France

The last month or so of my life has been a total whirlwind of activity and adventure. I celebrated my 27th birthday on May 16th, finished my first year of grad school on the 17th, and left for a three and a half week climbing trip in France on the 19th.

Upon arriving in Paris at 7 a.m., jet-lagged and already sleep-deprived from the previous week of finals, Jonathan and I decided that the best way to torture me in my exhausted state was to wander endless halls of the Louvre- the leviathan of all art museums.

France... bread... synonymous.

I bravely lasted a few hours before I became so tired that my need for sleep overpowered my love for art. By the time we were on the subway, I fell asleep sitting up, and Jonathan had to catch me as I slid out of my seat.

waiting for the subway train

We also visited Notre Dame. It was pouring rain outside.

After one night in Paris, we drove seven hours south to the tiny mountain village of Sigoyer where we rented a little "gite" just underneath the legendary Céüse, which is often considered the best sport climbing crag in the world. 

the steps to our little house

cows. everywhere.

baby horse.

Everything about this area was phenomenal- the verdant scenery, the friendly country folk, the pastures of dairy cows, the sweeping fields of wildflowers- and of course, the impeccable climbing.

wildflowers for days...

the view outside of our bedroom window...

which sometimes included... kitties!!

The crag is located on top of a giant hillside, which means that every day we got to (had to) hike uphill for about an hour to reach the climbing. Being a Colorado native, I'm no stranger to hiking, and although I had been warned about the hike being rather heinous, I was convinced it would be no big deal for me. The first day confirmed my assumptions- the hike was long, but really not that bad. The next day the trail somehow seemed to have gotten a little bit longer... the third day the distance increased again... and so on and so forth until I had to forfeit my opinion and concede that indeed the hike is nothing trivial. In fact, it's exhausting. 

up and down this whole thing. every day.

We often ended up climbing until sunset and hiking out by moonlight.

Atop this uphill slog sits a sweeping stretch of tan limestone bedecked with streaks of blue, home to a legion of world class routes- many of which are (in my opinion) run out enough to be considered scary. I spent the first week of my trip trying to remember how to climb outside, adjusting to the cliff's style of crimps and pockets, and getting used to climbing well above the last bolt. 

The following week I climbed Angel Dust, which is considered by some to be the best 12a on Earth. It was incredibly fun- sustained and technical with great rhythm and some thrilling run outs. I also did San John's Pecos 12c, an absolutely beautiful line that climbed up a blue streak on pockets, through a run out upper section to a bouldery crux right at the top of the route when you're good and pumped. For the remainder of the trip I tried Maka Walu, a really fun, sustained, and pumpy 13a. Other highlights included belaying Jonathan on Corail de la Vie, a 14c first ascent, and watching Adam Ondra on Jungle Boogie, a 15a first ascent.

Jonathan on his F.A.

The Berlin Wall

The view from Céüse is one of the most beautiful I've seen from any crag. Couple that with the serene sound of bells clanging in the distance (a noise that traveled from a goat farm at the base of the hike) and the quick rolling clouds that traversed the sky and changed the light numerous times per hour... it's breathtaking.

Outside of climbing, we made the most of our limited time in France. We visited an old friend from high school, Andy Kovacic, who was attending the Cannes Film Festival with his short film Nando. We stayed with him at a veritable villa in Nice, spending the day swimming in the Mediterranean and walking the picturesque streets. Nice is believed to be among the oldest human settlements in Europe- around 350 BC Greeks of Marseille founded a permanent settlement there and called it Nikaia after Nike, the goddess of victory. Through the ages, the town changed hands many times due to its strategic location and port. I felt a palpable sense of history when wandering through the town- a feeling of depth and a placidity that only comes with great age.

We also visited the alpine town of Chamonix, home of Mont Blanc, the highest mountain not only in the Alps, but in the European Union as well. We attended an Arc'teryx climbing festival, which for us included a VIP dinner high up in the mountains at a tiny restaraunt/hotel that you can only reach by a small train. Apparently Napoleon used to hang out there, and I can understand why- the views were stunning and the four course meal and wine were scrumptious.

The view from the restaurant

The Alps

On a different rest day, we spent the day in the Verdon Gorge, a spectacular area adorned with jewel like turquoise waters. The natural beauty of southern France truly impressed this jaded Colorado girl.

