The Confluence Lab, in conjunction with the University of Idaho's Prichard Art Gallery, is seeking creative, visual works for an online exhibition series, Stories of Fire. AIF Residency Application Form Artist Contact Information Name Full Address Email Website Instagram Short Biography (Please no more than 250 words.) Application Questions Attempts to respond to questions below in 500 words or less is encouraged and much appreciated. Why are you interested in this residency? How do you anticipate your experience with fire impacting your current creative work, future projects and professional goals? Working with fire can be both exhilarating and challenging. Tell us about your experience 1) working as part of a team and 2) working outdoors and/or engaging in strenuous physical outdoor activity. Tell us about any ecological, botanical, fire, outdoor knowledge or skills you have. Tell us about your relationship to the Pacific Northwest or adjacent regions. How do you hope to bring your experience of prescribed fire back to your community? (Please be as specific as possible.) Reference Information Please provide information for references that can speak to your readiness and compatibility for this opportunity. Reference #1 Relationship to Reference #1 Email Contact Phone Contact Reference #2 Relationship to Reference #2 Email Contact Phone Contact apply AIF is in collaboration with the Confluence Lab and the Prichard Art Gallery and made possible by the generous support of : return to AIF Residency information >

The Confluence Lab’s inaugural “Artists-In-Fire” (AIF) Residency will support a group of artists and creative writers in the Pacific Northwest and adjacent regions as boots-on-the-ground participants in prescribed fire. ARTISTS-IN-FIRE an inaugural, immersive residency for artists and writers Fire operations at a Prescribed Fire Training Exchange (TREX) outside Ashland, OR. photo cred it: Sasha Michelle White As the Pacific Northwest and other regions grapple with the increasing reality of wildfire, the Confluence Lab is working to reimagine shared fire stories. The Confluence Lab’s inaugural Artists-In-Fire (AIF) residency is supporting 10 artists and writers from the Pacific Northwest and adjacent regions as boots-on-the-ground participants in prescribed fire. boots-on-the-ground Prescribed fire is the intentional burning of fire-prone landscapes for ecological and cultural benefit, conducted by experienced firefighters during appropriate weather conditions. AIF awardees are training to qualify as Wildland Firefighters Type 2 (FFT2 ) by completing 40 hours of asynchronous, online training, along with an arduous pack test and practice fire shelter deployment, prior to their prescribed-fire immersion experience. Over the course of 2024, each AIF artist and writer will travel individually to participate in a Prescribed Fire Training Exchange (TREX ) or other immersive, prescribed fire experience. These immersions will take place across California, Idaho, Oregon, Washington, and Nebraska, led variously by The Nature Conservancy, the US Forest Service, the Yurok Cultural Fire Management Council, and the Watershed Research and Training Center. Returning home, AIF artists and writers will reflect upon their experiences through their creative practices and share those reflections with their home communities. creative reflection & community engagement Alongside the Confluence Lab’s Stories of Fire online exhibitions , the AIF residency seeks to generate a greater public familiarity with landscape fire, one that is not catastrophic, but intentional, proactive, and participatory. It seeks to demonstrate the possibility that non-professionals can and do participate in prescribed fire, and that community fire-preparedness can encompass more than fuels reduction and home hardening. Within one month of completing their immersive, prescribed fire experience, the AIF artists and writers will submit a blog post to the Confluence Lab about that experience. Within six months, the AIF participants will share creative work resulting from this experience with their home communities. Whether this is an exhibition, a reading, a community conversation, a podcast, a published piece of writing, or some other creative, public outreach, will be determined by each participant. Each AIF awardee is receiving a one-time $4000 (USD) stipend to support the time, travel, and material costs associated with the training, prescribed fire immersion, and subsequent creative work development. introducing our 2024 AIF crew Laura Ahola-Young Pocatello, ID Sam Chadwick Moscow, ID Adam Huggins Galiano Island, BC, Canada Erica Meryl Thomas Portland, OR Kylie Mohr Missoula, MT Jason Rhodes/the 181 Bend, OR Rachel Richardson Berkeley, CA Doug Tolman Salt Lake City, UT Jennifer Yu Moscow, ID This residency is in collaboration with: And made possible by the generous support of: For more information, please contact theconfluencelab@gmail.com Next

a profile of Jennifer Yu by Bailey Lowe My Favorite Activity was Lighting an interview with Kylie Mohr by Bailey Lowe During the Artist-in-Fire Residency Program, environmental journalist Kylie Mohr participated in a Prescribed Fire Training Exchange (TREX ) in the northeastern Washington wilderness where she spent two weeks burning sections of land to help prevent the negative effects of natural wildfires in the future. This interview has been edited for length and clarity. Tell me about yourself. I'm currently a freelance environmental journalist and a correspondent for the magazine called High Country News , and my work really focuses on all things wildfire—everything from the health angle to the ecological angle to what rebuilding and recovery looks like, inequality in those things, and preparedness land management. In addition to wildfire, my work really focuses on wildlife, conservation, public lands, and wildlife and water in the west. These western environmental issues are really front and center in my work and often overlap, which is great. And in addition to High Country News, I publish for a lot of different publications. Some of the biggest titles that I've worked for are National Geographic and the Atlantic, and then a whole host of others—Grist, Vox, Business Insider. I just love getting western stories and environmental issues out to a regional and international audience. What I do has taken me to some really cool places, in addition to getting to play firefighter/firelighter for a couple weeks this fall. I got to spend a night at the top of an old grove tree for an assignment with Sierra Magazine last year, which was really fun. It was crazy. I definitely learned I am terrified of heights and won't be doing that again. I've been to Alaska to report on snowy owls. I got a bunch of cool stuff in Montana and Glacier with some scientists studying pink snow and snow algae in the high alpine. In my background before that, I got a Master’s at the University of Montana in their Environmental Science and Natural Resource Journalism program. I've got my undergrad from Georgetown. I used to live in Wyoming. I'm from Washington originally. How did you learn about the Artist-in-Fire Residency Program and what made you want to do that? I think I saw a posting for the Artist-in-Fire Residency on Instagram or X or some social media platform. I was instantly like, “ooh, what is this?” Because anytime I can do something that kind of is hands-on and grounds my work in actual lived experiences and being able to do something that not very many people have access to, I immediately was interested in that. I was reading the description, and I was just like, “wow, this this seems incredible and such a cool opportunity.” I think one of the issues with prescribed fire is that it is so hard to get into as a civilian. You don't have the training or the gear or really anything to be a responsible participant. You can't really just show up to one of these things and be like, “hey, I want to help.” And so, even though it's something I read a lot about, I've never (before this fellowship) had the opportunity to actually participate in it and being a journalist, sure, we can go to things and observe, but there's something so different about actually doing alongside people rather than standing 20 feet behind with a notebook. So, the opportunity to do something like that just really jumped out at me, and because I'm a freelancer, one of the benefits of that is I have flexibility to go on a two-week prescribed burn and spend 40 hours over the course of a couple months taking the classes that we needed. What did you do to prepare and what were some of the things you learned in the training? The online training was cool in the sense that I realized I knew more than I thought about fire behavior and firefighting techniques and things like that from my journalism and from my reporting background, so that was nice to see some of my professional knowledge actually integrating into this in a useful way. I participated in a lot of government webinars and things that were a little bit dry at times, but they did give me the basis to understand terminology, techniques, and the basics of the science of fire behaviors, so that I’m not wondering, “Oh, it's really windy today. Why aren't we lighting? Oh, because wind carries fire.” Or, “Oh, it's been really dry. It hasn't rained in a long time. Why aren't we lighting? Oh, okay, because relative humidity and the different fuel moistures matter when you're thinking about how to control a fire and keep it contained and not burning too hot and severe to ruin things