Capturing the Oregon Coast & Putting It In My Pocket
In which we take our annual summer road trip and a break from reality to explore Oregon.
Every summer, Matt and I take an extended road trip somewhere out West. Determining where is a week before kind of decision based solely on wildfires and weather. Basically we go wherever there isn’t a fire, heavy smoke, or a heat wave. This year we settled on Oregon, but with a caveat to avoid central Oregon where a big fire was ablazing. This annual two-week trip has become a lifeline for both Matt and I - a chance to check out, unwind, and explore. Truthfully, we are still recovering from the winter that was. And honestly, the world feels like it is changing so fast, that I am truthfully having a difficult time processing. I could have used another couple more weeks to make a dent in digesting all that happened this year (not to mention the last few years)…
Having not spent much time in Oregon, we wanted to explore a couple areas we hadn’t seen before, but mostly spend time on the coast. Rather than an itinerary of what we did and saw (hikes in fairy forests, bike rides on loamy mountain trails, long walks on big sandy beaches, looking for bees, bugs, birds, sea lions and whales), I want to condense the way it made me feel, the way my heart ached as though if I wanted to hold it in my arms and squeeze it tight. I’m certainly not as eloquent as Anna Brones in her recent Substack post on Capturing a Place but this quote sums it up for me:
“I often think that this is what art is: the attempt to try to capture a feeling, an emotion, a moment—something without the hard and defined edges of a tangible object. As artists, we’re feeling, we’re watching we’re observing and we’re trying to put the world in our pocket.” ~ Anna Brones via Creative Fuel
As we explored, I was trying to take it all in like a kid at a candy store, or an artist in a great art supply store. I wanted everything, oggled at all the floral variety, the massing of the trees, the light through the fog, the moss on the rocks, the delicate forest flowers and ferns, the air thick on my skin and heavy in my throat. Many times while driving, I clambered from my front passenger seat to the back on the driver’s side so I could capture the view. I painted as often as we had time during our site seeing, attempting to take a piece of that world home with me, but it was difficult. There was so much I couldn’t take in or take home with me. And anyone who has every spent time in a well curated art supply store - you don’t have the money to buy it all, nor do you have the time in which to use all those supplies. You can only pick and choose - maybe pick up a new color that catches your eye, a new brush or pen to add to your quiver, or perhaps a gorgeous new journal.
But putting a sand dollar in my pocket isn’t nearly the same as a sand dollar on a wide sandy beach at low tide next to an expanse of deep, cold ocean, with salt spray hanging in the air, gulls squawking overhead, and the forest thick and dark behind me. Without the setting for context, that sand dollar loses some of its meaning. Without magic to imbue that object with a sense of place, if you were to hold that sand dollar after I brought it home, you wouldn’t feel a thing. So I left the sand dollar on the beach, but it is imprinted in my brain forever, just like the image of this amazing fish kite flying above the beach. I also couldn’t put that in my pocket and bring it home.
One rainy morning, we went to this amazing brunch spot, and inside there was a stellar coffee counter with gluten free pastries, a gift shop full of delightful goods (bought a book on PNW trees), a stellar menu, an indoor greenhouse, and decor that was both eclectic and lovingly curated. You wanted to curl up and spend the entire day there, it was just such an inviting and lovely spot. And yet, as I look back at my pictures, they just don’t do it justice. Hell even the bathroom was a great space to be in and I took a picture, but the essence of the place doesn’t show through - probably because I’m not a great photographer, but you just had to be there. I want to put that entire restaurant and even that town into my pocket and carry it with me always.
I was continuously in awe, but also overwhelmed. How to take it all in. How to fill my pockets, and my sketchbook, and my photo reel, and my memories with all of it. I am slowly adjusting and expanding my thinking to see that art is more than just a picture or a sculpture, it’s a whole moment frozen in time. Like this painting below, which was more of a collage of the things I saw on our hike rather than a faithful view of a scene. There was the mountain and seaside cliffs and the landscape in the distance. There was the yarrow and native bees flitting about. And then the pines defying the wind and harsh coastal conditions. You won’t find that exact scene, but here was an attempt to capture the feeling of it.