My time climbing at Céüse, though all too brief, prepared me for a summer full of adventure and climbing. The skin on my hands is tougher from the harsh limestone, my legs and heart are stronger from the daily hike, and perhaps most notably, my head is much calmer- after those run outs, I think every climb that I get on this summer will seem tame in comparison. I just got back to the States a little over a week ago, and am already planning my next excursion. 


As always, thanks for reading!

Last summer, between climbing in Wyoming and driving west to move to California, I spent over a month in Canada visiting a few of the country's best crags. We visited Squamish, Horne Lake, Planet X, Acephale, Lake Loiuse- all the while being followed by Arc'teryx photographer Scott Milton. Scott used the footage to make several short videos of Jonathan, the first two of which have been released so far. The one below chronicles part of our time in Canada, with lots of footage of Jonathan climbing (and me being a devoted belay slave). The best part is when he falls and kicks me in the head- you can't really tell in the video, but let me assure you, it happened.

See the other video here. 

Since moving to California, I’ve been immersed in a community of creative, eccentric and brilliant people. This has been a blessing beyond measure, one that continually inspires me to push my own crafts further and to burn ever brighter in my artistic pursuits. One of these muses of mine, the extremely lovely and talented musician Ayla Nereo, recently released her third full-length album titled “BeHeld.” 

This lady!

I saw Ayla perform for the first time not long after I moved to Oakland. I remember standing in a completely packed and crowded room, and as she began to play I thought that she was probably just another folk singer, the same more or less as so many I had seen perform in coffee shops or house concerts. Within mere minutes, this assumption of mine was totally shattered. Watching her sing and finger-pick her guitar, deftly using a loop peddle to create rich harmonies and auditory textures, with a video projector behind her displaying her simple yet powerful footage of flames, waves, and sunlight through leaves- it was enough to move me to tears. 

Since then I’ve been a devout appreciator of her songs, which meld sagacious lyrics that carry a poetic lilt with melodies that return to play in my head throughout the day. I was honored when she asked me to accompany her on violin for a few songs at her album release party. 

Here’s a video of us performing her song “Thorny Rose” with another one of my beautiful muses, Emily Rose Frost, singing backup. The sound quality is a little lacking, so to really hear the song in all its glory, you should check out the album's website here.

Enjoy!

As the end of my second semester in grad school draws near, I'm getting ready to pack up and head out for a summer full of traveling, climbing, and days spent far away from the bustle of city living. I'll be spending three and a half weeks in France climbing in the Verdon and Ceuse, then heading to Wyoming to climb at Ten Sleep and Wild Iris for July. I'm thinking that I'll spend August up in Rocky Mountain National Park, maybe climbing the Diamond for my first time.

The formidable yet alluring Diamond

But before bidding California goodbye,  I've had to sample at least a little bit of what the Bay Area has to offer in terms of outdoor climbing. At this point, I've climbed at Donner Summit, Yosemite, Jailhouse, Sonora, and Mickey's Beach.

Bouldering in Sonora... right before my friend fell off of a highball problem and broke his ankle.

 I spent a day climbing at Stinson Beach recently, and although there's only a handful of routes (all of which are kind of terrifying on crumbling schist that's been weathered by the ocean air), it's such a delight to climb right next to the beach, and the scenery at sunset is resplendent.

Me climbing on the Egg. Anthony Lapomardo photo.

I'll be posting soon with photos from France and also some of my work from the last two semesters. Enjoy!

Having never lived in a city, I don't have much to compare Oakland to. It's been a huge adjustment for me, learning to preserve my happiness in a place that quietly seethes with as much energy and chaos as this city does. My most reliable method of self-medication, seeking solace and solitude in the mountains, has been basically unavailable to me since moving here, and I'll go weeks without stepping foot on anything more natural than the tiny plot of grass in my front yard.

My friends here all insist that there are spots nearby that would satiate my need for a nature fix, but so far I haven't taken anyone up on the offer to show me these mythical places. I know that there's a bounty of beautiful secluded places within an hour or so of a car ride, but I'm so spoiled from living in Boulder and having the Flatirons minutes from my doorstep that the commute just isn't appealing. I'm still working on finding a way to nurture that part of myself that needs trees and dirt and fresh air to survive, here amidst the concrete. (By the way, what it lacks in terms of nature accessibility, the Bay Area far makes up for with culture, diversity, art, music, and community). 

A spring storm rolls over the Flatirons at the top of the street I grew up on

For my spring break, I returned to Boulder for the first time since having moved last fall, in order to dose myself with as much time in the mountains as possible. The effect was incredible. Upon driving into Boulder Valley, I felt the peaceful quiet of the place surround me like a diver submerging into a placid lake. The mountains, so familiar in their silhouette, stood solid and serene above the small city, and I could feel their protective presence like an embrace. 

