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cover photo by: aaron colussi book design by: mika parajon
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mika parajon
The book you hold in your hands represents the culmination of more than just an idea; it is a manifestation of respect and love from individuals of all walks of life, varied creative styles and diverse relationships with the lands that we know as Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante national monuments. The pages inside also hold a certain amount of mourning, but are far outweighed by the righteous hope of those who believe that good trumps evil. Respect. For the places, spirits, artifacts, culture and peoples who once woven together create a priceless tapestry of pure wonder.
Mourning. These places needed protection the second we westerners arrived in the neighborhood; that much is clear. Today, somehow, even after we all thought the battle was won, they once again call out for our help, and this project is our answer. Hope. This fight started lifetimes ago and may span many more. The pieces that fill these pages resulted from the intimate relationships each of us share with these wild places. Most were created before the monuments, some after, yet all represent our devotion to doing everything we can to make sure our eyes are not the last to gaze upon these lands with awe.
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scott robertson
Love. For the dissonance captured in the dichotomy of the seemingly eternal nature of these places and their exposed fragility, their fleeting nature disguised by perceived permanence. Love for the rare opportunity to sit in absolute silence as time disappears.
the land breathes
emma hershberger
The land breathes a breath from deep down where all began exhaling out through the span of all time. Here in these walls rising red to the sky winding their song through the gulch, I feel this breath as a breeze on my face. I feel this breath as my heavy breath. When I see lines formed by earth’s age meet lines marked by ancient hands here on these walls, I feel this breath as the tears pooling in my eyes. I feel this breath as the hairs rippling down my arms. Here in these walls like the parted lips of the earth, I stand, my feet where hers once were and I see what she once saw. I feel this breath as a deep beat in my heart. I feel this breath and know it was hers, the breath of the land that connects us all.
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mika parajon
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mika parajon
thank you for inviting me in like a warm home for the continued offering of beautiful stillness and a grounding space to heal, to grow, to learn in
for the sweet-smelling sagebrush and the vulnerability of your crypto as a kind reminder we need each other to protect you forever, together
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mika parajon
for the endless ruins pottery, arrowheads signs from long ago to ponder and admire
artist marc name toso
This wild art exists in the wilderness far from urban boundaries. We visit to step out of the modern world, and for a brief time, to remember how the planet was and how our species dwelled for millennia. The kaleidoscope of stars and planets above our heads is the same prehistoric sky that guided the Crane’s artists. This art needs to be appreciated in its original context under the same dark, starlit sky, which has inspired our religions, mythologies, mathematics, and sciences.
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artist marc name toso
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blake suarez
stephen rockwood
The petroglyphs found within these lands speak louder than the spring winds that blow across them. This composition serves as a reminder to listen to (or look at) the voices that once spoke in solitude within these great walls of sandstone.
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victoria artist name jarvis
victoria artist name jarvis
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artist matt plays name
With the privilege of parks and monuments comes responsibility for land that is neither yours nor mine — only ours. When under threat, it’s on us to defend our right to preserve and enjoy these places, assign meaning to them, and keep it all intact for generations to come.
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artist matt plays name
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evan curtis
The work presented is a transmutation; physical distortion reflecting the altered state of land no longer under the monument designation.
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crystal tyndall
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benjamin dodd COME ON PEOPLE / Come on people. A friend said that, or wrote it somewhere, immediately following the Trump administration’s decision to dramatically reduce the Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante national monuments and it stuck with me ever since. Those words seemed to sum up how I felt – there is only so much wild space left, and once it’s gone, it’s gone … Is this really how we want to use what we have? Not everyone enjoys public lands, but there are an awful lot of folks who do. As I understand it, the snake in the Native American petroglyphs featured so predominantly throughout these two monuments stands for defiance. It’s shown wounded to represent the resolve of those who stood up against these measures and refused to back down without a fight, which to me is a big part of what this larger story is. There will always be back and forth, and certainly everyone can’t win, but we always, always have to show up. The time is now – our day will come.