rather than regenerate them.” And then the physical training: I think I probably over prepared for that. I was really nervous about not being fit enough to do it, so I got a weighted vest and timed myself speedwalking around a track near my house with the weighted vest and hated that! But then the test was totally fine, so I think I might’ve overprepared for that a bit. I'm in a cool position in that my fiancé was actually a wildland firefighter before we met, and so I was peppering him with so many questions of what to expect or what kind of gear I should buy. That's the other thing, too, that was really helpful about this fellowship: we had the stipend to cover some of our time being spent on all of this, but also to pay for fire boots (because those are super expensive); you have to have certain certified types that go up high enough on your leg and have the right thickness to be fire resistant and all this stuff, and they can be three or four-hundred dollars if I remember correctly. That's a lot if you're not a firefighter and you're never going to wear these around town! You borrow from your TREX all of the Nomex shirts and pants and a fire backpack that carries all your stuff and hard hat. You buy your own gloves, but gloves are cheap at hardware stores. A lot of the prep was not only “how is this all going to work?”, but also “what do I need to not be totally miserable or unsafe?” During the Prescribed Fire Training Exchange (TREX ), what was your onsite training and what did your day to day look like? Before we started burning, we had a couple days of part classroom instruction and then also part field instructions. We went around to different stations and learned about all the different pieces on a water engine truck, and how you open and close the hose and nozzles and all this stuff, which it sounds really basic, but you don't necessarily know how to use it in the context of fire. I had this weird tool: I think it was called a combi—a combo tool that you have to screw and unscrew the head in different ways. There were many very basic things that I don't know (as you work behind a computer), and I needed people to be constantly explaining everything to me. So, we did a lot of that kind of training, like “here's how to use a drip torch” and “here's all the steps to screw and unscrew the lid.” It’s just all of this very fine detail that if you're a firefighter, you don't even think about it, but can be confusing if you have never touched these tools in your life. But I learned most by doing and by being a member of different groups. I remember the first day I was like, “wow, I feel really unqualified to be standing here near the fire because I don't totally get what's going on.” But you really do learn very quickly because you're so immersed and because the cool thing about TREX is there are a lot of people there with different skill levels. There are entry level novices as well as full-time firefighters and people that do prescribed burns for a living. You could learn a lot just by observing what they were doing and following orders. That's the other interesting thing about fire culture: it's very militaristic. It's very, “here's your squad leader” and “here's your captain” and “here are the roles you're going to play” and “here's the person that you answer to.” It's very hierarchical. So, to an extent, as long as you follow your little individual orders, then everything is fine—at least in your own little bubble. That was interesting to witness. What was your favorite day/favorite activity? My favorite activity was lighting. You definitely get an appreciation for how pyromaniacs exist! People in fire call it getting bit by the firebug, and I was definitely bit by the firebug. I mean, if you think about it in your daily life, you don't really have very many sanctioned opportunities to light things on fire, right? Like you're lighting a candlewick, you're maybe lighting a campfire, and that's pretty much it. But this is like, “here is a jug full of fuel” and “here's this whole area that you get to burn.” And you do it in a controlled way; there's a lot more to it than just throwing matches and being like, “okay, let's see what happens.” It's very controlled, very slow, very methodical, but also mesmerizing, fascinating, and very fun. Lighting the fires was very challenging physically—the torch is really heavy. The little unit that I burned was on a hill, and so we were walking up and down and up and down and up and down, and you're wearing long sleeves and long pants, carrying a bunch of stuff. You have a bunch of things on your back. I was dripping in sweat. It was absolutely one of the hardest physical things I've ever done, and everyone else was just being really nonchalant about it. My favorite day was the day that I got to light—I think it was a 14- or 15-acre area—with a bunch of other people, and in addition to just the enjoyment of lighting things on fire, it was also really cool to work in tandem as a team with other people. There were people lighting and there were people holding. There was someone who was overseeing all the lighters. Really being part of a team and also feeling like I was a contributing member of that team was awesome, and I feel that just speaks to the uniqueness of the fellowship and TREX in general. Being able to embed in that way and become part of this world temporarily (that is very much not part of my daily world outside of that) was cool. I felt so welcomed by people who were excited to teach and share their skills with someone who was just coming in bright eyed and bushy tailed. How did your understanding of fire change throughout this experience? I learned a couple of things. One, it really struck home to me what I already knew but didn't know quite so viscerally, which is that fighting fire and lighting fire is very hard work, and the people who do it are really putting their bodies on the line to do these things. Even just breathing in smoke from a couple days, I was like, “Wow, I report all the time on how smoke is killing people and how toxic it is, and here are people who are doing this all summer, all fall, all winter.” So that was, I wouldn't say eye opening to me because my eyes were already a bit open to it, but just realizing how tired I was after two weeks and then thinking about people who do this all summer and to a much more extreme extent gave me an even deeper respect for people that work in fire. It also reinforced to me, quite frankly, how many hurdles there are to implement prescribed fire. The sheer amount of planning and checklists and resources and different agencies that were involved, just to do relatively small units on private land was eye opening to me in a way that I found a little depressing at first because I was like, “wow, how are we ever going to be able to scale up prescribed fire to the extent that we need when we are doing all of this for a total of, like, 30 acres?” And plans say that we need to burn millions more acres. I raised that to a couple of people at the training to be like, “what is going on? How is this at all scalable?” And then I learned some of the complexities of burning on private land and how you have to be extra careful when there's a neighbor 20 feet that way. If you're on public land or reservation or just somewhere that has more land mass, you can be a bit more, “okay, we're going to burn this whole area, and it doesn't really matter if it goes a little bit more this way because there's not someone's house and livelihood on the other side of it.” So, my understanding of fire—just the amount of work and human hands that are necessary to do these burns—hit home after all of this. I also gained an appreciation and fascination for fire behavior. I learned about how to have the fire merge toward itself or how to draw a fire away or how to hold a fire in a certain area. It's crazy how you can light fire here, and you can light a bigger fire here, and the fire moves towards itself like a magnet. It's fascinating thinking about how fire goes uphill and downhill. It reminds me of a dance. That has been cool to reflect on. Do you think that this experience will impact or has already impacted your writing? Yeah, definitely. I've written two things specifically from this—the first was a story that was all about the prescribed fire labor force for Business Insider. That was a really awesome opportunity. If you live in the West, you might know about prescribed burns, and you might know why they're necessary, but if you live somewhere else in the country, or if you even live in the west, but you live in Seattle or Portland or something, prescribed burns are probably not really on your radar. The chance to promote awareness of ways to reduce wildfire risk such a huge, national audience was really awesome. I never know who may read that and what they may go do with it, but I'm optimistic that people read my article and maybe opened their mind a little bit, or became curious about what kind of stuff was going on in their state or in their county. I also wrote an essay that's coming out in High Country News that is about my personal reflections on the experience and how it added a more nuanced take on fire for me as a wildfire journalist. I'm excited about this essay because it was really it was fun to write. I don't often write about myself, and that's always kind of scary as a journalist to say what you're thinking and feeling because we're trained not to do that in a lot of ways, so this was a really cool opportunity for me to reflect, write more creatively, and describe things in a more fun way.

