So I Could Slip Into Sky
Twilight, Pence Gallery, Davis, CA, 2023
So I could slip into the sky, wood, wing, bear fur, net, plastic, hair, 3.5’ x 3.5’ x 4.5’
They Came Out of Their Lairs
Twilight, Pence Gallery, Davis, CA, 2023
Flight Patterns
Twilight, Liberty Arts Gallery, Yreka, CA, 2021
They cut off my wing so I wouldn’t be so loud, concrete, tire, drill bits, feathers, 1’ x 1’ x 2’h, Liberty Arts Gallery, Yreka, CA, 2021
One Breath, deer antlers, chair, graphite, plastic, surgical breathing tubes, 1 1/2’ x 1 1/2’ x variable height, Liberty Arts Gallery, Yreka, CA, 2021
Since March of 2019, it’s been a crazy time, with political upheaval, a raging pandemic, escalating racial injustice, and all with the doom-like and looming danger of climate change. During this time, I have been dreaming of flying. Carl Jung says flying dreams represent escape. Sigmund Freud says they are a result of nocturnal emissions (of course!) and psychologists agree that it’s the most frequent dream to occur. Also, apparently more men dream of flying than women. That’s weird.
Anyway, in my dream it’s easy (they say to focus on what you actually do in your dream to understand what it is about). I hold my arms out at a just-so angle, they catch the air currents and lift me up. It takes a bit of adjustment. My legs sometimes lag behind; I have to really work to make them buoyant. Then I remember NOT to work at it and eventually they come along for the ride. My speed is steady and peaceful, the air cool and pleasant, no sounds, no thoughts.
These recurring dreams may have affected my work in this show. At least there are feathers.
Scratching the Void
Scratching the Void, plastic, wire, clock part, 18” x 24”, 2021
When COVID-19 descended on our world we were all thinking each day would bring relief and the end of our forced isolation and existential fear. The seconds, minutes, hours and days mounted, and continue to mount, seemingly endlessly. Time has become as meaningless as physicists claim—take it out of the equations and all their theories work. Somehow, it leaves my world not working, from empty second to second . . . vacant.
Her Teacup, His Gun
Her Teacup, His Gun, rescued from fire: tea cup, handgun, melted metal, board, 6” x 4’ x 6.5’, 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.
Searching for Bosons/Mountain Myth
From Mapping Myth, a collaborative show with Chris Clother, Siskiyou Arts Museum, Dunsmuir, CA, 2019
Searching for Bosons, detail
Searching for Bosons, 4’5” x 5’5” x 4’3”, Siskiyou Arts Museum, 2019
Unless Today Was Yesterday
Unless Today Was Yesterday, constructed chair, fur, binoculars, cd player with grizzly story read by Sylvia Welke, Siskiyou Arts Museum, 2019
The Native Americans in this area believed that giant grizzly bears that once roamed this region were so ferocious that the Sky God sent them to live at the base of Mount Shasta. The Natives also believed that they were descended from the pairing of the Sky God’s daughter and the great grizzly bear. For that reason, they would never kill a grizzly. When white people came, it was a different story. Soon the grizzlies disappeared from California, and by 1924, the last one was gone. The story of the Sky God and the Grizzly is situated at the bottom of the “mountain” triangle.
Burning Bush and Beast
Shasta College, Redding, CA, 2018
Beast, tire, bear fur, copper leaf, from Mapping Myth, Siskiyou Arts Museum, 2019
Beast detail, tire, bear fur, copper leaf, from Mapping Myth, Siskiyou Arts Museum, 2019
During the Delta fire that threatened Siskiyou County last fall, 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.
Burning Bush, cast aluminum, burned manzanita, Shasta College, 2018
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
Shasta College Gallery, Redding, CA, 2018
Self-Portrait as a Tree, concrete, broom, copper wire, manzanita branch, Shasta College Gallery, 2018
Self-Portrait as a Tree detail, concrete, broom, copper wire, manzanita branch, Shasta College Gallery, 2018
Cinderella's Gown or Let’s Just Pretend
Cinderella's Gown or Let’s Just Pretend, plastic sheeting, romance and fairytale books, pearls, LED lights, pieces of furniture, red high heel, 2017
Cinderella's Gown or Let’s Just Pretend detail, plastic sheeting, romance and fairytale books, pearls, LED lights, pieces of furniture, red high heel, 2017
This assemblage sculpture is a comment on two genres of book, the romance novel and the princess-fairytale, both much maligned. There are many reasons, but partially this is because romance as a concept is tarnished and, perhaps, no longer exists. My stand is, but why not pretend?