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benjamin dodd
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savannah holder
Natural wonders have a way of bringing about this unmatched feeling of awe and wonder. Public lands have a value that goes far deeper and longer than any profit it could turn – its value is intrinsic, undeniable, and personal. Which is why I wanted to make a piece that represented that sense of being surrounded by mesmerizing wonder. Along the way I was also inspired by Teddy Roosevelt’s fight for land conservation. I used an acrylic marbling technique to create natural patterns and movement that mimic those found in canyon sediment layers.
savannah holder
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stevi mcneill
I spent my life growing up outside getting dirty and very much enjoying doing so. It was not until I moved back to Colorado, after growing up in the south of England, did I realise how much my soul craved being outside, but especially being up in the dusty mountains. The vast amount of space, the smell of sage, and the subtle noise of desert life has always been grounding, comforting and thrilling to me. It always fills me with excitement and engagement. Desert Meditations reflect those moments when I am out exploring, looking for a little more grounding and inspiration.
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stevi mcneill
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molly harrison
These landscapes have forever changed the way I view the world. At first glance, this desert seems barren; sandstone buttes and rocky cliffs tower towards the sky, dry washes line the ground, water rarely kisses the dirt here.
teem with hard-won life. There is beauty in every corner, sunk below the seemingly sparse ground, inviting you to explore the heart of the earth hidden below. What is most sacred is held within.
But, have you ever seen a cactus bloom in spring? Had the smell of damp juniper and sage fill your mind after a storm? These are places where you hear coyotes cry into the night as the stars hang brilliantly above. Gnarled cottonwoods line the banks, old souls who have seen time pass before them. Canyon wrens echo their song in descending cadence to red walls, a beautiful disruption of silence. These places
There are no reparations for losing such places in our world, wild like this cannot be won back; once such a fragile place has been disturbed, you cannot again find its solitude. These lands hold tales both past and present, and they long for a future. And so, I cling to these places; I will treasure the sand left in my shoes, I will welcome the desert wrinkles sure to come, for I have found home.
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molly tyler marlow harrison
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sarah baugh
Countless layers of geologic and human history convene in the canyons and mesas of Bears Ears. I demand many more peaceful days, years, decades, and millennia in this place so that its complex language of upheaval and stillness may continue to speak.
sarah baugh
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jen sturm
keep it safe. keep it wild. All is quiet except for the sound of leaves rustling and wind whipping against the door of my tent. I roll over in my sleeping bag, grab my headlamp and reluctantly step into the cold morning air. A layer of smoke escapes from my mouth as I slowly breathe out my exhaustion. It takes my eyes a few moments to adjust but as I come to, I am greeted by the vibrant hues of the sun kissing the horizon.
and petroglyph tells a story of growth, pain and healing that you can almost feel as you stand amongst the memories.
I come out here to escape the stresses of everyday life and to heal my wounded soul. There’s something magical about waking up in Bears Ears to a view of never-ending canyons and sweeping vistas. This landscape is an important reminder of our past, present and future. Each cliff dwelling
I climb back in my tent and watch as the night sky lights up with stars. I don’t always have the pleasure of this spectacular sight as the city lights block many from view. It is a scene I won’t soon forget and one that will have me chasing desert nights and solitude for many days to come. This is a special place ripe with emotion, a sanctuary of sorts. Keep it wild. Keep it safe.
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kami york-feirn
The silence is arresting and, at times, frightening. I am completely and utterly alone on this mesa; no other humans in sight, no cars whizzing by, no horns honking in impatience, no radios blaring popular rock and hip-hop tunes. It’s just me and the desert.
As I take my first steps into the desert, I am flooded with emotion, knowing I will emerge covered in sweat and caked in a layer of dirt. But that is how my body heals; baked by the desert sun, consumed by breathtaking views and mud-stained from experiences. I hope we are able to preserve this place so one day our children can experience the healing power of nature and the calming effects of silence.
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artist josh ewing name
artist josh ewing name
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josh ewing
patria “Bumping!” I sang, cheerfully, as my left fist locked off, my right hand pulling the trigger to release the piece. The echo rang out from the walls surrounding us. The variability of leaning, jagged, straight, and detached rock did not belie the perfection in symmetry, illustrating the divine geometry that we, the worshippers, came to celebrate.