The Confluence Lab, in conjunction with the University of Idaho's Prichard Art Gallery, is seeking creative, visual works for an online exhibition series, Stories of Fire. ARTISTS-IN-FIRE Frequently Asked Questions Do I need previous experience with fire? No. Do I need to do the training before I apply? No. I’m not a resident of Idaho, Oregon or Washington. Can I still apply? For this inaugural residency, we are prioritizing artists and writers living or working in these states or adjacent regions. If your state, province or tribal nation is within or borders Idaho, Oregon or Washington, you are eligible. We look forward to hearing from you. My creative work is not about fire. Can I still apply for the residency? While a demonstrated interest in social and/or ecological issues will be helpful, you do NOT need to have made previous creative work about fire to apply for the residency. You WILL need to explain through the application questions WHY you are interested in experiencing prescribed fire and HOW you see it impacting future creative work. My creative practice is more interdisciplinary. What kind of work samples should I apply with? Up to 5 samples of creative work will be reviewed by jurors no matter how many ways you label yourself or your practice. When submitting samples, you are welcome to submit any mix of files including images, .pdf documents, sound clips, short video clips (web-links are preferred), etc. If you have further questions, please contact us. How do I prepare for the on-the-ground training? Residency participants will complete approximately 40 hours of online training at their own pace but prior to attending the prescribed fire training module. Physical training for the arduous pack test may also be helpful. I’m slightly overwhelmed with understanding the training involved. Can you help me sort it out? Two phases of training are involved in this residency: the first is online and the second is an immersive, on-the-ground prescribed fire training. The online training can be done at your own pace but MUST BE COMPLETED BEFORE the on-the-ground, prescribed-fire-training module and NO LATER THAN MAY 1, 2024. On-the-ground module dates are determined by the Prescribed Fire Training Exchange (TREX) organizers. In the Pacific Northwest they generally take place in the spring and fall of each year. And don’t worry! The Confluence Lab will host a training orientation via Zoom for selected participants and be available to guide them through this process. How much time will I need to devote to training? Residency participants will complete approximately 40 hours of online training at their own pace but prior to attending the prescribed fire training module. Physical training for the arduous pack test may also be helpful. The on-the-ground training is immersive and runs from 7 to 12 days depending on the TREX module. PARTICIPANTS MUST BE WILLING AND ABLE TO ATTEND A FULL TREX MODULE. Does this residency provide studio space? No. Since the main goal for this residency is that your creative work finds its way out into your local community, we want you to have the ability to return and/or create in locations of your choosing. Will I be required to travel as part of this residency? Yes. Recipients must be willing to attend a full TREX module and will be responsible for arranging their own travel to and from that module. A portion of funding awarded to participants is meant to help cover cost acquired through this travel. I have some ideas of how I might connect with my community after this residency, but don’t know yet when and where that will happen. Can I still apply? Yes. We expect applicants to have put thought into how they would like to share their experience with their communities, but do not expect that all of the details of that to be resolved before applying. The experience itself may influence how and what you share. Our lab understands that this will take time and can help advise you in this process in the future as needed. I don’t intend to work as a firefighter beyond this residency. Can I still apply? Yes. There is no requirement that you become a professional wildland firefighter, though you would be qualified. And you may find that you want to keep participating in prescribed burns as a volunteer! I already have experience with TREX training. Can I apply to just get funding for my creative practice through AIF? The AIF residency is intended specifically for artists and writers to experience prescribed fire. While previous experience with fire will not disqualify you, recipients will be expected to attend a TREX module and priority will be given to those who would not otherwise be able to have this experience. What if my creative reflection takes longer than 6 months? We understand that your creative processing and reflection may take longer than 6 months, BUT we ask that you share some portion of your creative reflections, even if still in process, with your home community within 6 months of your TREX experience. Once I return home, how much time am I expected to devote to this project? The time devoted will vary from participant to participant. You will be expected to write a creative blog post to shared through the Confluence Lab website within one month of participation and to share your experience through your creative practice with your home community within six months of participation. Will I be at the TREX with all the other AIF residents? No. There may be more than one AIF resident but the whole cohort will not attend the same TREX. The Confluence Lab will work with selected participants to find the TREX that works best for them and for TREX organizers. How much does the training cost? There is no fee for the online training. Most TREX modules charge a participation fee of $300 but these fees will be covered for AIF participants (up to $300). A few TREX charge more, depending on their location, accommodations, and length of module. Participants will be responsible for arranging their own travel to and from the TREX module. The Confluence Lab will help participants find the TREX that works best for them. PLEASE NOTE: As required by TREX organizers, participants will be required to maintain their o wn medical insurance during the TREX module. They will also be required to liability waivers with the University of Idaho and TREX organizers prior to participation. For more clarification, please contact theconfluencelab@gmail.com Next

featured artist featured artist Kate Lund Silverton, ID Kate Lund is originally from the small town of Challis, located in Central Idaho. She received a BFA from Central Washington University in Ellensburg, Washington and earned an MFA in Studio Art from the University of Montana. During her time as a student, Kate spent eight summers working as a wildland firefighter with the Forest Service. Through this job she spent a great deal of time immersed in the outdoors and traveling through obscure towns in the rural western United States. Today, Kate does not spend her summers on the fireline, but she still finds inspiration in the outdoors be it gardening, swimming, or hiking. Kate is currently an artist and teacher; she teaches high school and college level art classes at Wallace Jr/Sr High School. Kate exhibits her work locally and regionally. In 2018 she was part of a three person exhibition, Three Generations, at the SFCC Fine Art Gallery. In November of 2019, Kate held a solo exhibition at the Cawein Gallery at Pacific University in Forest Grove, Oregon. featured artwork in Ground Truths "Are You Sure We are Going the Right Way?" cattle marker and graphite on panel, 3ft x 4ft, 2016 "Downdraft" Installation View left: "Downdraft," graphite and cattle marker on paper, right: "Build Up," 2016 "Downdraft" 5ft x 23ft, graphite and cattle marker on paper "Downdraft" detail "Microburst" wire fencing, rip-stop nylon, flannel, deer fencing, tent poles, 9ft x 9ft x4ft, 2016 photo