pied midden: issue no.9 : snapshots from the future : sabine pinon & kelly moody

Originally published April 11, 2020

the mirage of clean air
 

The air is cleaner and the planet is quieter since the pandemic hit. A LOT quieter, it turns out. With human-generated seismic noise reduced by as much as 30% in some places, scientists can now measure seismic activity on the Earth’s surface with the same accuracy as they do using machines buried deep in the crust. And they’ve learned some things. Who knew you could predict the health of an economy by the volume of human sound? ( Hint: quiet is not a yay for economic growth.).

I know it can’t last — and really, shouldn’t last. I don’t want to watch things get worse — I want to see people safe and their happy plans and dreams restored. I want the massive and horrific suffering to be quelled. And, I wonder: is the ecological respite we see now some sort of vision from a potential future pre-pandemic? 

I hope so. I hope we’ll remember that as a species, we actually DO have the power to make sudden, dramatic shifts to the planet’s health. I hope that this knowing will be a light to follow in future days. I hope we’ll remember how effective we are at coming together for common good — not because we’re incentivized, but because we love each other.

Cities aren’t places lacking nature (where ‘nature’ means ‘everyone except humans’) — they’re places where it’s harder to listen to nature. What happens when noise quiets and listening settles into the streets? Birds fill the trees in the park, insects reappear, and diurnal animals come out of hiding. Everybody is there all the time, it’s just a lot harder to notice them through the haze and rumble.

mutual pigment people interview
 

Kelly Moody, this month’s pigment contributor to Ground Bright, rarely visits urban zones. She grew up in  Virginia farmland and has spent the past few years living nomadically in her camper, interviewing artists and ecologists across the U.S. for her Ground Shots podcast. Sabine Pinon spent her childhood on the Champs Elysees, running in the halls of the Louvre where her mother worked as an art-restorer. Sabine owns several small art shops in Australia, and runs a blog that is an incredible encyclopedia of information about art supplies (“everything you've always wanted to know about shop materials but didn't dare to ask the shop assistant”).

What follows is an interview between Kelly and Sabine, with me acting as a moderator of sorts. Sabine wrote from her home in Australia. Kelly is “sheltering in place” in New Mexico’s Gila Wilderness. In order to use wifi, she rides a mountain bike to a high ridge and crosses her fingers. Photos are from the personal collections of Sabine and Kelly (minus the one of the 'reclaimed earth colors,' which I took last month. Thanks, Cara Tomlinson!).

SABINE: I am delighted to have this conversation with you, Kelly! We are maybe as far from one another in terms of life experience and approach to pigments, plants, etc. as possible! Not that I don’t need and cherish my connection with Earth and nature but, The Wild, which you seem to have befriended, is so entirely foreign to my sphere that I am both intrigued, attracted and at a loss to imagine —  not only you in it but I.T… Probably too I am thinking virtually of a concept and not the multi-faceted reality wilderness is.

I was born on the Champs Elysées in Paris, brought up there and my childhood nightmares were of being locked in the Rodin museum’s garden where I played every afternoon but –obviously – where too the wolf was waiting for me in the dark should I get locked in! Of course, there is no escaping The Wild which is everywhere, encoded in our DNA, in our primal responses but, in today’s world, fewer and fewer of us actually get a chance to move in its breadth, let alone live in it and rely on it for survival. (I sadly think I have none of the skills required!) 

So I am really intrigued about how you came to live the way you do, know the plants as you seem to and curious to know: what is The Wild to you?

KELLY: It’s kind of a long, winding answer to try to encompass how I came to live how I do, and know the plants I know... But one answer is that the wind brought me here, and the plants are showing me that the more I see them, the more I learn I know nothing. I grew up with plant people, and in a quiet small southern town in the U.S. My grandparents ran a nursery business, and my dad took it over, and my other family were farmers. I spent a lot of time outside and in greenhouses, helping out around the nursery. 