Here we had camaraderie, but also found our own individual rhythm. Each one, on lead, breathing, plugging gear, pulling rope, swaying into the cadence our chosen climb gifted. The chalk was pointless, the sandstone offering purchase with her granularity, the countless specs of ancient silica welded together to present this surface here, to me, now. The sweat, in its infinitesimal multitude, was thirsty, chupando with its beads any chance of help it would have given me. Fine, no magnesio. No different than normal. Who was holding the rope that day — Mader? Johnny? I asked, quietly, facing all of them: “Please, give me the space, the support to go up — but no spray. No beta. I can do this.” They solemnly
One piece in, then two. A few more, and I was on the shelf, splitter now above me, beckoning with open, perfect hands. I visualized the chain of gold I’d weave as I snaked up the corner. Pounding heart was no longer an issue. The beat had fallen away, back where it belonged as the silent bass in the music of my mind. Months later, living in the land of my ancestors, I’d recognize that beat. The backbone of son Istmeño, of cumbia, of the drumbeat of the Colorado Plateau, of the plains of Spain, that beat was as steady, wild, and varied as the striations of cacao, rust, ochre, and brick that streaked the same rock into which I was folding myself. Here I had a home. The chaos of color, the wildness of place, the sanctuary of solitude — it was made for me. This patria respires with the breath of my people past, present, and future. Our joint wildness — of human and of place — had been woven together over time so intrinsically that without the other, each would suffer. Here, I found myself. At the chains, overwhelmed with gratitude, euphoria, and adrenaline, I heard the howl emerge from my chapped lips before I could stop it. Head thrown back, I called out. My fellow creatures below answered, a chorus of yips, barks, and bellows. This is our patria. This is our homeland.
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dani reyes-acosta
Here we had solitude. The black streaks in the sandstone didn’t betray us with the sun’s glare; we’d remain hidden in her shadows, scampering around and up and over the blocks around us. Impossibly, we were the only party at this wall today, but that wasn’t a total accident: we’d selected the routes for their shade, their inaccessibility, their remoteness. We liked it like that. The shade protected us as we skipped between climbs, lost children enjoying the abandoned playground.
nodded, totems of the energies I’d harness on the ascent.
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sarah uhl
sarah uhl
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kelsey brasseur
heart home I. My greatest love is for the red rock canyons of Bears Ears National Monument. This love seeded next to ragged old junipers years ago, when I was still too young to understand how strongly it would shape my spirit. This love for the canyons has grown steady and wild for over a decade. Rooting deep and resilient as rabbit brush. Pulling the very best and very worst of me up from the cool mineral soil to bloom sweet in the heat of desert sun.
to share. For the delicate legacy of trails, messages, and dwellings inherited by all of us. Weaving this land into a fabric of fact and imagination.
Through both joy and struggle, this love has become my song of gratitude. I sing it out for the land; for her expanse as well as her infinite beautiful minutiae. For this sandstone womb that creates life from red dust. For an ecosystem adept in strange and exquisite skills of survival. For plants and creatures that flourish within a rhythm of extremes.
Years have passed and my heart has built its home here with the towers of Indian Creek. In the strange, cool shadows of the Bridger Jack Mesa. Now at golden hour, I stand beside the same old juniper I met at age 19 and watch these red canyons glow once more.
II. This love has become my song of strength and gratitude. I sing it out for the land. For the canyons where I’ve broken and grown. Wept and rejoiced. Where I’ve cracked open my chest again and again to let my heart expand.
I sing out this love for her peoples too. For the beauty that shines on the faces of my friends at dusk. Tired and full of hope. For the strangers who know this place as intimately as I do, but have a completely different story
I am alone with my canyon; wrapped in her magic. In light that pervades soul and landscape. This great love has gifted me strength, faith and grace. In the belly of these canyons at golden hour I am human, animal, goddess. In this moment I am whole. My deepest love is for this wild land. This song is for my heart home.
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kelsey brasseur
I sing out this love with reverence and in wonder of her cycles. I sing it out for birth and for bones. For seeds and sun-bleached deadfall. For flashing floods and cracked earth. For the silent, persistent ecology of time. For the continual reclaiming and recycling of leaf, husk, feather, rock, sinew.
This is the moment when I set aside my pen. This is the moment when I set aside my paints. This is the moment when my chest becomes too full for breath. This is the moment.