credit: Sarah Moore "Microburst" (detail) photo credit: Sarah Moore responding to Ground Truths I believe the general public has a romanticized idea of what wildland firefighters actually do, thinking that people (firefighters) can always overcome the challenges and complexities that fire brings. There are many instances that arise such as terrain, weather, and fuel loading that make it impossible to stop a fire even if it is with a helicopter or a retardant drop from the biggest air tanker there is. My ground truth is that as a firefighter I often felt conflicted: conflicted about whether or not I could actually handle the job, conflicted about whether we were helping or harming the environment, conflicted about when to feel distressed, and conflicted about when to take a deep breath and enjoy the beauty of the landscape. The artworks in this exhibition share this internal and external turmoil. The body of work featured in Ground Truths is rooted in appreciation for the quietude within the landscape interrupted by a sense of urgency and distress, discovered after spending eight summers as a wildland firefighter. I used firefighting to fuel my artistic practice by collecting images, objects, and sensations over the course of each summer in the landscape. The renderings, gestural drawings, and sculptural work are the result of allowing my studio process to mimic my analytical decision making and sensory observation as a wildland firefighter. In Microburst , I gathered the expired and cast-off tents and outdoor equipment of firefighting and created a form that is reminiscent of the way wind moves during a microburst weather event—short, sharp bursts of air strong enough to mow down 200 foot-tall trees in a matter of seconds. In Downdraft , I used aggressive marks and a pink color-palette to create a psychological awareness of urgency in response to stimuli in the natural environment such as logs rolling down the hill at you and expanding smoke columns. These urgent movements in drawing are balanced with quietude created through rendering, which I relate to the time spent observing swaying trees and the formation of cumulonimbus clouds. featured artwork in Fuel Loading "Brush Fit," rip-stop nylon, wool, flannel, fleece, 2023 details of "Brush Fit" responding to Fuel Loading This body of work is based in an appreciation for the quietude within the landscape interrupted by a sense of urgency and distress. I discovered this awareness after spending eight summers as a wildland firefighter. As an artist, I used firefighting to fuel my practice by collecting images, objects, and sensations over the course of each summer in the landscape. The renderings, gestural drawings, and sculptural work are the result of allowing my studio process to mimic my analytical decision making and sensory observation as a wildland firefighter. Brush Fit was inspired by an experience I had while working on a small wildland fire on the Idaho Panhandle National Forest. The fire was named the Delta fire, it was less than half an acre and I was the incident commander in charge of managing the crew and the fire itself. We completed the hand line around the fire the first day and needed to get water to the fire next. With remote, small fires, bladder bags are the typical way to get water into a fire. A bladder bag is essentially a backpack that holds water; when full it's about 50 pounds. The bladder bag is not exactly an exquisite design; it leaks and sloshes around on your back, on top of your fire pack. Luckily I had a crew with a positive attitude. We loaded up our gear, saws, fuel, and the bladder bags, and started on our hike. The hike wasn’t terribly long or steep, which should have made the trek doable. To our dismay, the area we were working was unforgiving in that is was completely overgrown with brush and downed trees. If you were watching us hike from above, you would have seen us all split ways in an effort to find easier paths, quickly discovering that there is no good way to get through the nasty thicket we were up against. I could feel the brushfit building inside of me when my pack and bladder bag kept getting caught on the low branches. A brushfit is when you succumb to the challenges of walking in an overgrown forest and throw a temper tantrum. I remember stopping, grabbing a hold of a tree so that I didn’t roll down the hill, and thinking, What am I doing here? Why do I do this to myself? Why are we even putting this fire out when this whole hillside needs to burn anyway? I caught my breath, and hoofed the rest of the way to fire to get the crew started for the day. In Brush Fit , I use wool, flannel and contemporary outdoor materials to signify a human relationship that is familiar with the natural world. This material references the gear that assists backpackers, hunters, and bikers alike in being outdoors. Initially, the materials are arranged in a neat, clean manner to reference the idealizations and expectations that are often projected onto the landscape. The sculpture progresses into a wrangled mass of shredded material in order to show the trepidation and frustration that sometimes accompany an interaction with nature. more from Kate's perspective This image illuminates some of the visual qualities in Kate’s work, particularly in Are You Sure We are Going the Right Way . Kate is the small figure in the center; her team was holding the line as the fire approached, but it overran their line, so they had to pull out and try again. Here is a rare photo of Kate in her fire gear. She is standing next to her husband; the two of them were on day 14 of a two week fire assignment in Wyoming. They met in 2009 while working together on the fire crew. This image is one of Kate’s favorite representing the landscape where she lives in Silverton, outside of Wallace, Idaho. It was taken a few summers ago, when Kate took an evening hike to one of her favorite lakes, which happens to be just a fifteen minute drive from her house. Spending summers on the fireline meant spending time in places where it was unusual to see water. We are lucky in the Pacific Northwest to be surrounded by bodies of water. Kate took this photo on Lake Pend Oreille in mid-August, Summer 2023. Kate also engages with the landscape by maintaining a backyard garden. She sees it as an extension of her studio practice and an important part of her daily life. Chat back to exhibition Chat

featured artist Justin Webb Boise, ID photo credit: Emerson Soule with Webb's turn of the century 5" x 7" field camera Justin Webb is a photographer from Boise, ID. He holds a BFA in Visual Studies from Boise State University, where he focused on photography. Justin often works with black and white film, which he believes emphasizes the narrative aspect of each image. Most of Justin’s work is recorded through analog photography using 35mm or 120mm film or his 5” x 7” large-format field camera, although he also records with digital from time to time. Justin develops and prints his film himself, and through this process imparts a level of intimacy and passion into his work. Justin’s art is often about the impacts on our natural environment, both natural and human-caused. He currently spends much of his time documenting and photography these impacts in various places throughout Idaho. featured artwork "Skeletons of Soda Fire 2" Silver Gelatin Print using Ilford glossy RC paper, 5in x 7in, 2021 "Skeletons of Soda Fire 1" Silver Gelatin Print using Ilford glossy RC paper, 5in x 7in, 2021 responding to Ground Truths These photos where captured in 2021 in Southwest Idaho; they show the impact on the sage brush and trees killed by the Soda Fire in 2015. I wanted to show the changes to the environment and its personal impact on me, seeing a landscape I grew up exploring stripped of its already limited plant life. These images also relate to the years I spent fighting wildfires in Oregon and Idaho, watching how wildfires have impacted deserts and forests throughout the Pacific Northwest and how their scale and severity is increasing as the climate gets dryer. more from Justin's perspective Personified Camera : Justin took this image while he was photographing the progress of grass growth in an area that the BLM had seed drilled. Justin engages with his home landscape through the lenses of his cameras. Backburn 2006 : Justin took this photo while performing a back burn on fire near FlintCreek located on the Idaho/Oregon border in 2006. Justin finds much of his creativity in the space between his current journey and his past experiences, which he reflects on as his guide. Passing Tree : This image was taken after Justin shot “Soda Fire 2.” He was walking back to his gear before heading to another location. Chat back to exhibition Chat

