Hello, my name is Erin Jones. I am a painter and printmaker native to Colorado.
Thank you for taking time with my massive woodblock print today. This piece is by far the largest most laborious piece of my printing career. It's one of those bucket-list-type items that I checked off after involving myself in the Denver-based non-profit, Mo-Print. My carved block made its debut at an event where over a dozen artists came together to print on the street with an industrial steamroller. Later I hunted down a large-scale press to carry out a formal edition. Thanks to Aurora's Red Delicious Press and the kindness of my fellow printmakers, the block was dialed in and printed on this lovely oversized kittakatta paper from Japan. The print before you is the only one left from that edition, as the others were sold in a fundraising campaign to benefit the rescue sanctuary depicted in the piece.
For something of this scale, I knew to invest myself in a subject I felt closely connected to, and though the general spirit of the piece is rather jovial, even adorable, you might be surprised to learn that I found direction at the time by tapping into deep-seated grief. I used the opportunity to create a memorial to a few of the animals I loved and lost having worked as a caretaker at Broken Shovels, a rescue sanctuary for farm animals. I built a unique rapport with each of the animals you see, and hoped to document the beauty I found having built those relationships. Atmospherically, I wanted to showcase what late afternoon feels like on the farm which I call "the magic hour". The land's harshness seems to soften. The sky opens up with warm colors and huge flocks of wild birds come through to scavenge whatever seeds remain from the chickens and waterfowl.
My friend, Whitney, was a blind, saintly chicken with feathers so luxurious that the rest of her flock would use her body as a retreat from wind and cold. She helped me slow down and breathe during the ritualistic feeding routine we had. I tapped gently on surfaces to direct her toward food and water. Lollie, the freckle-faced sheep, was so timid that the first time she let me pet her nose after years of trust-building, I got choked up in the same way an actor or musician might when they accept a prestigious award. Tonka, the piglet, was born without the use of his back legs but he had the most animated personality I've ever witnessed in anyone. These animals taught me how to access layers of my own character that I had never seen, and though the grief associated with animal rescue may always carry a sting, I feel in some way that these sweet souls are carried through my work and through your viewing it. It is with this sentiment that I thank you for honoring my friends, the ones who taught me.