and pulled out my bag of snacks, emptied it, placed the two sheets of paper inside, and sealed the bag. I carefully tucked it into a dark pocket inside my backpack, put it back on, and continued my walk uphill.
Bears Ears National Monument, Utah
Bears Ears National Monument, Utah
Blackhawk Island, Wisconsin River, WI
Blackhawk Island, Wisconsin River, WI
printing feathers in situ
printing feathers in situ
Various sizes, paper, and toning.
Ziatype from scanned Type 55 film.
Cyanotype memorial boats on plinth of salvaged black walnut
Cyanotype memorial boats on plinth of salvaged black walnut