featured artist Mary Vanek Smith Eagle, ID Mary Vanek Smith came to painting later in life, inspired by the landscapes of the ranch in Ola, Idaho. Her stunning oils and watercolors are an examination of the quiet power of nature. Smith has studied with Idaho artists Fred Choate and Geoff Krueger. Her work has been featured at Eagle City Hall, St. Luke's hospital, the Nampa Outdoor Festival for the Arts and Eagle Life magazine. Smith says for her, nature gives us a window into the sublime and that a successful painting "speaks to everyone's desire for connection and meaning in life." featured artwork "Sky on Fire" oil on canvas, 11in x 14in responding to Ground Truths My life living in Boise and on a ranch in rural Idaho inspired my art. I came to painting later in life, because I wanted to express the peace and tranquility I found in nature. My art cannot be separated from Idaho; it is as much the creator of these paintings as I am. So often on our ranch in Ola, we would experience the fires we were reading about through these stunning sunsets. We could smell the smoke in the air and we knew this beautiful natural display represented hundreds of thousands of acres of forest being burned. more from Mary's perspective ... an inspirational view close to Mary Vanek Smith's home Mary Vanek Smith's studio space Mary Vanek Smith's works in progress, 2023 Chat back to exhibition Chat

featured artist Siri Stensberg Milwaukee, WI Siri Stensberg grew up in Appleton, WI and received her BFA from the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire. Born into a musical family, Siri pursued dual paths in classical music and visual art. While in Eau Claire she balanced orchestra and chamber music performances while developing a language in abstract painting. Siri completed her MFA at Washington State University in Pullman, Washington. Her practice is increasingly experimental; her interest in the intersection of images, sound, and time led her to video work and installation. featured artwork From the Smoke, For the Birds , video and audio. 2020 responding to Ground Truths From the Smoke, For the Birds was filmed on September 7, 2020 from my car during a dust and smoke storm that tore through Eastern Washington. The audio came two weeks later; my grandma left a voicemail after hearing that birds fleeing the fires had died from smoke inhalation. In the video, perching birds are absent from the swaying telephone lines, and within the layered, lyrical vocals, space is created for the viewer to mourn the wildlife and ecosystems lost in forest fires of the Pacific Northwest. more from Siri's perspective ... Siri's studio space and a work in progress: Her practice moves between video, sound, painting, and installation. Lake Michigan in Milwaukee, Wisconsin where Siri now resides since July 2022. She works right by the lakefront, watching the surface of the water change each day depending on the weather. A summer sunset in the Inland Pacific Northwest. While living there, Siri particularly enjoyed floating in the Snake River during heat waves. On the date of this photo in 2021, it was particularly hazy from the heat and residual wildfire smoke. Siri leading a workshop exploring color in found materials at Spokane Falls Community College in Spokane, WA in January 2023. Chat back to exhibition Chat

AIF crew 2024 Erica Meryl Thomas Portland, OR Erica Meryl Thomas is an interdisciplinary artist, educator and labor organizer. Her work explores the ways we relate our personal histories to social, political, and natural histories. She uses the art making process to illuminate and celebrate visible and invisible labor, and visit with the darker sides of place. Her work is collaborative, site specific and often participatory, demanding flexibility of form: installations, printmaking, artist books, storytelling and dialogue, and other experiential forms among them. Her recent practice has centered on the human relationship with wildfire and smoke, utilizing foraged charcoal from wildfire burn sites to produce handmade ink and printing images to tell stories of the landscapes. In 2023, she co-curated and was a participating artist in a group exhibition, Obscurity: life inside the smoke, (World Forestry Center in Portland, OR). Her printmaking and installation presented stories and images of incarcerated wildland firefighters printed with her foraged charcoal ink. The installation invited visitors to send messages to the incarcerated wildland firefighters, and concluded with a show in a minimum security prison where some of the firefighters are based.. In 2014 she received an MFA in Art and Social Practice from Portland State University where she is now a faculty member teaching interdisciplinary courses on art, design and social theory. She is the Co-Chair and Chair of Political Action for Portland State University’s adjunct faculty labor union (PSUFA-AFT local 3571), and uses her voice to create art and action in solidarity with interconnected political, social and environmental movements. TREX involvement More on her story in Fall 2024... but for now, Erica is looking forward to the physical experience of being near and working with fire, and all of the sensory elements (smell, touch, sounds, etc.) that go along with the work. She loves a physical challenge and prefers to learn through doing, so she is excited for the opportunity to be among a crew working together as a means of experiential research. Chat back to AIF residency Chat

As the second part of the Stories of Fire online exhibition series, FUEL LOADING showcases creative works that reckon with the accumulations of fuels in the Pacific Northwest and surrounding regions. Stories of Fire On line Exhibition Ser ies Part II: Anne Acker-Mathieu Ignition Casino acrylic collage, 17in x 20in, 2023 Fire depends on the fuels that feed it. Together with topography and weather, fuels determine a wildfire’s behavior: where it burns, how quickly it spreads, how hot it gets. Fire managers use the term “fuel loading” to categorize the amounts and types of vegetative fuels in a given area. But whether dry grasses, shrubs, dense stands of conifers or logging slash, the accumulation of fuels on the landscape reflects both the ecological processes and the cultural and social imperatives that shape land management. Fire suppression and industrialized land use, structural racial and economic disparities, residential development, roads and recreation, the support or hindrance of ecological stewardship and Indigenous fire sovereignty: all these “fuels” load onto the landscape as uneven densities, distributions and renewals. As the second part of the Stories of Fire online exhibition series, FUEL LOADING showcases creative works that reckon with the accumulations of fuels in the Pacific Northwest and surrounding regions. These works engage a broad conception of fuel loading to measure the weights, densities and arrangements of fuels across ecological, social and material landscapes. They celebrate the dynamic potential of fire, while also pressing on the build-ups, sparks and residues that