The Cabin burnt down this month. The historic and deadly Beechie Creek wildfire came down the river in Oregon, and destroyed the little cabin on September 8th.  My great grandfather (My mom's mom's dad) lived in Salem, and built the cabin in 1920. He called it Jessie's Inn, for his wife. The Cabin was only 25 miles from Salem, Oregon, close by today's standards, but I imagine back in 1920, it seemed like it was out in the mountains. 

Everything is gone now, except the river and the kind neighbors who have looked after the place for years. 

Many people in the Santiam Canyon have lost so much more than we have, and my heart aches for them. But my heart is sad for the loss of the Cabin, and I want to share about it, because I think it will help with my grief. 

The Cabin was very rustic and not in the best shape. And by rustic, I mean that you had to be prepared to share the space with rats ( wood rats- cuter than city rats, but big) spiders and bugs. And so many ants. There were several large ant hills on the property, and the ants had developed a complex network of highways for conducting their ant business. when I went there last week, the ant hills were gone, but the ants were still there, looking dazed and confused. I am confident they are rebuilding as I write. 

The outhouse was called Friendly Village. I never thought to ask my Mom why until we found out it was gone. She told me that my  great - grandfather used it as a church retreat in the 20's and 30's, and his church friends named it that. That didn't really answer my question of why, but it doesn't really matter. 

We kept a diary at the cabin, where usually people wrote about the weather and what we ate for dinner. There were diaries at the cabin, going back to the 1960s. In the stack of diaries (now gone) my dad wrote about my first visit when I was a baby. He wrote something like “Jule didn't have much to say. She has yet to say anything about anything because she hasn't learned to talk yet." 

Somewhere, I have video of my high school friends and I having a small party at the Cabin. We are drinking beer, dancing and singing to Tom Waits -Rain Dogs - getting progressively more into it, as time passes, and more beer is consumed. Thank god social media did not exist then. 

Most everything of value had been stolen from the cabin because it had been broken into countless times over the years. When I was about 21, I discovered one of the biggest robberies. They took many antiques including my grandmothers wedding trunk, an antique dresser, any dishes that had any value, and a giant rack of elk antlers.

The beds were all lined up on a covered sleeping porch, where you could sleep outside under crisp sheets and blankets, listening to the constant sound of the river as it lulled you to sleep. 

Memories of family, friends, boyfriends, husbands, wives, kids, music, dogs, games, the 70's clock radio in the kitchen that constantly played equal parts static and OPB -- if ever a space and place and a soul, this one did. It was a place that five generations of my family shared and loved in our own way. It wasn't insured, and really the only value it had was sentimental. 

I went there on Saturday for the first time since the fire. Every single thing that wasn't metal was burned, melted or broken. Of the house, only the chimney stood surrounded by ash, the crumpled metal roof, glass and nails. On the surrounding property, only the charred tall trees remain ( many of which will need to come down). On the edge of the property there were many charred cans and bottles which had been thrown from the road. Some cans were from the days before the pull ring openers. 

I rescued a couple of charred things out of the ashes. But I really am working on just letting go of that old place. This helps to write about it, and think of what that place means to me. That love helps me to move forward, and think about what the future holds. 

A couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to give an artist talk for the Pitzer@Home series on Zoom. I spoke about the evolution of my work and my current project. I was a little nervous, because I have never done something quite like this before, but it was great. It was so fun to share my work with a group of people I mostly didn't know, all from the comfort of my own home.  Here is the video of the talk. I'm to scared to watch it, I hope it isn't word salad!  I did notice that my cat, Elliott, makes a cameo. 

I finished this painting a couple of weeks ago. It is large - 60" x 48" - Oil on Canvas. It is part of the Museum of Bad Judgement series. I like to imagine that this is the same girl who appeared in this painting I did in 1995. Later that year, it was used for the cover of my friend, Joel's first album. 

Joel's music is haunting, and beautiful. And seems to fit this time perfectly, even though he created it so long ago.  I have lost touch with my friend, but my hope is that he is still creating and making his music. 

​Here is the first song, and one of my favorites from that album. 

​And this one - OK Reno - the penny whistle at the end will break your heart.  

You can find a ton of other music by Joel R.L. Phelps over at Bandcamp.com. 

Something that has occurred to me over these past couple of months:

A large percentage of the work I create is not going to make it out of the studio, and some of it will just be plain bad. The good news is, work creates work, and every so often, something will come out that is beautiful and haunting, and tells me a story that makes me think of more stories. That keeps me going. 

In November of 2019, I made the decision to quit my very stable job with the state of Washington, and pursue my painting full time. Being anxious by nature, it was a difficult decision, illustrated by the fact that I didn't actually end up leaving my job until February 10, 2020.
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Besides having a very supportive partner, who encouraged me and is making it possible for me to do this financially, it came down to me saying to myself "If not now, when?" At 51 ½ years old, it is finally clear to me that my obsession with painting is a gift, and it is what I really need to be doing with my time. So, I stepped into this new chapter, leaving a lot up to chance (and by "a lot", I mostly mean, how I am going to make money).    
 
​Needless to say, none of it has unfolded as I had pictured it. My original plan when I quit was to hide out and go deep in the studio for a few months, and follow where that path is leading. That plan hasn't really changed, but with the pandemic everything else has changed. 

​We are extremely lucky to have a home to stay in, and my out of state parents have people coming in to help them out, so I am grateful for that. I keep asking the universe how I can help in all of this, and every day, I end up back in the studio, in my backyard.  But I keep asking. 

I am realizing that pursuing my painting is more important than ever. It is like an anchor that I never knew I had. It has been difficult to paint with all my worried thoughts running through my head, so I paint in shorter blocks of time. But I keep showing up, and painting through the difficulty. 

​I don't know what will happen, but I know this will change us. I am going to keep showing up for this mystery, and help where I can. 

​The ideas for the paintings in this series grew from a memoir written by Bruce Spaulding (my grandfather) in 1983, entitled Some Interesting Criminal Cases I Have Tried. He died in 1990, and I discovered this unpublished memoir many years later. He was an attorney in several towns in Oregon starting in 1930. His memoir covers eight murder cases between the 1930’s and 1960’s.

His writing about these cases and the people and circumstances involved is unusually visual and detailed. In addition to the memoir, I have several of the case files, as well as newspaper clippings and other ephemera related to the cases. These stories and the pieces of evidence evoke vivid images for me that I am using as source materials for this series of paintings. I am not painting or recreating murder scenes, but instead drawing on my own visions of the people, places and things surrounding these stories.

Some of the larger themes I am exploring are turning points and decisions, memory and loss. My grandfather began losing his memory to dementia shortly after he wrote down these stories, and most of the people involved, I assume, are dead.

To start the series I had to narrow my focus, so I could concentrate on my approach to each painting, otherwise I knew I would be all over the place. I decided to pick four cases, and paint 3 paintings per case. (One large, and two smaller) Reining myself in helped me concentrate, and really connect deeply with what was going on in each painting.

...and by limited, I mean you can count the edition on one hand. I made archival Giclee prints of 4 of my paintings this year, and they turned out so great. The colors are very close to the originals, and I am really pleased with them. They are $150 each, unframed. I have some framed in simple black wood frames, and those are $295.  Paintings are also for sale, and are priced individually. 

I hope you can stop by for the Studio Tour. My studio is #1 on the map on the Tacoma Arts Month website here. I will be open both Saturday and Sunday form 11am -5pm.