After adjusting to the altitude, I spent a sunny afternoon climbing in Clear Creek Canyon, where I tried Ten Digit Dialing, 12c, a great route. 

Clear Creek

 Afterwards, Jonathan Siegrist and I went to Estes Park to spend a few days climbing at even higher altitude. Altitude always makes me have the craziest dreams, and Jonathan had to wake me up one night while I was supposedly laughing in my sleep and exclaiming "Puppies!!" delightedly.

We decided to climb a multi-pitch on the rather stiff and (in my opinion) unforgiving Lumpy Ridge. I believe that the route we did was 11b and called something like Paralandria. Even though I started the day in high spirits, the route still brought me to tears, as it seems almost every multi-pitch does. After getting two pieces of gear stuck and becoming so tired that I was grunting like an enraged safari animal, I reached the final belay stance and had a mini meltdown. Jonathan has seen this little routine of mine so many times that he just waited for it to pass, trying his best not to laugh.

Jonathan leading the first pitch- he's the small blur towards the top under the shadow

...long way down..

this picture doesn't do it justice, but that's what we climbed.

We also went climbing at the undeniably classic crag The Monastery, a place infamous for it's sandbagged routes. I tried Psychatomic for the first time, a pristine 12d that feels much harder than many 13as that I've been on. I can't wait to get back and try it again later this summer.

one of the best 12ds in Colorado, if not the nation

After Estes, I spent the rest of my time hiking in the Flatirons, climbing Bear Peak and other favorite trails of mine that I've wandered since I was a little kid. 

view from the top of Bear Peak

Boulder from the vantage of the summit

Zeke!

When I returned from Boulder back to Oakland, I felt grounded and renewed in a way that  haven't experienced the whole time I've been here. As I get to know the area more thoroughly, I'm sure that I'll find secluded spots with trees and silence that can offer me at least a hint of the respite that I find in the Rocky Mountains. I hope so, at least.

so true.

I recently had the pleasure of being featured in an article exploring the dynamics of the artist/athlete persona. The author, Aaron Bible, opened the piece by asking:

I've always been fascinated by the duality in the artist-athlete personality. What is it that drives someone to push their physical limits, as well as their creative ones, to the extreme? And how can these two parts of life exist so perfectly in the same people?

Climbing at Mickey's Beach. Anthony Lapomardo photo

He continued to write,

This seeming dichotomy between the athlete and the artist was documented in the 1974 Warner Herzog film, “The Great Ecstasy of the Sculptor Steiner.” When I stumbled across this film on Netflix a number of years ago I was blessed with one of those Ah ha moments where one realizes they are not alone in their emotionally intellectual quandaries.

In this seminal short film, Herzog documents his own lifelong exploration of what he refers to as “ecstatic truth.” The film is about the famed ski jumper Walter Steiner, who shattered ski jumping (or as Steiner calls it, ski flying) records from 1970-1977 and worked during the day as a carpenter and wood carver. The duality of his art forms as a skier and sculptor is artfully deconstructed in what Herzog called one of his most important films.

The name of the film itself speaks volumes, referencing Irving Stone's biography of Michelangelo, “The Agony and Ecstasy,” and the film work is solemn, monotone and filled with contemplative, introspective moments of both wood carving and ski jumping, intermixed with violent crashes and egotistical rants, painting the picture of this potentially conflicted personality. It made me realize I was not the only one consumed.

“These two pursuits that at first glance seem at odds with each other really have quite a lot of similar things fueling them. The willingness to suffer, the ever-compelling jump between juxtaposing emotional states, the introspective knowledge that comes from experiencing them and the sense of accomplishment when the long sought-after route is climbed or the piece that took months to paint is completed,” said Marisa Ware, an athlete and artist who splits her time between San Francisco, Calif., where she is currently pursuing a Master's in illustration at the Academy of Art, and Boulder, and various climbing crags and campgrounds around the West.

“All this said, I do feel constantly torn between these two obsessions of mine. When I'm on a climbing trip surrounded by other climbers, I feel that one side of me is being wholly satisfied. I love sleeping in the back of a truck, waking in the cold morning, eating breakfast cooked on a camp stove, spending the day totally exerting myself and watching my friends do the same, all of us witnessing each other's triumphs and defeats, then returning to camp exhausted to sit around a fire and fall asleep under the stars,” Ware said.