contribute to flammability. They attend to the fuels themselves and ask how fire and justice converge. “The whole earth is fuel-loaded; there is nowhere apart and smoke drifts easily across borders ...” Amiko Matsuo + Brad Monsma Amiko Matsuo + Brad Monsma Bat Cone Burn, pyrometric project ritual firing. final form: clay, terra sigillata, underglazes, 2014 Suze Woolf Splintered varnished watercolor on torn paper mounted on laser-cut polycarbonate & shaped matboard, 52in x 25in, 2023. An ancient burned juniper from the new BLM wilderness area Oregon Badlands. This work is presented in collaboration by: And made possible by the generous support of: Martina Shenal clockwise from left: Slash Piles 06, Slash Piles, Slash Piles 07, La Pine, Oregon, archival pigment prints, 28.25in x 22.25in, 2022 aj miccio Davis Burn Scar (w/detail) ink on bristol, 11in x 14in, 2023 Lisa Cristinzo How to write a painting acrylic on wood panel, 36in x 48in, 2022 Eric Ondina Nearer My God to Thee 2021 Kate Lund Brush Fit rip-stop nylon, wool, flannel, fleece, 2023 Lisa Cristinzo Marked Trail acrylic on linen, 60in x 82in, 2023 Kelsey Grafton Morphosis ceramic & organic found object, 16in x 4in x 2.5in, 2019 Anne Acker-Mathieu Fields of Fuel acrylic collage, 45in x 42in, 2022 Karin Bolender / Rural Alchemy Workshop (R.A.W.) RQP Card seemingly an autograph card, one of few existing pictures of the Rodeo Queen of the Pyrocene. “Fuel” is a designation inherently concerned with material and materiality. But, of course, fuel also signifies energy. Erin James read more on how artists are "Feeling Fuel" Amiko Matsuo + Brad Monsma Pyrometric Whirl Ink, ash, medium, Phos-Chek flame retardant on paper, 84in x 40in, 2017 photo credit: Larry Lytle Amiko Matsuo + Brad Monsma Pyrometric Landscape ash, medium, Phos-Chek flame retardant on paper; 84in x 40in, 2017 photo credit: Kevin Boland Lisa Cristinzo Birch Bark is like Snake Skin acrylic on wood panel, 36in x 48in, 2021 Suze Woolf Core Values fabric installation of knit/felted tree cores, woven ice cores, dyed and quilted sediment cores, dimensions variable, up to approx. 18 sq ft, 2023 Kelsey Grafton Remnant (two views of wall piece) ceramic, 14.5in x 11.5in x 6.5in, 2020 Kelsey Grafton Becoming ceramic, organic materials, found objects, and conviction, 8.3ft x 3ft x 5ft, 2021 Eric Ondina Check emulsion on canvas, 2021 Eric Ondina Inferno 2020 Eric Ondina Hot Leather 3 emulsion on board, 2020 " The planet, like many of us, is experiencing the build up, the burn, and the burn out ." Lisa Cristinzo read more about Fuel Loading's impacts through Erin James' reflective essay Lisa Cristinzo Fraternal Fire acrylic on wood panel, 77in x 60in, 2023 Suze Woolf Carved Out with Fire Pit tree: Varnished watercolor on torn paper mounted on shaped Gatorboard with wood hanging cradle. fire pit: black paper, rocks, spray-painted gas pump handle, empty propane tank, coal, insulator, corn cobs, 2022 barbed wire, model airplane, model semi-truck and model oil tanker railroad car added 2023. Suze Woolf Logged, Drifted and Burned varnished watercolor on torn paper mounted on shaped foam core with wood hanging cradle, 52in x 25in, 2023. washed-up log found on Newskowin Beach, Oregon. Anne Acker-Mathieu The Hand that Feeds You acrylic collage, 22in x 22in, 2023 Amiko Matsuo Zuihitsu video of site-specific, temporary public art project, Seattle, WA, 2023 video credit: Tom Reese further considerations FL Burn Out "The Build Up, the Burn, and the Burn Out" Eric Onida’s Nearer My God to Thee depicts a marching band on fire, or perhaps a marching band emerging from fire; the bright reds of the band’s uniform, coupled with the yellows of their instruments, blend into the fire behind them, such that it’s difficult to tell where music becomes flame and flame becomes music. Onida explains that his paintings, produced with a unique recipe of egg tempera that blends viscous balsam, fossilized hard resins, egg yolk and water, depict “a society in the midst of its discontent, desperately trying to make sense of a destiny that often feels elusive, slipping beyond control and comprehension.” He also notes that paintings such as this one and Check , which similarly depicts an urban gas station emerging from (or perhaps about to be consumed by) threatening red flames that lurk in the background, draw conceptually from the fires depicted by the news media to be consuming the Pacific Northwest to represent “our social malaise as we grapple with the forces of unyielding natural and political environments.” These paintings certainly pose a stark question to me: what is the relationship between marching bands and wildfire? What about the city corner gas station–what role does it play in today’s firescape? Indeed, how, exactly, are ecological and social environments intertwined? Lisa Cristinzo’s Marked Trail poses a similar set of questions. As a Canadian myself, I easily recognize the symbols of Canuck patriotism in her work: the wheat and the geese that frame the painting, the pine cones and snowy, cloudy fields that root us in the North, and the cottage core kitsch of the colored mailboxes, flags, and place signs. These images combine to evoke a knee-jerk sense of national pride–for me, they drudge up an overly simplistic and idealistic idea of Canada that typically lives in a land of maple leaves and syrup. Yet the red brush strokes on the left side of the painting niggle me. These strokes could echo the most iconic of Canadian images: the red leaf, standing brightly against a white background. But they also disturbingly look aflame. Once again, I ask myself: what are the connections between these tokens of national pride–geese, snow, red foliage–and the fires that increasingly appear where we think they should not? And how do these artifacts of culture in and of themselves fuel these fires? Cristinzo’s artist’s statement gives us some answers to these questions. She notes that her current work, including Marked Trail and Birch Bark is like Snakeskin , came to her during a stay in a stone cabin. She began each morning collecting fuel for the wood stove, and “soon came to see the pieces of wood, newspaper, burnable objects, and ash as triangular compositions suitable for painting.” She quickly found herself delaying the fire each morning, pausing first to sketch her fuels before burning them. “Building a fire is a means of building a painting,” she states. Yet her process of accumulation-to-burn also speaks to a problem that she extends to the human species. “Our obsession with possession has caused a warming planet,” she writes, “leading to intense weather systems and catastrophic events. The planet, like many of us, is experiencing the build up, the burn, and the burn out.” This emphasis on the build up, the burn, and the burn out is fitting for an exhibition on Fuel Loading . As the introduction to the exhibition explains, fire managers use this titular term to account for amounts and types of vegetative fuels in a given area. In the Pacific Northwest, these fuels include dry grasses, shrubs, and dense stands of conifers. But Onida and Cristinzo’s work helps us take a much broader view of fuel, not just as materials that accumulate on a forest floor but also as social and cultural practices that facilitate a build up and subsequent burn. Work like Nearer My God to Thee and Marked Trail helps me realize how the everyday practices of my life, including attending the local football game, filling my car with gas, and taking a quick break at a cottage up north, are all part of the complicated network of values, attitudes, and behaviors that shape the world in which I live. Fuel loads, not just via ecological accumulation, but also via social tradition and routine. Eric Ondina, Nearer My God to Thee Lisa Cristinzo, Marked Trail Shenal's Slash Piles 06 & 07 Karin Bolender’s work with the Rural Alchemy Workshop also emphasizes the link between fire and our region’s