Portals
In celebration of another year on this planet, it seemed like a good moment to once again reflect on my Portals series.
As a part of this series, I’m offering a few free portals to my paying subscribers. You can find the details for claiming your art and/or postcards at the end of this note.
Portals
To catch up anyone who missed my prior “Portal” posts…
I introduced this topic in this post of the same name:
and followed up with this introduction to my work in this area.
Today, however, I offer a different kind of portal.
We face them every day.
Our phone freely offers a window into different places and times with our photo “memories”. A scroll through our Instagram feeds offers a glimpse of who we were or what we thought was important enough to share at a given moment. A walk through a neighborhood may conjure memories we had set aside - the bike rides with kids, now grown; the bare trees we remember in bloom; the friend who moved away.
The world is full of portals. Some transport us to magical places, others may draw us into spaces we don’t want to go, and some offer a look into ourselves, who we were and who we may become.
As I walk and hike the neighborhoods, parks, and trails around me, I am often drawn to photograph what is there. Take a snapshot. Remember this moment. Notice something I would otherwise take for granted or not notice at all.
I especially enjoyed a recent post from Art & Nature on how embroidery engaged her in this observational practice.
As I take notice of the world around me through my little iPhone snapshots, I am also conscious of the history being captured. I am marking a moment in time. And in doing so, I become more conscious of my surroundings. I consider everything that came before and will continue after.
I believe this is part of my fascination with “portals”. I want to walk through one and see the same space in another time - even if it’s simply in my imagination.
I live near a military post, decommissioned in 1946 after four short years of operation.
The community of Adair Village - what was known as Camp Adair during World War II - is located north of Corvallis, Oregon on Highway 99W. Between 1942 and 1946 - the year the site was decommissioned - Camp Adair served as a training camp and base for over 45,000 troops and military personnel. ~ OregonState.edu
This past year, I’ve been training for a marathon (which I am probably in the middle of running as you read this - and I would love your good thoughts for an injury-free finish)! Much of my training has been on part of this former military base, where old roads and crumbling building foundations hold a haunting appeal. I run up to four hours past the remains of the camp and what has become a State Wildlife area open to seasonal hunting.
The grounds are often covered in what I assume are spent rifle shell casings, as hunters primarily come to stalk the pheasants that are raised on site to stock this area.
As a vegetarian (who occasionally eats fish), I’m not generally acquainted with hunting or hunters. Still, we nod and offer a short greeting or wave as I jog past - me in my bright orange shirt and hat, them in their camouflage gear, following a diligent dog while carrying their hunting rifle. (It always provokes a frustrating internal dialogue within me on the sanctity of life and the cruelty of an existence in the wild with predators lurking around every corner. The Cooper’s Hawk needs to eat too, I tell myself as I imagine the mouse caught in his claws.)
After my brief existential crisis, I then move to thinking about what the camp looked like when it was built and the people who were once stationed here. I imagine the jeeps that would inhabit these roads, the walls of simple houses coming up from their foundational remains, the smoke lilting away from their stacks on a cold winter day. The men smoking on the stoop, preparing for their duties or maybe just finished for the day. The sirens (which I imagine to sound like the local fire station alert) that may or may not blare across the landscape in anticipation of one drill or another.
I stop to catch my breath and take a photo. Was I creating a portal to another world? Did it lead to a past shown in the landmarks left behind? Or to one shown in the curve of the stream crossing a road from one wetland to another? When I photograph the tallest tree, what would be its earliest memory? What other doors may I find?
At one point, I had started a weekly log of my encounters with this historic space (from which the above photos were taken). I fell in love with its many moods and unusual landscape. The practice was one that carried over from my 2020 100-day daily photo journal and I continued to see its influence over my work. Creating a photo journal kept me engaged with my surroundings well after that first project. Both projects helped me to appreciate how I use my art skills to compose my photographs. And how my photographs were beginning to influence my art.