Not being as active on social media as much as I used to be, I recognize that I wasn’t taking pictures of things so I could share them on my stories or in posts as I used to do, and that made me happy. I was collecting out of pure inspiration and awe. Taking pictures this trip wasn’t for the “Gram” - it was for me, something like a record, a scrapbook, a collection, or a curation.
What I want to share with you were the dreamy parts, the coastal fog drifting in and out of the trees; strolling barefoot on wide open sandy beaches; wearing hooded sweatshirts and drinking my morning tea; hiking along forested trails that soaked up all sound; chatting with other campers and getting pro tips; and watching my dog learn that there are many bushes in the woods of Oregon that have tasty edible berries. He would literally eat blackberries and salal berries off the bushes without our help.
But the whole story is more than just the dreamy parts and includes difficulties like finding camp sites, eating meals at weird times that messed with my energy levels, camping next to screaming children, searching my phone for restaurants that were open with good reviews, or being pulled and yanked by my dog as he rushed towards the beach. Those are all things I’ll probably forget in time as my brain filters out the unpleasant bits and only remembers rosy parts. But the tough bits were all part of it too.
Our last full day on the coast, we hiked down to a protected beach to hang out, soak up some sun, and relax. I had intended to paint, but after our picnic lunch, I just played. I threw sticks for Boone and looked at all the different kinds of seaweed washed up on the sand. There were so many kinds, so many colors, so many textures. I admired the dried up coils that had tangled together in a mass and wondered what if I tangled them up on purpose.
So I spent awhile washing long strands of seaweed and wrapping them into wreaths, that I left high on the rocks to dry. Maybe in a month or two from now (if the high tide doesn’t carry them off), someone will find rings of dried seaweed. Maybe they will dry and be sturdy enough to be hung as a wreath. And the whole thing had me wishing I could come back day after day to watch the progress of these rings of seaweed drying. I couldn’t put the rings of drying seaweed in my pocket, but I wanted to so badly.
The whole thing has me wishing I could speed up geologic time, not the day to day time, not my life, god no. I want to drag that out and savor for as long as possible. But if I could just live longer, or experience geologic time sped up like a timelapse - watch the rivers shift course on their rush towards the sea, or watch mountains grow and crumble apart, watch forests migrate and animals evolve. Maybe, just maybe I can somehow grasp the concept of change and coalesce the eons into something that makes this weird reality somehow understandable.
While we’re at it, maybe somehow I could magically freeze time. Maybe I can forever live in this moment on this warm cove, on the Oregon coast watching my love and my dog play in the surf. Can I put this in my pocket too?
Inspired by all the things I saw and experienced on the trip, I came away with this overwhelming desire to somehow collage it all together. I wonder if Anna and I were somehow honing in on the same wavelength about capturing a place and a time, because I was feeling the same as what she wrote in her latest post - so go read that too. From the decor at the breakfast spot, all the weird and wonderful bits of nature we saw, beachside restaurants to evening sunsets, and all the moments in time I wanted to capture, I started thinking about how art could be used to curate a moment or a place. I’m still pondering it, still crunching the numbers and brainstorming, but maybe my last sketchbook spread started to get there. How can you put all of a place into a piece of art?
In Other News…
Join me for a morning with the Sundance Nature Alliance on the Redford Family Elk Meadows Preserve to learn about nature journaling on August 26th. Learn about the preserve’s flora and fauna, and transform what you see into a memorable journaling experience. I will go over supplies and share outdoor sketching and painting techniques for you to try. Bring your own notebook and favorite pens, pencils or a watercolor kit. Nature journaling is a chance to grow observational skills, and slow down to appreciate our surroundings in a creative way. This class is open to all skill levels, from those who already sketch or paint, those who want to learn about nature journaling, or anyone who hasn't picked up art supplies since they were kids in school. By the end of the workshop, you can have a record of not only what you saw, but also your own internal reflections you can keep learning from.
August 26th, 9 am- 12 pm
Cost for the workshop is $75
Email Meghan Ah to sign up megan.ahyou@gmail.com
Really beautiful. Reading this and Anna’s post as we were coming back from Tofino trying to soak it all in.
I love all of this ❤️ and also reminds me of how my husband once tried to take seaweed home to dry to create an art piece. Didn’t quite do so well out of its natural habitat 😂