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aaron artist colussi name
aaron artist colussi name
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hallie rose taylor
The thought occured to me that I couldn’t see any telephone lines. The white stone glowed in the fading sun as though it were a sheet and a light had been turned on underneath. I worked on pushing away any notion that I’d have to turn around and leave this place in a few minutes to keep driving. Waves of inexplicable, deep sorrow overtook me, entwined with a matching sense of joy. I had felt this kind of wholeness in flashes before, but here I seemed invited to live in this state. I had walked out far enough that I couldn’t hear or see the Burr Trail anymore, and with the absence of telephone poles, I realized this might be the first time in my life that I could see such a distance, in every direction, without anything obviously manmade in sight, and to do so completely alone. It was also the first time I’d felt so expansive during the daytime, without the glittering night sky to stare into. Having grown up in northern Utah, of course I’d been in the trees or a tight canyon here
and there, but those features merely blocked what I was clearly surrounded by: the influence of technology on an environment. Here all I heard was wind and the occasional woosh of a raven’s wings overhead. Ten years later I found myself in the same spot on my way to Mexico. I’d returned several times between these two visits. The morning that I woke up in a juniper plain just north of the town of Escalante, I wrote in my journal as the sun rose and my tea steeped: There is an opening And I intend to pass through. Push my fingers into the black moss Wedge my knees against the white stone walls Crawl Descend into time.
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hallie rose taylor
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hallie rose taylor
rosie mansfield
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tommy artist name nease
The desert of Southern Utah is a sacred place. The topography is intimidating. As a black and white photographer based in Washington State, the unfamiliarity of the desert is refreshing. This is a land that I feel is untouchable; it is impossible to truly embody the character of the landscape in a photograph. Being in the desert is a multisensory experience: the feel of smooth sandstone, the smell of rain, the taste of dry air, and the transcendent emotions attached to the rich cultural and natural relics preserved in this alien world all come together to forge a unique experience for the person fortunate enough to find themselves here.
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tommy artist name nease
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tommy nease
lauren segarra
The first time I ever spent the night in the desert was deep in Coyote Gulch, a canyon that leads to the Escalante River. The stars at night appeared above the canyon rim as if it were a celestial river overhead, blacked out on each side by the sandstone walls. It’s breathtaking, to say the least. As an aspiring botanist, I deeply appreciate the relationship that humans have with plants. The landscape of the Four Corners region is unique; people have inhabited these spaces for centuries and have established a deep bond with the wild plants that occur in these spaces. These relationships between human and nature should be celebrated, preserved, and protected in perpetuity.
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victoria artist name jarvis
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victoria artist name jarvis
Southern Utah feels like a lot of important beginnings and ends for me. I was in Grand Gulch when my only sibling died. I was far from him and my family, a jarring and paralyzing end to my time with him. The Bears Ears and Grand Staircase areas were the first stops in a 40-year-old camper I would end up living out of for close to three years … a monumental beginning and shift in the way I would live my life. I don’t tend to seek out or take special interest in anthropological sites so I was surprised with how stunned I felt when I saw rock art for the first time in the Cedar Mesa area – it was this engulfing feeling of humbleness and honor. I’ve always considered myself a mountain person first and foremost, but over the years working and recreating in the mountains I’ve found myself starting to need the desert more. Until Utah I really didn’t understand the way a desert could rise above you with vertical relief that can put even some mountains to shame. Perhaps more importantly, finding quiet places where you can see for miles and be alone fulfilling needs to be away from crowds of people, it seems easier to do in the desert than the mountains. And while there are many impressive mountain ranges I truly believe there is nowhere else in the world that looks like southern Utah. It’s an astonishingly unique landscape.
julia ben-asher
I was adding the drawing’s finishing touches at my kitchen counter — a few more dots here, some lines here. Being completely immersed in the sketch of the desert, I’d tapped into how I feel when I’m sketching in the desert: peacefully, quietly calm. The sun emerged from behind some clouds and the glare of sunlight pouring through the windows brightened. Squinting, I realized the sunlight was bouncing through my half-full, coffee-grounds-covered French press, creating a perfectly imperfect pattern of speckled, intricate concentric circles on the paper. Had I not been in the mindset of the desert, if I’d been rushing even a little, I probably would have only seen in the reflections something that was creating an obstruction that needed to be fixed, rather than a happy accident and cool opportunity to play around with the light and add it to the sketch, finally making the piece feel more like the lands it’s representing.
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zan maddox
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paky callahan
indian creek is my favorite place on earth the cliff always offer a stillness and calm I’ve not found anywhere else on earth. That consistency, that beautiful fragility of the desert is currently being threatened with the modification of Bears Ears. There is no “undo” button, no way to untrample the soil, no way to erase the sickening blemish of a mineral extraction or petroleum drilling site. With all that’s happening in the country today, it’s easy to forget that the Utah desert, that good red dirt that has given us an abundance of wealth in beauty and experience, still needs our help. Now it’s our turn to give back. Write your senator a letter (a nice one), call the BLM office, donate to the Access Fund, and ask your friends to do the same! Help us keep our beloved sandbox alive and well.
