At the Top of the World in Rocky Mountain National Park!

Fall yellows in Rocky Mountain National Park beckon the spirit.

Even though our mid-80 temps each day would confuse one into thinking that summer continues, it is, in fact, autumn in God's Country.

The High Country is under no illusion that it is still summer.  It is most definitely autumn, just a cold gust of wind away from the first tastes of winter.

It is an annual pilgrimage to make one's way into the mountains to breath in the crisp fall air and behold the colors of aspen in all their stunning beauty.  Bringing my cameras is mandatory.

We like to start our journey with a stop in Estes Park, enjoying lunch at the historic and haunted Stanley Hotel.  Views from the front balcony will take your breath away.

  
It is a short drive to the entrance of Rocky Mountain National Park.  Even though we went last Tuesday afternoon, all three gates were staffed with Park personnel and traffic was consistent and strong.

We are frequent visitors to the park and have favorite photo stops.  This is our first one.  In the winter it's not unusual to see this park filled with elk.  Today it was filled with color.

On this day we were rewarded when we got to our first dramatic viewing area--the road was still open to continue further into the park!!  You might laugh at this, but I've not been "further into the park"-- last year it was closed due to flooding, the year before because of wildfires and we were chained to box busting our first summer here.  It is always closed in winter.  So, seeing the road open, my heart sang and we continued up in elevation!!

The scenery begins to transform as one gets higher in elevation.  You know you're getting near the tree line when you see the deformed and stunted krummholz trees clinging to the rocky sides of steep inclines.  They are favorites of mine, because they find a way to grow despite the altitude, the ferocious winds and arctic temperatures.  

The weather was so changeable providing dramatic ominous clouds, bursts of sunbeams, squalls of cold rain, freezing wind and it was all ideal for a trek to the top of the world!!

Ken and I chided each other since we had considered bringing our gloves but since it was mid-80s at home we decided (foolishly,) how cold could it get?

Actually, pretty darn cold with the wind chill.  We know better, of course, but even the weather veterans can get lulled into under packing for a trip to the High Country!

We stopped for breathtaking views of the mountain ranges and quickly headed back to the car to warm up and continue going up.

We were amused to snap a photo of the Marmot and a description of this sub-alpine animal, never expecting to actually see one.

But, as we drove up the two-lane highway near some rocks there was a Marmot scampering out onto the road!  Of course everyone came to a stop until it decided to make its way back to the safety of the rocks!

As the cold air thinned due to our increase in elevation, we noticed that even our short walks to scenic view points took more breath.  It's odd to realize how much altitude affects the body.

As we continued our climb, I should point out that if you are at all nervous about driving on roads in which the drop-off is a sheer cliff, this might not be the trip for you.  

I read that this is the highest paved highway in America and it's easy to see why it has this distinction as one keeps going up.

It's about at this point in the trip that we are at 12,000 feet elevation.  The vertical stick in the top photo on the right hand side by the way is a marker familiar to areas in which the snow gets so deep that one loses all sense of the road.  Trying to make one's way during the height of winter could get very scary without markers to at least hint at the way,

One comes down from the rocky top to reach this remote and wonderful visitor center and gift shop!!!  Honestly, it was packed with visitors from all over the world.

(I confess I had to have my souvenirs, too.)

The building sits rugged and sturdy on the edge of what seems like a big crater that still has snow in its basin. It is solar powered, runs off a generator and has water brought to it.  The outhouses are water-less, as one might expect at that altitude and location.

This is fragile sub-alpine tundra at this elevation.  We're way above timber line and what manages to grow is low to the ground and resilient in ways I can only imagine.

Finally, it's time to head back down, through the mountains, saying goodbye to a splendid and serendipitous adventure of seeing the fall colors AND traveling to the top of the world!!

Why are artist's statements so grueling to write?

Detail of "It Takes A Crooked Stick to Float A Crooked Mile"

Actually, I can answer that.  

It just so happens that I'm working on mine for my upcoming exhibit in two weeks.  

I have written many artist's statements over the years and they're NEVER easy to write.  

If you're unfamiliar with an Artist's Statement, it's basically an introduction to one's art.  They're not very long, somewhere around 3-5 paragraphs, and yet if it's badly written it can diminish what could otherwise be a spectacular display of creative endeavor.

I read in Wikipedia that Artist's Statements began in the 1990s, so artists before that time didn't have to worry about this aspect of introducing someone to their art.  

Not true today.  Now when an Artist's Statement is hung on the gallery wall (as mine will be) it becomes an invitation, an explanation and an element to the installation itself.

In this brief statement I want to tell you why I make my art and what inspires me to make it.  I want you to understand what it means to me and what makes it special.  I need to describe my work, not because you're not there to see it, but because I want you to know more.  

For this exhibit of my flood stick art, I want to draw you into what I consider a magical world of sticks from a river.  Each wall sculpture tells a story and every 3-D sculpture has its own personality.

Detail of "Wood Sprite"

      

Detail of "Fish Bait"

Today, once I finish with my writing, I plan to screw on the engraved metal tags with the name of the piece and my name as sculptor.
  

It is an awesome task to assign a name, I think.  It says, 

"These sticks floated down the Cache la Poudre River and lodged in a place where I could find them, harvest them, select just the right pieces and haul them home where I washed them, sorted them and then was inspired to use them creatively.

No longer are they nameless sticks, twigs, branches and chunks of wood bobbing on wild flood waters.  Nope.  Now they are "Tangled" or "Bend Like A Willow" or "River Dancer" or "Wild Thing."

To me they emit emotion and churn up mysterious back stories.  

Did this strange wood float half a mile or 125 miles to reach me?


Was this charred chunk of wood from a happy campfire or a raging wild fire?

Did this wood float unencumbered down 6,000 feet in elevation or was it just up the bend waiting for another Hundred Year Flood?

Uh-huh.  Now you can see why it's so challenging to write an Artist's Statement. 

Now I imagine you are dying to read my Artist's Statement for Mastery-In-Nature.  Okay, it's a first draft but here it is:

                                                                Artist's Statement

When I stand on the banks of the Cache La Poudre River and hold a flood stick, as I refer to it, I feel connected to a historic river that has its beginnings high in Rocky Mountain National Park and ultimately empties into the Great Gulf of Mexico.

It is a connection to past, present and future as well as a 126 mile journey from the high country wilderness to me in Windsor.  This worn, well-traveled stick somehow survived a journey down through the mountains, emerging from the foothills, dropping over 6,000 feet in elevation and somehow got caught here at this place where I have found it.

After both the fall and spring flooding of the Cache la Poudre River I was attracted to the flotsam left by water now departed.  As a sculptor whose work is abstract and imaginative, I could not resist it.

As I began poking into piles and piles of stick jams, as I refer to them, I discovered beautiful and graceful sticks; charred chunks of wood I can only imagine survived mountain wild fires; twisty and funky sticks that jumped into my arms; and goofy, odd-shaped pieces with mysterious personalities.

My flood stick sculptures are created with carefully selected sticks, washed, cleaned, sun-dried and arranged in a palette on my deck according to size, shape, texture and hue.  I combine each piece with found objects such as fishing lures, battered flip-flops, snarls of fishing line, a baby's pacifier and feathers from the riverbank.

Each sculpture tells its own story.  Each is unique.  Each is a connection to the beauty and power of our very own Cache la Poudre River.