cultural traditions. Her playful Rodeo Queen of the Pyrocene autograph card presses on, as she explains, “generic myths of the ‘Western Way of Life’ as they manifest in Pacific Northwest forestry, ranching, conservation, and other land-management practices, in both obvious and less visible ways.” The Rodeo Queen’s ghostly face and crown of flames task viewers with the question: How do iconic (and beloved) cultural practices of the North American West respond to an epoch increasingly determined by fire?" She also demands that we rethink the role of cultural ambassadors of this region right now. Bolender explains that the Rodeo Queen “thunders in and out of arena spotlights, waving a spectacular, distracting red flag amidst the more hidden dimensions of cultural, capital, and fossil flows and legacies that shape the land as we (don’t) know it and fuel its range of conflagrations.” What are the Rodeo Queen’s responsibilities to this region and its legacies, both positive and negative, overt and hidden? And what responsibilities do we, as viewers and potential fans, have in protecting the cultural and ecological heritages that she symbolizes before they–and she–burn out? Finally, Marina Shenal’s photographs give a forward-looking spin on the entanglement of ecological and social fuels. Her portraits of slash piles gathered in La Pine, Oregon, in late November 2022, are a much more literal take on fuel loading: they depict the vegetative fuels that have been cleared and piled as part of forest fuels reduction work. In Slash Piles , the scale and size of the accumulated material might appear as a warning. The brown slash piles frame and center the green, living trees as if to highlight the violence and destruction of the clearing that has taken place. What was once living, green, and standing tall is now dead, brown, and on the ground. Yet upon a closer look I also see two additional timelines in Shenal’s photos. One looks backwards to grapple with the accumulation of ecological fuels, due in no small part to the cultural suppression inherent in fire suppression policies. In this timeline, accumulation goes hand-in-hand with erasure: the build up of vegetation in the Pacific Northwest is intimately linked to the nullification of indigenous fire practices that center around the regular implementation of “cultural burns”--controlled fires used to renew the land and culturally important plants and animals. The other timeline looks forward. These slash piles have been staged in colder, wetter months for an upcoming prescribed burn to reduce fuel loads in the forest. Viewing them with a longer, future-facing timeline, I understand them not as symbols of a healthy forest that once was, but as the fuel of the more fire-resilient forest that will be. As Shenal explains, her photographs inspired her to learn more about “efforts to create healthy forest ecosystems” in the Pacific Northwest including “reducing fuel loads during the winter season” to “reverse the decades-long fire suppression strategies that . . . have left the forests vulnerable to intense wildfires.” The intimate, close view of Slash Piles 06 and Slash Piles 07 encourages me to appreciate the intricate beauty of these fuels and reconfigures my understanding of the dead materials as emblems of destruction to those of creation. They signify land management practices that are moving beyond suppression-at-all-costs to embrace the implementation of fire for both ecological and cultural purposes. They thus stand as potent images of a different kind of fuel loading which can support different kinds of fire, renewing social and ecological landscapes. "Feeling Fuel" Kelsey Grafton's Becoming Suze Woolf's Splintered As the introductory statement of the Fuel Loading exhibit makes clear, fire practitioners and managers tend to classify fuels by type: dry grasses, shrubs, dense stands of conifers, logging slash piles, etc. These categories emphasize that “fuel” is a designation inherently concerned with material and materiality. But, of course, fuel also signifies energy, in that fires burn differently depending on the type of material that feeds them: grasses are quick and hot, while slash piles tend to burn slow and steady. It thus makes sense that much of the artwork in the Fuel Loading exhibit foregrounds the energetic presence—and emotional valences—of specific materials. Take, for example, the pieces that make up Kelsey Grafton’s Trees of Morrow series. These sculptures are directly composed of the raw materials of fire’s fuel. As she explains in her artist statement, Grafton draws from her family homestead in Colville, Washington to “hand-harvest earthenware clay, pull textures from fallen structures, and gather artifacts left behind by my ancestors as a way of preserving our fading family history through art-making.” As structures like Becoming and Morphosis illustrate, this material engagement increasingly concerns itself with fire—as the homestead has become vulnerable to wildfire and the family busies themselves with tree thinning and slash pile burning, the fuel that provides the energy to Grafton’s artistic practice becomes the same fuel driving fire prevention measures on the site. For Grafton, this material fuel lends her creative practice an optimistic energy; Becoming clearly juxtaposes preventative burning with new life, as it depicts fresh berries growing from charred wood. Suze Woolf’s work shares this fuel and energy. She was formerly an artist who painted “beautiful intact landscapes,” yet works like Splintered and Logged, Drifted, and Burned provide us with intimate portraits of individual burned trees. This focus and its detailed representation of the fuel’s transformation by fire is a means of mediating Woolf’s anxieties about human impacts on the climate. As she suggests, the carbonized, “eaten away” snags of her paintings task us with finding “unusual beauty” in what is all too easy to dismiss as used up. right: Kate Lund's Brush Fit left: aj miccio's Davis Burn Scar Feeling Fuel Amiko Matsuo + Brad Monsma, Pyrometric Whirl The Northwest Fire Science Consortium’s informational pamphlet “What is Fuel?” tells us that “fuel is the only component of the fire triangle that land owners and managers can influence.” In this declaration, they confidently position fuel as within our control. Yet several of the pieces in Fuel Loading call this confidence into question. Kate Lund’s imposing Brush Fit , which she composed of rip-stop nylon, wool, flannel, and fleece, evokes the emotional experience of being caught in too much fuel—of not being able to influence this particular corner of the fire triangle, no matter the equipment that you have on hand. Lund explains that a “brushfit” is a temper tantrum that you throw “when you succumb to the challenges of walking in an overgrown forest.” The particular brushfit that inspires Lund’s sculpture took place as she and a crew were hiking 50 lb bladder bags into a small fire in the steep terrain of Northern Idaho. Lund and the crew begin their hike with positive attitudes, buoyed in part by their gear and saws. Yet the density of the forest quickly defeated them. She explains: “I remember stopping, grabbing a hold of a tree so that I didn’t roll down the hill, and thinking, What am I doing here? Why do I do this to myself? Why are we even putting this fire out when this whole hillside needs to burn anyway?” Brush Fit powerfully visualizes this transition from idealized expectations to frustrated realities, progressing from clean lines to a frazzled mass that looms over us. The piece is dominated by a literal increase in the density of materials and poses a vital question: how much control over fuels do we have, really? aj miccio’s drawing of the Davis Burn Scar and Anne Acker-Mathieu’s acrylic collages—especially Ignition Casino and Fields of Fuel —replicate the affective tension of Lund’s brushfit. Like Lund’s sculpture, miccio’s drawing