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paky callahan
Indian Creek is my favorite place on earth. I discovered my passion for climbing there four years ago on my first trip to that glorious patch of good red dirt off of CR 211. Since then, I’ve made multiple pilgrimages a year to the Creek and incredibly, without exception, despite the seven-hour drive, the sometimes freezing nights and scorching days, the countless festering gobies, each trip is better than the last — which is due in part to Indian Creek’s incredible stillness, it’s unwavering consistency. The brilliant crimson glow of the late afternoon sun on the red cliffs is always almost unbearably spectacular, the starry nights are always filled with laughter as warm as the roaring campfire, and the days spent belaying at the base of
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corey robinson
corey robinson
FROM LEFT TO RIGHT / We find the Bears Ears landscape isn’t all sunshine and desert on a January day while skiing Abajo Peak. This area was within the tribe’s original proposed boundary but left out of both Obama and Trump’s monuments. / Bement Arch rises deep within Davis Gulch, near the last known campsite of famous desert explorer Everett Ruess. / Autumn in Bears Ears National Monument, Utah. / The beams of first light paint an archaeological site in Beef Basin.
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crystal dipietro
I have become obsessed with the Chinle Formation near the Paria River in Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. The complexity of color and the way it changes when the light of day changes is mesmerizing. I will spend many more hours painting this place.
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crystal dipietro
This piece is inspired by the colorful reflections of the chinle formations at sunset in the Paria River near the old town site of Pahreah in the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. That area in particular is one of my favorite places to paint.
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silence, curiosity, exploration and hope.
scott robertson
Not so long ago in 2008, I began my courtship with canyon country, racing across the desert on carbon fiber steeds with a friend, from Lake Tahoe to Colorado. I rode right past the Bears Ears themselves, passing dirt roads heading to somewhere along the way, my eyes tied only to the snaking ribbon of pavement. If I’d known where I was or the richness therein contained, I might not have ever left. Several years later I flew from Oregon to Colorado and then drove to Indian Creek, Utah for the first time. I remember feeling the grains of sand that covered the rock after drifting slowly, one at a time, driven by the erosive forces of nature. What I most remember was the consuming silence of the desert. It only took a matter of hours for the incredible sense of solitude and tranquility that exists there to envelop me, capture me. My psyche confronted with the wildly rare opportunity to listen and hear nothing. Nothing at all. No planes flying overhead, no distant diesel motorcade rumble, no railroad clanging, neighbor’s dog barking. Nothing. Silence itself, and it roared in my ears and in my heart. Nowhere but in the desert does silence speak so loudly that it forces contemplation. Force is too strong of a word, it persuades with seductive intention. It speaks loudly to those willing to listen. To me, it says, “This is freedom, this if life. Take care of this place, because it takes care of you.”
Gulch with debilitating food poisoning on an incredibly foolhardy yet gratifying exploration, mostly fueled by stubbornness. I stood for nearly eight hours on crutches with a broken ankle in sweltering heat when Interior Secretary Jewell respectfully listened to public comments, no matter how misinformed or accusatory. I spoke alongside outdoor industry leaders imploring President Obama to protect these sacred landscapes. I was invited to read a campfire story with Friends of Cedar Mesa, where some of these words are pulled from, alongside the tribal members who have fought harder for something that means more to them than I can ever know. On November 8th of 2016, the same friend who cycled across the West joined me in Grand Gulch, and we traversed the canyons between Collins Spring and Kane Gulch Ranger Station in two days. As we walked through the hallowed landscape of Grand Gulch in the newly minted Bears Ears National Monument, contemplating the vastness of existence itself, marveling at ancient rock art and structures that seem so much more relevant than Monticello – not the town, the other one – I felt the first vibration of doubt, and I asked myself: In a few years, will everything here be as it is today, as it always has been?
I’ve since moved just a stone’s throw away from Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante national monuments. I first explored Grand
Honestly, I’m not sure. I wish tonight we could sit and raise our fists triumphantly and celebrate the permanent protection and preservation of one of the few areas in the world that demand it, but we can’t. Time will
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tell. What I do wish for each and every one of us is that this place and moment does what my first day out here did for me: That it awakens your spirit and mind, and quiets the static, if only for a short time. That we each live and remember this very moment, the faces of your friends, family members and loved ones as the warm and the comforting light of this fire. That even years from now those memories are clear
and just as warm as the fire itself. As you look upward at the sky, the stars. As we wonder about tomorrow, dreaming into the night, and move together to create a better tomorrow for all of us. I wish the same to each of you who hold this book. Keep fighting.
lauren lacourciere
I drew this piece on the day President Obama declared the creation of Bears Ears National Monument. These places have provided me with so much, and I was, am, and will always be inspired by them. I created this piece to honor the lands that so many, including myself, hold dear.