“Yet within this partial version of my own paradise, I feel the absence of the other half,” she continued. “I don't feel my artistic side being stimulated or nourished, so I return to the city, immerse myself in my classes, spend hours upon hours holed up in a dark room, inspired, solitary, engrossed in the workings of my own creativity,” she said. “Eventually, I start to ache for the feel of rock on my fingertips and the sharp air of the desert.”

“It's all about exploration,” said John Gorman, a Portland, Ore., based product designer, sculptor, painter and cyclist. “I ride and race my bike to get a different perspective on life. Art and design thoughts run rampant after depleting the more visceral emotions.”

After years of exploration and the depleting of emotions on so many levels, I know it has something to do with the need to push oneself, emotionally, physically, creatively. That truly exhaustive feeling that can only be achieved by six hours of going hard in the saddle, battling raging rapids or clinging to exposed sandstone, and also by expelling the emotions of a brutal childhood onto paper, attempting to quell an insatiable urge to tell a visual or musical story, or by photographing and printing something that speaks to who we are as human beings.

“Both pursuits require suffering,” said Ware. “All of my teachers keep reiterating that point, as does my experience. There is joy, relaxation, and meditative states involved with creating art, but those enjoyable states are balanced by frustration, vexation, and dissatisfaction. The level of determination and concentration that it takes to sit through a six-hour figure drawing class is the same that a climber needs to train for hours at the gym in preparation for whatever route they're trying to climb.”

The life of the artist, however, doesn't always lend itself well to the life of the athlete. Artists like to stay up late, dark emotions often lead to the best work, and this leads to the same feelings of ecstasy and depravation we get from extreme sports. So how do we find a balance?

“I think the essential conflict here is the one we all face — striving for balance in all facets of life. The work/life dichotomy is a major struggle when you are an independent creative running your own shop,” said Tampa, Fla., based freelance photographer and adventure motorcyclist Joseph Gamble. “Riding a motorcycle forces you to attend to the present moment. Trips can require great care and planning, maintenance of the bike, reservations and permits for campsites, but when you are on the bike, pulling back the throttle, there is a real symmetry between man and machine. More importantly, you are forced to reckon with the present moment, whether you are managing rush hour traffic or bombing through a sandy trail. There is no past and no present in these moments. For me, adventure motorcycling then becomes a system reboot, a defragging of the mind.”

“There's a need for aesthetic in the person that's not dissimilar to the need for aesthetic in art. Practically speaking, I cannot do my art without being somewhat athletic…I have backpacked and hiked thousands of miles in my life to make my living from photography,” Colorado landscape photographer John Fielder explained to me. “Mind and body are symbiotic: a fit body begets a fitter mind, and a fit mind underlies the discipline needed to care about one's body. I could not have made one tenth of the photographs I've made in 40 years without having remained reasonably fit and aware of my physicality and the part it plays in my life.” Some are seemingly able to find a balance better than others.

“I think that on some level, the motivation must be coming from the same fervent source, but honestly, most of the time those two aspects of myself seem pretty divided,” said Ware.

“I would say it's in the desire to achieve perfection of form in both,” said Aspen-based cyclist, massage therapist and designer Shawn Hadley. “In athletics, as in art, that level of perfection is affected by so many different aspects, making it almost impossible without a little luck and tremendous dedication.”

“I think that being physically active in a sport is very energizing for one's creative endeavors,” said artist-athlete Jessica Conlan-Glover, a long time mountain girl, runner, and painter. “I feel I am happier and way more positive when I am healthy in all aspects…my body, my mind, my spirit. It gives me energy to be creative and actually more productive when I sit down to a canvas to paint.”

Glover continued: “I think anyone that makes a point to replace something non-beneficial in their lives with an activity that gives them more strength and energy makes them happier and more productive in every part of their daily lives, including being a parent, spouse, employee, or even a customer. If you can take literally 20 minutes, working up to half hour, and then an hour (which is not that much out of your waking 16 to 18 hour day), one can make a notable difference in their energy level and consequently be more productive and happier. This has become a great balance in my life. I love to sit down and paint with that clear mind and motivation.”

“I experienced a pretty radical paradigm shift a few years ago, realizing (among many other things) that I needed to change my approach and focus my efforts,” Ware continued. “It seemed clear that if I didn't simplify my pursuits, that I would never achieve any sort of greatness -- and that motivation, perhaps, is for me the common thread between climbing and art -- a desire to excel, to push myself to my own limits and witness the results. To chase genius.”

