So I Could Slip Into Sky

Selected works & Words by Belinda Hanson

So I could slip into sky

wood, wing, bear fur, net, plastic, hair, 2023

My home is in the mountains of northern California along the Sacramento River; and my personal attachment to this landscape and concern for the many issues confronting the North State are explored in my work.

Siskiyou County is the part of the California map that Californians don’t know exists. We are in the real north of California, far north of San Francisco or Sacramento. In ancient times, regions of maps that were unknown were labeled “Terra Incognita.” In 1544, Sebastian Cabot drew a map of the Americas with “Terra Incognita” scrawled across the land north of Baja California simply because it had not yet been explored. Siskiyou County feels like the Terra Incognita of California. Masses of people whiz by on the freeway, but not many stay. None-the-less, the rest of the state covets the water in our waterways and the wood in our forests. Already dammed, the state is planning to enlarge the dam on the Sacramento River, destroying more river habitat and landscape, to send the waters south to farmlands in the Central Valley. The deep forests surrounding the canyon are once again being clear-cut and the creatures living here pushed into ever-smaller reservoirs of habitat. This is causing more frequent incidents of wildlife confrontation with humans. Bears seeking food and new terrain are run down by cars and shot as “dangerous.”  The natural inhabitants of this land—fish, birds, bears, and the local human population—are left to struggle on in a drained landscape, not receiving the benefits of this exploitation, largely unrepresented and mostly ignored by the government and the exploiters.

My artwork addresses human intervention in the environment. Hovering between science and nature, poetry and rational, these pieces have an overall connectedness to each other by an eclectic but kindred spirit that makes sense of many things and events that are our everyday experience. The North State is one of the last strongholds of wildlife and mountain river systems in California, and my work explore sthe precious and precarious balance in which they hang.

They cut off my wing so I wouldn’t be so loud

concrete, tire, drill bits, feathers, 2021

My inspirations can be as simple as a certain material, egg, fur or rubber, a found object, or an object given to me, like the teacup and gun that my daughter and son in law gave to me when their house burned down and that was all that was left.  My daily walks in the forest and along the lakes, listening to the news, the personal and the political blend and an overall interest in our environment and its survival.

Her Teacup, His Gun

rescued from fire: tea cup, handgun, melted metal, board, 2021

In Her Teacup, His Gun, I am honoring the survivors that came through the Campfire in Paradise, California, while memorializing those 85 lives who did not. A liminal event, straddling the line between life and death, my daughter and son-in-law survived while one block over people fleeing the fire were trapped and died in their cars. Found in the rubble of their home: a dainty teacup, reminiscent of the feminine, and a gun, representing the masculine within our society, straddling a line. Both objects were the only surviving after the flames engulfed and burnt their home to the ground.

“He tells me to stay in a vehicle if at all possible, put on good shoes, long pants, long sleeves and tie back my hair. Transformers, barbecues and cars, things are exploding. Mostly east, but we can’t tell. We lose track of time. It was the longest urination of my life, trying to rush in case traffic moves again. Can anyone figure out where the fires are? Which way to go? Traffic politely obliges as we use driveways. This is the first time I think, “we might not get out”. Later we learn they died there. Dry, windy days have begun to mean fire nightmares for me. Transformers, tanks, cars exploding, we lose track of time. Flames are eating at a field, lapping up trees. “that can’t be right” Stuck, people are taking hoses to attach. I reach across the cat carrier, at least Orbit’s incessant meowing has stopped. We have no idea that the fIre is all across town, power is out, we are in a disaster. I have my mom’s paintings in the car. I am not leaving them. Paradise is on fire. The wife sets a sprinkler on the lawn. Thunder, and I think not—I have never heard transformers exploding. He tells me stay in the car, tie your hair back, put on good shoes, finally we see the flames. We are stopped wondering, what to do? Bob is an ornery bastard that I care about, I waste time arguing. I catch and crate one cat but his sister shies away. I don’t stand a chance. Three adults, one with a baby push a car into a ditch. A man driving his motorcycle into the flames and back with a dog on his lap. I realize even against my nightmare, I had an expectation of protection-trust. As we creep closer to that glow, he places a hand on my arm and says he is sorry. We both believe he has made the decision that will kill us. There is not much space, but I optimistically encourage her to jump into my backseat. A man runs out of the black and grabs her leash. It’s late, I’m in the studio, I have to pee. I grab a bucket and pee. There’s a hole in the bucket. Can anyone figure out where the fires are? Which way to go? In the end we did not have a choice, we were directed to turn right on Pearson. It is pitch black. We lose track of time. Wind violently whips.”