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claire giordano
Investing an hour in a place allows you to get to know it. To see the way the light shifts through yellowing fall leaves and observe the shadows stretching across the canyon. To feel the temperature drop when the sun disappears behind the canyon rim, changing the patterns created by watercolor paint on my page. The hour I spent painting the Escalante River ingrained it in my memory and my heart. A sanctuary to be preserved along with the rest of its monument.
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But cities keep getting bigger, and the wild land keeps getting smaller; we’re starting to see how fleeting and vulnerable the land is to
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being lost. Not much of our country’s beauty is left in a natural untouched state. That’s why I enjoy taking pictures of southern Utah to share with others; people won’t fight for something if they don’t know it exists. As humans we all occasionally need to escape the monotony of our “civilized” life and explore the wilderness where we started. Either to remind ourselves of just how comfortable our civilized life is or to reconnect to that wild part of us that doesn’t want to be constrained by the work bell, daylight savings times, and the drudge of working to support our debts. There’s a reason we all set aside some money for the weekend family getaway. And we need to protect that getaway for tomorrow. And next week. And next year. And next generation. So we always have a place to escape, relax, and marvel at the beauty of our home.
dustin baugh
Growing up so close to southern Utah, I was lucky to think of it as a weekend vacation or even an afternoon excursion if I got up early enough. It spoiled me into forgetting just how unique and beautiful this land is. It’s not until I speak to people on the trail and find out this is their once-in-a-lifetime visit that I’m reminded what a gift it is we have here. So many people I know have never seen the spires and hoodoos that dot the landscape. They’ve never experienced the desert from the shaded oasis of a deep slickrock canyon. I’ve been surrounded by it my whole life and I’m still constantly surprised by a new slot canyon I have never heard of, or an ancient Native American pictograph painted under a ledge where nobody has noticed it since it was painted there over a thousand years ago.
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artist judy name kim
judy kim
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lapita arviso “If we look at the path, we do not see the sky. We are earth people on a spiritual journey to the stars. Our quest, our earth walk, is to look within, to know who we as, to see that we are connected to all things, that there is no separation, only in the mind.” – Native American, source unknown
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lapita artist name arviso
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mollie thompson
Before there was painting, there was picking pretty stones out of rivers. The natural wonders of our country, specifically within our national parks, was the inspiration and fuel behind my imagination, creativity, and appreciation for beauty long before I knew how to give words to these things. I wouldn’t miss the chance to be a part of a project that fights for the value of these holy places. Contributing a part of me that has been so inspired by the very parks I’m hoping to stand for is all the more powerful. I owe it to the land.
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mollie thompson
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tyana artist arviso name
Yá’áteeh, Tyana Arviso, yinishyé. Bitáhní nishłí, Tł’iziláni báshíshchíí, Nóóda’l dine’é dashichei, Kinyaa’aanii dashinálí. Tsé Yaatóhí di shighan.
tyana arviso
When I am among Mother Nature, I am at peace. I forget all the small things in life that aren’t important. It is my sanctuary from a world full of chaos. I love the feeling of the sun shining down on my face and the wind whirling through my ears. My eyes sparkle with glitter when I see how precious this sacred land is and how it should go unharmed. This land is home to my ancestors who’ve fought colonization. It is a place of medicine, it is where all living things flourish and roam. It is home.
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tyana arviso
tyana arviso
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mason boring
mason boring
After a road trip from Tennessee to Bears Ears National Monument, its sacred ground easily won me over. If the ultimate test of a moral society is the kind of world it leaves to its children, we must pursue any efforts that attempt to rob the next generation’s holy moments of discovery and ownership. In protecting Wilderness, we protect an endangered experience. We must not grow weary in our efforts. Taken on Highway 211, Bears Ears National Monument.
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tamara lavalla
sheri smith
timelines Grand Staircase-Escalante and Bears Ears national monuments are fragile windows to the past. This piece is inspired by early travelers’ field notes. Quick gestures to capture wonders that words can’t begin to describe.