Plants were always close to me, even though I wasn’t conscious of appreciating it then. I grew food for a while, and lived off-grid, outside of Asheville, NC, both for a small profit and also just to eat. Eventually I took to the road through a meandering process of spending half the year farming and half the year traveling, to eventually become more full-time with traveling, as I gained a web of human and plant/place connections across the continent of Turtle Island. 

It’s made me realize that there is no clear beginning or end to place. Maybe a watershed gives some clarity on boundaries, but even still, everything is woven together, and so are we. What is wild? Gosh. I’m always asking that question on my podcast. It could be the wind that blows on my camper at night and keeps me awake, or it could be the swirl of commotion in New York City. It could be the flock of birds going down Times Square. It could be the hurricane that flattens an entire island or the humbling fire that overtakes a continent. It could be the chance encounter with a long lost friend in a distant land. SO many possibilities. 

What is wild to you? And what about natural pigment people calls to you? How does it feel to handle them, listen to them, work with them? How does the color itself feel different? I think about these things...

SABINE: In fact, before I came to the U.S. for the first time at 19, I had never even encountered a wild place. Europe is a manicured garden. We had a fire in Provence a few years ago (and we were living in a pretty “wild” area), but our next walk down the little valley revealed the ruins of an entire Roman village which had been buried under the prickly kermes! So the U.S. was, maybe for me, a “Romantic” notion of wilderness but one which impacted me strongly. The beauty of your country is beyond anything I had ever seen, and I cried on the tarmac leaving it behind, vowing I would be back. 

Then, later, Australia gave me in no uncertain terms a much broader understanding of the wild, where Indigenous management and use of land leaves no trace, no palaces or homes either but rock art aplenty. It is here that ochres began for me. Here I’m slowly understanding the evolutionary road Humans and Colour have walked hand in hand since Woman was Woman.

Of course, this is a personal journey. My initial approach to pigments was via my mother’s work as an art restorer for the Louvre (ed: see image of Sabine's mum, Jeanne Amoore,restoring art in the garden, above, and click link to watch her meticulously restoring a painting). But when you look at a painting, you never think of the ingredients, no more than a mouthwatering cake talks to you of flour, eggs and butter. Later, in my art store, seeing the pretty pigments in jars looking all tamed on the shelves told me nothing of, and didn’t prepare me in the least for, the powerful chemistries and endless idiosyncrasies of these nanoparticles. It took me a while to even understand that every pencil, pastel, pan and tube was just these guys holding in this or that shape thanks to a different binder. 

SABINE (continued): Strangely, and after centuries of grinding their pigments and making their paint to their precise specification, plus trying out just about everything under the sun, artists today rarely know much about their materials either… Expression of Soul has long replaced pigment knowledge in art schools. From that separation into paint-makers and paint-users, much has been gained for the modern artist although, sadly too, from the art-chemists that they once were some knowledge has been lost in the shift.

I often see in the eyes of my clients one of these little ‘lost’ moments, when I justify, for example, the difference in price between a series one and a series nine by the cost of the pigment they contain. To some young artists, brought up on being able to add 5% more magenta with one click, the materiality of the medium seems a little bit strange, perhaps even dated. You mean they don’t just somehow pour ‘colour’ into those tubes? No, they don’t, they put pigments –sometimes expensive ones — plus a few other ingredients and an enormous amount of know-how. 

This said, what has much more importantly and per forza vanished is the mystical contact with the “pure” colour of pigments which gave artists not only a reverence for the process and an appreciation of its complexity but also a direct contact with the energy and beauty of the raw hues. It was this hands-on approach which no doubt opened the subtle possibilities pigment grinding could offer in terms of hues, while personal taste and specific adjustments to the paint texture virtually rendered mediums and solvents useless.

SABINE (continued): Over the last few years though, I’m seeing a growing interest in materials and definitely sell more mullers and etched glass plates than ever before… So some guys must be making their paint out there! With which pigments, I am not sure, but I often recommend the Earth pigments, they are safe, beautiful and not too temperamental. Also, and in general, the demand for non-toxic paints is growing yet.