Before and…
It took me a long time to finally call myself an artist - almost two decades after leaving art school, in fact. And while I primarily still see myself as a painter, I have given myself permission to explore other possibilities - from collage and fiber art, to writing, poetry, and photography. I suspect it would take me a decade or two to comfortably add “photographer” or “writer” or “poet” to my notion of self, but I may occasionally and uncomfortably throw those works into the world and present myself as such, for better or worse. I’m learning to be more comfortable in a broader sense of self.
I have always had many interests, thanks to growing up with parents who embraced, almost spiritually, an “I can make that” attitude. From clothes to pottery, to stained-glass lamps and handcrafted furniture, my parents made the most of every penny my dad earned with creative solutions to what they needed or wanted - and gained a plethora of skills along the way. Raising a family on my dad’s High School teacher's salary, they were very conscious of how they spent their money. Being makers was often the only way to keep their budget balanced. From an early age, I earned my “making” stripes. I learned the basics of knitting, crochet, sandblasting, soldering, sewing, sawing, refurbishing, and ceramics. When we went shopping and looked at a price tag, my parents' mantra was always, “I can make that.”
Early in my art career, for practical and commercial reasons, I channeled all this creative energy into one: Painting. Looking back, I am actually amazed (and also grateful) I was able to do that - something so necessary for my growth yet against my nature. Doing so enabled me to refine my skills and gave me confidence and a career as an artist. Now, on this solid footing, I feel empowered to investigate other spaces a little more fearlessly and embrace the beauty of being a novice again and the curiosity that inspires.
After
I can’t avoid thinking about what the coming year will bring. Through which portal(s) will I step? Will I find myself in the past or in some new, unexpected future?
As I complete applications for Graduate School, I am also refining the novel I’ve been working on for the last year while exploring accompanying art; I am developing new installation pieces and investigating collaborations; I am seeking community in new ways, fueled by the possibilities that lie ahead - by the previously unseen doors that have now opened.
This seems like the perfect time to pronounce myself more than the painter I am. (Well, I have always been more - haven’t we all?) I am a mother, wife, daughter, sister. I have been a pianist, teacher, receptionist, data analyst, and information specialist. I was a High School athlete and coach turned recreational runner. I read, write, knit, journal, cook, bake, walk the dog. I am a cuddler of cats and avid bird-watcher.
I am not only a witness to, but a creator of, portals.
I have opened myself to more of the world and to more interesting moments to contemplate. To think about all that has come before - beyond my existence. To visualize what the future may hold, not only next year, but also after I am gone. I look forward to what I may discover, the stories I may find…
The Abbots Bromley Horn Dance
The Abbots Bromley Horn Dance is one of the oldest and most intriguing folk customs in Britain, and its unique combination of ancient symbolism, rural traditions, and local pride makes it a fascinating subject of study. This dance, performed annually in the small Staffordshire village of Abbots Bromley, has endured for over 800 years, and its continued survival speaks to the importance of community and the preservation of heritage. Though the dance’s precise origins are shrouded in mystery, the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance offers an extraordinary glimpse into England’s medieval past and its links to more ancient, perhaps even pre-Christian, customs. ~ theredhairedstokie.co.uk
I found this particular portal while researching my novel, which is set partly in 1899 England. It provided an unexpected link between my work, my heritage, and my creative path forward. If you want to see where this goes, I hope you’ll keep following An Artist's Notes - and consider a subscription in the new year. I plan to share my progress and release working excerpts from my novel, as well as new art, ideas, poetry, and free postcards (with the occasional stitched portals) to paid subscribers.
I also plan to include photographs more generally in my work. Many of these I will add to a book of photographic inspirations I started earlier this year and had hoped to finish in 2025, but it’s looking like it needs more time to develop - hopefully, 2026? Sorting through my hundreds of photographs has taken longer than I anticipated. Below is a recent selection of postcards from my chapter of tree images.
In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the rest of your 2025! I will be taking a writing break through mid-January, but look forward to sharing my continuing notes with you, and an occasional “Portal” post on An Artist's Notes in the New Year - and be sure to upgrade to paid if you would like to receive complimentary corresponding art cards and/or postcards!
To the wonders of a curious mind, the celebration of another Solstice, and the unopened doors that lie ahead.
~ Jennifer
A note for paid subscribers: To receive this week’s free portal art or postcard set…