Eye of Newt, Leg of Deer or My Eye, My Leg
Shasta College Gallery, Redding, CA, 2015
Eye of Newt, Leg of Deer, deconstructed table, pinch pots, freeway glass, deer leg, 5′ x 1′ x 7’h, Shasta College Gallery, 2015
Eye of Newt, Leg of Deer detail, deconstructed table, pinch pots, freeway glass, deer leg, 5′ x 1′ x 7’h, Shasta College Gallery, 2015
When the whole world appears upside down, broken and spent, what do you do?
Call on the powers that be.
When things go awry, humans throughout history have called on unseen powers to right the wrongs in their world. From spirits to shamans, from ancestors to gods, prayers, shrines, cave paintings, amulets and offerings, we try them all.
The title for this piece comes from Shakespeare’s Macbeth and is a variation on the quote from the second witch: “Eye of newt, and toe of frog, wool of bat, and tongue of dog, adder’s fork, and blind–worm’s sting, lizard’s leg and howler’s wing—for a charm of powerful trouble, like a hell-broth boil and bubble.”
This sculpture is a petition to those powers that be.
If I Had Legs
If I Had Legs, cast aluminum crow, wood, bear scapula, 5'5" x 1 1/2" x 2'
Scratching the Void
Liberty Arts Gallery, Yreka, CA, 2014
Scratching the Void, plexi-glass, wood, wiper motor, windshield wiper, train transformer, 4′ x 4′, Liberty Arts Gallery, 2014
Sacramento River Rainbow
Liberty Arts Gallery, Yreka, CA, 2014
Sacramento River Rainbow, used soap, 3″ x 15″ x 10″, Liberty Arts Gallery, 2014
Tying Windknots
West Coast Biennial, Turtle Bay Gallery, Redding, CA, 2012
Tying Windknots, 2′ x 3′ x 2′, bicycle wheel, fur, rudder. Turtle Bay West Coast Biennial, 2012
Wind knots are an overhand knot put in the leader by poor casting, greatly reducing the breaking strength of the leader.
Enough
1078 Gallery, Chico, CA, 2012
Enough, altered chair, orange, bell jar, 16″ x 16″h x 20″, 1078 Gallery, 2012
Siskiyou County is the part of California that Californians don’t know exists. We are in the real north of California, far north of San Francisco or Sacramento. Masses of people whiz by on the freeway, but not many stay. Nonetheless, 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. The deep forests surrounding the canyon are once again being clear-cut. “Enough” could refer to this situation or to the world in general, or yet again, to getting a good night’s sleep after a too-full day.
Terra Incognita
1078 Gallery, Chico, CA, 2012
Homing, resin cast trout, blue light, digital sound recording of the Sacramento River, earphones, turned balsa wood, plasticine, 2′ x 2′ x 3′h, 1078 Gallery, 2012
Homing detail, resin cast trout, blue light, digital sound recording of the Sacramento River, earphones, turned balsa wood, plasticine, 2′ x 2′ x 3′h, 1078 Gallery, 2012
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 hence area youth proudly refer to this region as, “Far Nor Cal.” 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. In 2013, 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.
This collection, Terra Incognita, 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 these sculptures explore the precious and precarious balance in which they hang.
Last Dance
Last Dance, jewelry case, glasses, umbrella, 5'h x 3'w x 2'd, University Art Gallery, Chico, CA, 2011
A video of ocean waves washing over the sculpture, casts a shadow.
Red Rover
Red Rover, wagon, used parts, box, aluminum cast of dog, 2'3"h x 3"6"w x 2'2"d, 2011
Inside the wagon is a box and nestled inside the box is an aluminum cast of a dog with a pale-blue patina. There are two peepholes inserted into the box allowing the viewer access into this other realm. Straining, the viewer can see part of the dog through each peephole
Gate Keeper
Gate Keeper, bedhead, trike wheels, door handle, found weather vane, 5' x 6' x 2', University Art Gallery, 2011
Beds are where we are conceived, born and often die. As such they function as the gateways between this realm and the next.
One Breath
One Breath, scarf, vintage fan, 2011
Longing
Longing, repurposed chair, turntable, fishing pole, 2010
a very tall chair and a record player arm circling unevenly . . .