To answer your question Tilke, “Are there any pigments you would like to see removed from use?” I don’t know if toxicity is what you had in mind, but no, I couldn’t think of one. When a new pigment, with all the characteristics we need it to have to be a good art pigment (lightfastness, vivacity of tone, mixing permanence, siccativity, stability, fineness, compatibility with other pigments and techniques, etc.) arrives on the palette it is the result of so much human ingenuity and persistence that it would break my heart to pick who hasn’t got a chair next time the music stops. Some fall in disuse eventually when a newer, better, cheaper or whatnot substitute comes along but if some paintmakers still produce Lead white for artists or Cadmiums and Cobalts — although toxic —  it’s because they are invaluable.

Yes, red ochres are stunning, but you cannot compare their reds with the high chroma of a Cadmium red and, whilst Naphtol red could compare, its handling properties, transparency, shift in hue when mixed makes it a very different pigment in fact. If they are there in a tube, it’s because they are useful to the artist. And it's not that obvious to render a million hues our eyes can see with only these few handfuls of starting points in colour space, so don’t ask me to get rid of one!

Also, and although I’m beginning to see some stunning artworks entirely produced with “wild” pigments, most of these are abstract. It would be impossible in fact to paint a realistic landscape with only those… for one there’s hardly a green out there –a most critical colour when painting nature you’ll have to admit! My feeling though is that it might not be artists, certainly not traditional ones, that will be leading this new movement towards these pigments. It is persons like Kelly precisely, who are seeking a deeper connection with Place, with what grows there, what materials she could weave, sculpt, dye or paint with, without destroying as we have so often done or even disturbing the land. 

I hold in my heart and have a vision it might just be the artistic medicine we all need right now. It’s also you Tilke, Heidi Gustafson, who I have had the pleasure of meeting, and other Wild Pigment People — I’ve only connected with via Instagram or following links in my research —  who are opening my eyes to a totally different approach to Earth, via its coloured children: the ochres, oxide and other mineral pigments which She offers us so generously. 

To answer your question about welcoming new pigments… well, I’m super excited by the work of Onya McCausland or John Sabraw who are producing “new” ochre pigments while healing eco-systems. I can’t wait to stock the three new “Gamblin Reclaimed Earth Colors” which they have just put on the market and which are the result of Gamblin’s collaboration with John. I’m also open to offering locally sourced pigments produced by conscientious foragers in my area.

In short, I have no idea where all this is going. Probably none of us has really, but my intuition is that we’re on to something! (BIG)

TILKE (that is, me!): Thanks so much for these insights, Sabine! Now we'll turn to Kelly for a few questions that I sent her way. 

TILKE: Kelly, what’s a significant way that living nomadically has shaped your perception of urban life?

KELLY: Well honestly, I grew up in a rural area in Virginia, so I’m generally used to not living in urban areas. I went to college in a place that I guess you would kind of consider urban, it was more like a sprawling military town on the coast of Virginia with no city ’center’ and no way to bike around or walk to places. It was my only experience really living urban and I didn’t like it. Honestly, living nomadically has made me more comfortable with it, believe it or not. When I stop in cities to visit or stay with friends all across the country now, I have an appreciation for what urban areas have to offer. It’s when I look up the best bookstore, coffee shop and art store to go to, since where I usually am doesn’t have much of these things. After I’m in an urban area for a bit, I’m ready to get back out of town. I am a pretty sensitive person and noise and stimulus get to me after awhile. It makes it harder for me to focus, tune into my body and think straight. I think of urban areas as a wild ride, and then I get back out into the woods and desert and can breathe and actually see ‘into’ myself so to speak, and hear the plants. I spend most of my time out in ‘wilderness areas’ or in quiet places where the plant, animal and rock people are allowed to be themselves. Of course in cities there are pieces of this wildness, and I always appreciate even in cities like Oakland, CA, or Portland, Oregon, how many plants and gardens there are.

TILKE: Tell me about wild-tending. Can pigment foragers bring benefit to the land through wild-tending?