— Original escape story told by Shannamar Dewey, edited Dada style by Belinda Hanson–cut, pasted and rearranged at random.

Beast & Burning Bush

Beast, tire, bear fur, copper leaf, 2019

Burning Bush, cast aluminum, burned manzanita, 2018

During the Delta fire that threatened Siskiyou County, I was driving back and forth to Shasta College, between flames and through smoke. Each day dead animals lined the freeway. One day, a young bear was stretched across the right side of the freeway in the southbound lane. For this piece, I paired the fur of a bear with a piece of tire, which I found on the same section of freeway, then joined them together with copper. Copper is conductive—it is used as electrical wiring and some people line their roofs with it to conduct spiritual energy into their homes. I used it to envision a healing between nature and culture.

The horrors of the Delta Fire linger. Black silhouettes of forest are everywhere, mountains beyond mountains of black. Many homes were lost to the flames. Some students and instructors at Shasta College are victims, along with many others. But we have survived and are holding classes, teaching, living our lives and showing our work. My pieces, Beast and Burning Bush, were born out of my experiences during this time.

Self-Portrait as a Tree

concrete, broom, copper wire, manzanita branch, 2018

My practice is very intuitive, though I journal and take those thoughts into the studio with me. There are certain materials that reappear in my pieces—fur, a teacup, a small motor. I seek to bring together bits and pieces, found, cast or constructed to create something more “lively” then the individual parts. It is often almost surreal. I see the pieces as alive—like actors on a stage.

I go into the studio with ideas and maybe a color or a material I am drawn to. I work in the studio, I go home and I write in my sketch book. In the writings and drawings I eventually find my next piece. It is a very intuitive process but with lots of hands on material exploration. And in the end I seek to make something more lively than its parts.

Witness

antlers, wood, built chair, 1rpm motor, windshield wiper, astroturf, tree swing, 2015

Witness was built from ideas that surfaced during my daily walks in the woods off Mott Road above my hometown of Dunsmuir, where I have lived for the past 30 years. My dog occasionally finds a deer leg, an antler, or a bone and brings these to me as an offering. These gifts find their way into my sculptures, graphic reminders from our wanderings.

Witness functions liminally as both a meditation on the concept of “home” for us as individuals and “home” as niche for the wildlife in the forests surrounding our town. The title, Witness, acts as both verb and noun and suggests that we are each playing the part of the witness as our world morphs before our eyes.

This tree swing is very similar to the one I swung on as a youth, free from cares and enjoying the natural world of dirt at my feet, tree above my head, and wind across my body. The map placed under the swing is an enlarged version of the Google Earth image of the canyon around the city of Dunsmuir, where I live. White splotches are evident where the forest has been clear-cut in an ever proliferating and relentless onslaught. With these two elements, the swing and the map, I am juxtaposing the innocence of a child’s encounter with the natural world and the knowledge of the adult’s encounter with that world, under assault.

Tea with Mother

Wood, ceramic cup, copper leaf, pendulum clock, rosary, fur coat, pink lipstick, 2012

My mother was English and we drank tea in the afternoons. It was an excuse for any topic to be discussed. On occasion, she told fortunes from the tea leaves. (It was rumored, but never proven, that we have a gypsy relative who ran off with one of our grandmothers.) I built this piece the year she passed away.

The teacup is gilded in copper leaf. Copper is a conductive material; some homes in our area have copper roofs because the owners believe it will conduct spiritual energy into their living spaces. One banister is wrapped in fur from a coat she wore, and the other wears her lipstick color. The rosary sways back and forth... a petition, a prayer, a talisman. Talisman in Wikipedia is “an object which is believed to contain certain magical or sacramental properties which would provide good luck… A talisman must be charged with magical powers by a creator; it is this act of consecration or ‘charging’ that gives the talisman its alleged magical powers. The talisman is always made for a definite reason.”