We need each other and cannot find each other—in different countries consumed by cultural difference, in different bodies consumed by ego. How do we shift our consciousness from isolation to connection? We are in a time period where the “baby boomers,” the biggest population-surge ever, are burying their parents. As we do, their history is also lost. They are the last generation to grow up on a farm, fight a World War, and believe in the “American Dream.” As this resource is lost, we are groping, trying to anchor ourselves in time. The record player’s arm moves erratically over the constantly circling turntable, where are you? I am here. Where are you?
Magellan’s Bench
Magellan's Bench, Liberty Arts Gallery, 2010
In “In Search of Memory,” Eric Kandel recalls his memory of an SS officer in Austria banging on their door in the middle of the night, and how that affected his memories of that night as well as the course of his life. He interweaves this personal history with the exciting science of research neurology. Unlike Kandel, I have few very specific memories from childhood, and have been searching to recover some trace of the lost history of my past.
Smoke Gets In My Eyes
Smoke Gets In My Eyes, 1/2 vanity, chair legs, glasses with pink liquid, 1rpm motor, vintage record player and record “Smoke Gets in My Eyes”, 4'h x 3'w x 3'd, 2010
The impetus for my search began when I observed my mom’s loss of memory due to progressive Alzheimer’s/dementia. At ninety-eight it is not unusual to be suffering from memory loss, yet it is difficult. As she forgets, each level of forgetting leaves her with one less way to access the world around her. From conversing about politics (one of her favorite pass times pre-Alzheimer’s ) to playing bridge, “What is trump?”(for the hundredth time). Interestingly, however, I have observed that what happened in her distant past is still, sometimes there, magically clearer than the present moment. She can remember odd things that happened to her as a child, from the weird stranger in the London city park to the feel of the ocean spray in her face sitting on an out-cropping at Cornwall. These things she remembers well. My concern is that I can’t remember the past other than intangibles like a familiar smell, touch or sound. But no events.
A Perfect Day
A Perfect Day, 1/2 vanity, stool, fan, scarf, 1RPM motor, with turning record "A Perfect Day," 6'h x 4' x 2'
“Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin.” Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams
“Sights, sounds, colors, smells and touch can all propel the mind to a different time and place. Within these remembrances, images form and fade, allowing a glimpse of the past and a sense of nostalgia to ensue. Belinda Hanson explores the complex nature of nostalgia in her piece A Perfect Day. Jury-rigged from disparate elements, A Perfect Day becomes a singular element, or rather a tool, for sifting through a lifetimes worth of memories. Sifting, sifting through memories shifts the mind into gear, informing the present, giving context to the present, while at the same time those memories take us back an hour, a day, a year, or more. It is as if the present coincides with the past, on dual planes of time, one different from the other, but the same. The whole concept is a rather slippery slope. It doesn’t make sense at all, or does it?”—Rebecca Harvey
Water Sculpture
Red, Yellow, Blue and Green, water, ink, plastic water bottles, ice, 18" x 16", 2010
Mirage, size variable, 2008
Google Water, sound of dripping water amplified, water bottles, ice, BMU Upstairs Gallery, CSU Chico, 2008
Water Tableau, water bottles, water, dye, plexiglass, 8' x 8', 2008
I am constantly amazed by the water that covers this earth and allows us to live. A scientific study of the molecue reveals polarization that allows for ice to be lighter than liquid water and therefore float on our lakes, etc, allowing for underwater life. There are many other strange behaviors with this highly polarized molecule, such as capillary action.
Soap
Soap Scream, Self Portrait of a Motelier, Hand Collecting Soap, 2009
Light passes through the recycled soap creating an amber glow, while the distinct soap-odor permeates the space. On closer examination, vestiges of human activity are revealed…
The “Soap” series has been cast from an amalgamation of small glycerin soap bars originally supplied to guests in my family’s second-generation motel. Leftover and partially used pieces of soap were collected, melted together and the viscous liquid cast into various body-parts.
This collaboration between unknown and unknowing guests and myself, is intensely personal, with a history of numerous interactions: guests renting a room, spending the night and using the small bars of soap to wash away the physical remains of the day. On closer examination, vestiges of human activity are revealed; hair and dirt appear like insects caught in amber. Light passes through the recycled soap creating a glow, while the distinct soap odor permeates the space.