KELLY: Essentially, wild-tending takes some elements of ‘Traditional Ecological Knowledge,’ which is a title for a collection of knowledge about land-tending practices that Indigenous peoples fought hard throughout colonization to preserve. It also considers that we can’t assume to know exactly what ‘balance’ and diversity looks like, based on the perspective of Indigenous practices of the past. Instead, wild-tending works from an intuitive place in the present, reacting to a landscape that feels neglected and without intentional human interaction. Wild-tending applies knowledge of traditional human tending practice and intuition on the land directly. Humans have always been a part of ‘nature’ and have played a huge role in the evolution of ecologies and the diversity of plant communities. Historically, humans practiced controlled burns, coppicing, seed gathering and replanting, corm/root/tuber division and assisted migration. The lack of these practices by humans on the land has contributed to imbalances like extreme wild-fires and the die-outs of certain plants. Of course, the worst impact we’ve had is through commercial developments on the land, or the extermination of keystone species like bears and wolves — actions that take place from a perspective that considers the land as inert and without dynamic life. 

I’ve been traveling for years and spent a lot of time out on the land, and I can’t say that this whole entire time I’ve been ‘wild-tending’ but I’ve become more aware of it over the years, visiting with people who make it their whole life-way, as well as observing what the plants are asking by simply being with them. Now, I’m traveling with my partner, who has made it a big priority in his life, and seeing the land from this perspective has been mind-blowing (Kelly's sweet heart, Gabe Crafford, pictured below, with fellow wild-tender, Nikki Hill) .

TILKE: Can pigment foragers bring benefit to the land through wild-tending?

KELLY: To wild-tend could be simple. While collecting pigment, one could collect seeds from native plants to dry and plant later. One could learn what plants were traditionally coppiced and why, and spend a little time tending in this way with pruners while out in the field, on the land. One could take a modern approach — which is something we do in addition to planting native first food plants — where we plant plum, peach, apricot and almond pits anywhere we spend time and we think the plants might thrive. These provide excellent food for animal people into the future. 

It could also mean something like planting onions or garlic in the wild, so that these plants, which are normally grown as annuals, could have a chance to re-wild themselves and propagate on their own. Part of this work is an experiment: what would happen if we dispersed certain plants out and allowed them to act of their own in an ecology with only gentle nudging from humans, or without the specific bounds of private land as a control? 

Wild tending is simply observing what we could give to a place we are spending time through our physical action. Every place is different, and nuanced.

TILKE: How can city-dwellers achieve more closeness to the interspecies community?

KELLY: Cities are ripe places where we can make a positive impact on the land. I’m inspired by artists like Sharon Kallis (see image below, from Sharon's website), who lives in Vancouver, BC. She plants weaving, natural dye and medicine gardens in the city and then uses these plants to do public works projects, like weaving loose nets to help with erosion control instead of spraying for example. The gardens becomes places of education too, where city folks of all walks of life can come and learn to dye, weave, or tend these gardens. In some ways cities provide clear problems to respond to, and projects like Sharon’s make a big impact when it comes to connection to the interspecies community. I’m also an advocate for the planting of bird and butterfly gardens in cities, the keeping of honeybees in urban areas or planting fruit trees in parks. Even though some cities could have dirty air from car exhaust, generally many cities are less sprayed with chemicals than large rural agricultural communities.

Thank you, Sabine and Kelly, for these glimpses into your different worlds, and for your thoughts about pigments and the land!

artists giving to artists

This month, to bring cheer to artists out there who may be struggling, I'm offering new subscribers a chance to send one gift Ground Bright packet to a friend of their choice when they sign up. I'm extending the offer until April 18th, so if you were thinking of subscribing, now's a great time to do it!

I love to hear from readers, so if you liked this two-way interview, do write and let me know. I will be SO happy, I'll do a little dance in the forget-me-nots just for you. :)

Until Next Month.

Stay Tuned....

<3 Tilke

​Oh, and lastly -- Kelly interviewed me for her marvelous Ground Shots podcast a couple of years ago, when Wild Pigment Project was still just a wild idea in my mind. You can listen here, as well as read her blog post about my work. Kelly is an absolutely stellar photographer. Here's a pic she took of one of my ephemeral works... now so identified with this project!