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kelsey putman hughes
My ancestors are not of the desert. They came from the land of fjords and cloudberries, and their love of black tilled earth was passed on to me as a cultural relic. I didn’t know the desert. The sinuous slot canyons, the exposed millennia in arches and plateaus, the crackling of sage, the expanse of time and space where the horizon meets the Milky Way, and to feel the imminent loss of a place you have only recently found. I didn’t know for 20 years about the desert. But I do know that you don’t have to be from a place to have it in your blood.
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kelsey alisha putman anderson hughes
Starfield II, Bears Ears / What is a seed but sunlight sent into the future? juniper berries, seeds, needles, and twigs arranged to match the previous night’s star chart
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andrea slusarski
andrea slusarski
PROCLAMATION / Thank you to the Friends of Cedar Mesa for their inspiration in using President Obama’s Bears Ears Proclamation for the words in this landscape. Adored with the Native names, geological features, and the plant and animal species – this piece is a reminder of what home is.
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alec mckeand
alec mckeand
Inhale. That sweet aroma of sagebrush, juniper and piñon is there, always there. Exhale. There are no sounds to be heard. Nothing but the sound of your own heartbeat and the occasional flock of circling crows, drifting with the wind. Do you see it? Ruins and shelters have been left behind by past inhibitors, along canyon walls and out of reach. Previously a safe haven, now works of art. Gaze at the atmosphere above. The Milky Way is clear as day closely following dusk, with shooting stars joining in not long after. Rock and sun lies beneath and soars beyond. Magic. Incomprehensible magic. Land is life, but Ed said it best, “I stand for what I stand on.”
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alec mckeand
alec mckeand
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lauren sarantopulos
Bears Ears National Monument is among some of the last truly wild and protected places remaining in the United States. Many hold this land sacred, including Native American tribes and hundreds of plant and animal species. To me, Bears Ears is a truly unique area; stunning views of towering buttes and sweeping sandstone vistas couple with a plethora of ecological biodiversity. Areas like this are disappearing fast and might vanish completely if left unprotected. We must defend the lands we love, the untouched wilderness we have left, and the countless lives that live there. We must defend the sacred.
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when did you last hear a stone speak? I know a place where they are loud.
wishing you to know, to learn. make the pilgrimage and listen. where else can you hear the rocks cry out?
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joanna spindler
all land emanates messages all places swell with words. but here, here they have so much to say their very seams have split with wanting
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artist marc name toso
artist marc name toso
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joanna spindler
land love The first time I climbed a crack in Indian Creek, my hands hurt so badly I nearly quit right then. I thought I’d mastered screaming finger pain from years of climbing ice – but nothing compared to the bite of that sandstone splitter, refrigerated by early February winds.
From that day on I’ve thrown myself into researching this land’s story and the first humans to people it. My love for climbing remains as only one facet of a growing passion for the rich history, ethnography, geology, botany, astronomy, and ornithology that comprise this place.
I suffered through and paid my time in sweat and blood and sheer mad effort. After a time I fell in love with the climbing of the Creek and its environs. Its unique stone lines came to inspire me and challenge me to feats of devotion. Long days in the harsh beautiful wilds and long nights around campfires with beloved friends kept me coming back.
I reach out now and tell you this, my friends: Land cannot be known by you or me. It is known to the vast swath of time that overreaches our life spans and counts in eons, as the rocks do. Also as deeply, it is understood by generations of indigenous people to whom it belongs in a way that outfathoms spirituality. I can only hope to comprehend elements of this landscape – one that reaches past the bounds of Indian Creek, beyond into the far Colorado Plateau.
I thought I knew this place until the day I was shown some of its ruins. I crouched beside them and marveled at mud wedged between flat stones warm as skin in the evening light, and in the clay I saw the print of an ancient hand. Below it in the dust reposed a shard of early ceramic. Neatly slipped in dove-grey clay, it bore the perfect whorls of ancient fingerprints. Time grew thin and suddenly I could imagine the ancient one who had worked the stones and clay so skillfully perhaps a thousand years ago or longer.
Here are my hands, dirty and torn, with sandstone ground beneath the nails. Give me your hands, too, and let us join them in the fight for these irreplaceable spaces. It may be that their measure is too great for us to take. But for this small moment in time, this entire landscape – its wild adventure, joy, pain and history – all of it is in our hands.