and Acker-Mathieu’s paintings relish in the density of visual information to provoke emotional responses from viewers. In their packedness and abundance of detail and color, respectively, they too suggest that we may not be as in control of fuel and/or our emotions as we might assume. The airier pieces in Fuel Loading offer me some relief, albeit fleetingly. Amiko Matsuo and Brad Monsma’s Pyrometric Whirl initially provokes in me the opposite emotional and affective experience of Brush Fit . Whereas my anxiety increases as my eye travels upward in the latter, I feel a sense of calm as I scroll from bottom to top of Matsuo and Monsma’s image. A dense red clump lifts into ethereal black and white whisps, providing me with a sense of upward relief and evaporation. I am released from the brushfit of the painting’s bottom half, finding solace in a dance of vapors. But, fitting to form, this respite is as transitory as the swirling air that evokes it—the longer that I look, the more that bottom half and top half intermesh such that I’m confronted with the process of one becoming the other. The whisps are not relief from the red clump but its latest iteration; as I learn that the red pigment of the painting stems from the fire retardant Phos-chek, I am once again thinking about fuel, feelings, and control. Matsuo and Monsma explain that their work, especially the “wound-like” Phos-check marks on paper, expresses “the ironies of fire suppression rhetoric while also suggesting the rage of a combustion and intolerant political landscape.” “The whole earth is fuel-loaded,” they continue, and their work demands that we grapple with the full extent of our desire to influence any (or all?) parts of the fire triangle. I now see the painting as depicting the transformation of material from a site-specific measure of prevention into a traveling vector of toxicity waiting for our inhale, and become aware of how we, literally, become and embody the very fuels that we add to today’s firescapes. The artists’ connection of the physical and cultural fires that dominate contemporary life in the American West broadens the scope and urgency of this tension: how do our suppression efforts—suppression of fire, but also of political debates and schisms—become fuels in and of themselves? And to what sort of energy do these fuels give rise? further considerations contributed by Confluence Lab member Erin James, December 2023. Next

AIF crew 2024 Jason Rhodes /the 181 Bend, OR ( and elsewhere ) Artist collective the 181 is based in Bend, Oregon; Eugene, Oregon; and Old Fort, North Carolina. As far as they can tell, the 181 has been working together since 2007 when they found themselves gathered by the Pacific Ocean with a glim glam golden Q, roughly 10 yards of transparent lavender vinyl, and a broken hold on the sea’s reflection. The 181 is interested in composing situations that generate experiential spaces which expand, contract, or reassemble as information sloshes about. Imperfect approximations of the universe as a whole. Artists, a physicist/electronic engineer/musician, a mushroom forager/rockhound, and a former linotype operator—any attempts to formalize their practice are viewed with distress. Jason Rhodes Tom Hughes Abby Donovan Brandon Boan the 181 TREX report fast from afar his friends hurried heavily gazing The 181 Report Refrain for Confluence Lab June 2024 ____________________________________ KET IO> slurred A star, or the like of a star, that is hurled down by the night. And the work, like the wind, has direction. (Any parameter that is specified is a function of an array) Within “the” fire woke the thirst• thickening radiance from all physical being instrumentation noted increased in degree by proximities to flickering shoreline for the quench of flame Smoke also has direction. But smoke has direction within direction within direction...so the work is more like smoke than like wind. courtings of erasure a longing for the burning lick the promise of things beyond these SOUND CARRIES open :end finding the position of a distant object the 181: Brandon Boan, Abby Donovan, Tom Hughes, & Jason Rhodes we were standing on the shore |non-planetary twilight> the 181: Brandon Boan, Abby Donovan, Tom Hughes, & Jason Rhodes

featured workshop Fire Resilience Design Collaboration In November of 2022, The Confluence Lab had the opportunity to lead a Fire Resilience Workshop in Talent, Oregon, hosted in tandem with Coalición Fortaleza and Our Family Farms. Marking two years since the Almeda Fire of 2020, community leaders from local Rogue Valley organizations started by sharing their stories from the fire, recalling the emotional and physical impacts they experienced. This reflective and connective sharing created a space which moved us into the second half of the workshop. Participants were grouped into teams, given large sheets of poster board and a variety of materials (markers, colored pencils, scissors, tape, yarn, etc.), and asked to map their vision of what it would look like to move forward as a resilient community. There were no parameters given outside of this prompt. Engaged discussion and making took over the room, as just the right language and images were developed for each of the teams’ visions. For some this required the braiding of yarn to capture a sense of interwoven community, while others used layered paper, creating an interactive door to further emphasize a feeling of welcome. The Confluence Lab team’s job was to be attentive to these creative choices as they happened, asking what the goal was of each signifier in relation to the desired message. Once their posters were complete and had been presented, it was shared that as a final step, Megan Davis would transpose their works into unified digital designs. To ensure the integrity of the original concepts and messages was maintained, Megan interviewed team members at the end of the workshop and held review sessions with participants and her team throughout the design process. While both the original and digital works are equally valuable, this final step produces deliverables that can serve the community as shareable files, adaptable to multiple locations and contexts. Whether printed and displayed in shared spaces or sent within a digital platform, the voices of community members can serve as a touchstone as they continue to grow as a resilient Jackson County. results from workshop participants workshop deliverables, designer: Megan Davis featured text: 1. May our needs propel us to break and rebuild the very systems that left us in need in the first place. 2. There is no "wrong door" for service needs. All lead to a connected, resourceful community. 3. Towards a resilient Jackson County, Oregon: We build for the future. We build trust. We honor the lessons. We strive for well-being. We care for each other. We ask what you need. We share best practices. We collaborate. We are inclusive. 4. We open the door to community healing. Megan Davis sharing her experience during the Confluence Lab's presentation "Ground Truths & Grapplings: Apprehending Fire through the Fire Humanities" at the Malcom M. Renfrew Interdisciplinary Colloquium in Moscow, ID in October 2023 featured designer Megan Davis is a graphic designer passionate about the roles of art and design as key players in social change. She seeks to use design as not only a medium for spreading awareness but as an active agent. As a result, her work has become increasingly oriented around community practice, audience engagement, and in some cases, utilization. Davis has earned her bachelor’s degree in graphic design, worked professionally as a designer in Seattle for 5 years, has held a variety of design volunteer and intern positions ranging from nonprofits in Colorado to Kenya, and is now earning her MFA at The University of Idaho while also teaching undergraduate art courses as the instructor of record. Chat back to exhibition Chat