Whether it the pursuit of genius, or a glimpse of Herzog's ecstatic truth, clearly there is something deep running through us all. Hopefully, in each person's individual way, they are able to find the balance, to create, to be outdoors, be happy, and to take the risks necessary to get there. 

See the article and the rest of the accompanying photos here. 

A Mary Oliver poem for today, the first day of Spring...

Snow Geese

Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last!
What a task
to ask

of anything, or anyone,

yet it is ours,
and not by the century or the year, but by the hours.

One fall day I heard
above me, and above the sting of the wind, a sound
I did not know, and my look shot upward; it was

a flock of snow geese, winging it
faster than the ones we usually see,
and, being the color of snow, catching the sun

so they were, in part at least, golden.  I

held my breath
as we do
sometimes
to stop time
when something wonderful
has touched us

as with a match,
which is lit, and bright,
but does not hurt
in the common way,

but delightfully,
as if delight
were the most serious thing
you ever felt.

The geese
flew on,
I have never seen them again.

Maybe I will, someday, somewhere.
Maybe I won't.
It doesn't matter.
What matters
is that, when I saw them,
I saw them
as through the veil, secretly, joyfully, clearly.

~by Mary Oliver 

Since starting grad school and immersing myself deeper into the obsessive part of my being that loves visual art, I've been struggling to find equilibrium. As much as I must chase my deep desire to pursue this path, I also have to respect my need to have meaningful personal relationships, a spiritual practice, and among many other important things- to climb. Somedays it's hard to motivate to go train at the gym after drawing for six hours straight, but both art and climbing are integral to who I am, so I slog to the gym and train til my arms burn. Then, in the morning, I draw until my hands ache. Then climb until my arms burn. Repeat.

By the end of last semester, this combo of brutal treatment to my arms, wrists, and hands resulted in some pretty debilitating nerve pain in my right hand. I took a few weeks off of climbing so that I could make it through finals. Once the semester was over, I decided to take a month off of drawing to let my hand recover further, but I needed to climb. I packed up my little Subaru and drove to meet Jonathan Siegrist in Las Vegas for a month of desert climbing. 

From CA to NV

Red Rock, outside of Vegas

On the top of Turtlehead Mountain after seeing a herd of Bighorn Sheep

We spent the majority of the time climbing in Arrow Canyon, a limestone slot canyon about 45 minutes outside of Vegas. I had an awesome time climbing there, sending a few routes that were hard for me and coming painfully close to climbing what would have been my hardest route yet. 

entering the canyon

petroglyph on the canyon walls... wish I knew what it meant.

the warm up- Tangled Up In Blue, 12a

A little moon lit yoga by our campsite

I also spent hours upon hours belaying Jonathan on a project he was working on- an impressive and intimidating route that climbs out of a steep cave- that he recently sent. It was his hardest route to date, and as always, getting to experience the process of trail, defeat, and eventually success was inspiring. On his blog, he described the experience:

"It was exactly what I was looking for; a route that would demand a new level of dedication, psychical and mental strength from me. It was of course frustrating, ego-crushing and difficult throughout but in the end it was a dream come true. I named the route 'Le Rêve', meaning 'the dream' in French."

Jonathan jugging up the route on the first day of effort to begin cleaning it. I took a nap.

Witnessing him try so hard inspires me to not only do the same with my climbing, but also to take that attitude and effort into other arenas of my life. I'm hoping if I constantly muster up the effort to try that hard with my artistic pursuits, then I will also push my personal limits and do great things.

In an email a few days after he sent, he made a similar correlation, writing:

It's so funny. I'm out there, all alone. Forever. Just me, maybe a friend and my dog... and I just beat my head against the wall, failing forever. Nobody cares. Then one day, I do all the moves in a row and go to the top. Thousands of people care. 'Arrow Canyon' on random Spanish, Polish, Italian, French websites. It's crazy stuff. 

You know I was thinking, in a way it's so much like art.... you slave away. in your little room there. Just you, some music. No one knows - no one. Then one day, after all this uncertainty and effort and emotion, you expose the piece to the world. Now everyone is having this reaction to your piece. You're imparting a reaction, an imprint on the world all of sudden, all from those lonely hours spent in your room. 

So here's to everyone out there, chasing greatness in their own way. It can be a lonely pursuit, but it seems far worth it when that goal is realized. Thanks to you all for the inspiration.

moon rise

And thanks to Zeke, for the endless entertainment.

 loves dirt!