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joanna spindler
FROM LEFT TO RIGHT / Still striking after at least 800 years of desert sun. / Petroglyphs in Bears Ears catch the last light of evening as a storm gathers over the Abajos. / Sun sets over a popular climbing area in Indian Creek, Utah, part of Bears Ears National Monument. Below, wild turkeys – perhaps descendants of Ancestral Puebloans’ domesticated turkeys – warble greetings in the cottonwood trees. Nearby, a petroglyph records annual solstice events and Basketmaker-era ruins overlook the beautiful creek.
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roxanne bergener
roxanne bergener
Reverence. I cannot help but have a feeling of deep respect and awe when I speak of Bears Ears National Monument. Bears Ears is home to more than 100,000 Native American archaeological and cultural sites, considered sacred by many tribes. Such a sacred place, full of story, artifacts, beauty and emotion. We are stewards of the land. Once impacted by tourism, development and industry, they are lost forever.
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samantha franklin
samantha franklin
FROM LEFT TO RIGHT / This is a cyanotype print made from a photograph taken at Devil’s Garden at night. / This is another cyanotype print made from a photograph that was taken off of Spencer Flats Road in Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. / I printed both using the cyanotype process and later bleached and toned them using green tea.
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artist directory a
d
j
Alisha Anderson alishaanderson.org
Crystal DiPietro crystaldipietro.com
Victoria Jarvis rangervick.com
Tyana Arviso @tyanaarviso
Benjamin Dodd benjamindodd.com
Lapita Arviso @lapitaarvisophotography
b Dustin Baugh @dustinbaughphoto Sarah Baugh @sarah__baugh
k Judy Kim @kimjudy
e Josh Ewing friendsofcedarmesa.org
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f
Lauren Lacourciere @laurlaur070
Samantha Franklin sgfphoto.com
Tamara LaValla batchcraft.com
g
m
Claire Giordano claireswanderings.com
Zan Maddox zanmaddox.com
Julia Ben-Asher juliabenasher.com Roxanne Bergener @sageandmortardesign Mason Boring @masonboring Kelsey Brasseur smallflowerarts.com
c Paky Callahan @brassfunky Aaron Colussi aaroncolussi.com Evan Curtis evancurtis.com
Rosie Mansfield @rosie.mansfield
h Molly Harrison @mollysharpharrison Emma Hershberger @emmaaalexandra Savannah Holder @savannahholder Kelsey Putman Hughes corvidbluestudio.com
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Tyler Marlow @tglazemarlow Alec Mckeand @amongthepine Stevi McNeill mcneillmediaco.com
n
Stephen Rockwood stephenrockwood.com
Tommy Nease tommynease.com
Hallie Rose Taylor @hallierosetaylor
s p Mika Parajon @mikaparajon Matt Plays mattplays.co
t Mollie Thompson prettybirdpaper.com
Lauren Sarantopulos laurensarantopulos.com Lauren Segarra @laurensegarra
Marc Toso @ancient_sky Crystal Tyndall @lumberjanemade
Andrea Slusarski @drawingfromnature
u
r
Sheri Smith @sherimakeitso
Dani Reyes-Acosta notlostjustdiscovering.com
Joanna Spindler @joannaspindrift
Scott Robertson @lightnfast
Jen Sturm @jhinniey
y
Corey Robinson coreyrobinsonfilms.com
Blake Suarez blakesuarez.com
Kami York-Feirn @followthebeartracks
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Sarah Uhl sarahuhl.com
marc toso
thank you Each and every person involved in this project owes a debt of gratitude first and foremost to Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante national monuments, those who came before us and lived within these lands, and for the traces they left behind. Were it not for the insistence and drive Mika showed from the conception of this project to this moment, it is quite likely this book would never have been created (Note: She tried to get us to remove this, but we refused). To each and every contributor, thanks for helping us make 85for85 a reality. And last, but not least, you, the person currently reading this page, possibly mouthing the words as you do so, hopefully sitting within view of sandstone and sagebrush, pinons and polychrome, or at least dreaming of them. At the end of the day this project proved to us that no amount of darkness can stand up to even a single glimmer of hope, that we really can be the change we want to see, and have much more to do. Sincerely, Mika, Emma and Scott
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kelsey putman hughes
thanks to our sponsor We cannot say thank you enough to our sponsor, Osprey Packs, for their support on this project.
Bears Ears National Monument + Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument
kelsey putman hughes
100% of proceeds from this book goes to the forever protection of