On the turn of the millenium I moved back to the mountains. It was January 1st, 2000 when I drove away from my home on the Hudson River, crossed the Rhinecliff-Kingston bridge, and continued west, back to the Catskill Mountains that I had left five years prior. Though I loved the river and the rolling fields and woods that tumbled down to it, the mountains were calling me. The vast and peaceful forests, the rocky streams, deep valleys, and shapely ridges all felt like home. I spent that year hiking, hunting, foraging, and landscape painting as much as I could.
Immersion in nature always seems to inspire images of weavings and tapestries. I don’t control these images; they appear in my mind as if on a screen. It’s as if my unconscious is trying to express a sense of being part of something larger, something ancient and intricate beyond all comprehension. Interlocking, unfolding pieces weave together, forming a sort of quilt. Roots and leaves, branches and trees, clouds and stars, twilight and sunset surround and define the central figure – an archetypal woman who interacts with the weaving, composed but engaged, reaching within and without, with a spiral of life-giving energy uncoiling within her.
As is my habit, I was also exploring the polarity of opposites: light and dark, warm and cool, near and far are all braided together, with the black figure in the center both set apart and related. Each section of this woven quilt has a different palette; my challenge was to bring these little vignettes into harmony with each other in terms of color, contrast, textures, and scale. I was still in my gouache painting phase at the time, but had weaned myself of the white outlines that dominated my paintings for years. My art was evolving, and like the changing weather and seasons, it was unstoppable. More often than not, I felt like a follower or a servant in a process beyond my control.
Missing from this mountain weaving is any awareness of mushrooms or fungi – a major element of nature that didn’t make itself known to me for another ten years. Few people heard of mycelium back then, and now it’s practically a household word. Talk about an intricate, organic weaving . . . mycelium is both a manifestation of and a metaphor for the interconnectedness of life. Without mycelium, the whole ecosystem would unravel. And as inexorably as mycelium penetrates soil, so too has it grown into my art.
Mountain Weaving sold a long time ago. Perhaps it’s time to paint a new one, as my relationship with these mountains has changed over the past 26 years since I returned. I don’t hike the summits as much as I used to, but I’m foraging a whole lot more. My interest in birds has increased, too. Like the natural world that inspires me, it’s an organic process, constantly changing.
As in life, so in art.
A good week to all –
D. Yael Bernhard
https://dyaelbernhard.com
Have you seen my other Substack, The Art of Health? In addition to being a visual artist, I’m also a certified integrative health & nutrition coach with a lifelong passion for natural food cooking and herbal medicine. Now in its second year, this illustrated newsletter explores cutting-edge concepts of nutrition. I strive to make relevant information clear and accessible, and to anchor essential health concepts in unique images. Check it out, and if you like it, please subscribe and help spread the word. Your support keeps my work going!