#10 Summer 2026

“Love is a good guide.
Knowledge is a good guide.
Sharing is a good guide.
Self-teaching is a good guide.
I do not have to believe to know sorrow— I know when I sorrow.
I don’t have to believe to know love—I know when I love.
I don’t have to believe to have joy—I know when I am joyful.
To be here I am here.
So do not believe that you are only human. Know yourself.
There are many medicines.“
— Lynn V. Andrews, Medicine Woman

Here in the Pacific Northwest, it is only early June, and Summer has arrived ahead of schedule.
The days are already hot, dry, and sweaty.
The haze is not a figment of my imagination. It is real.
Zests ( listen to Aujourd’hui > 42:42) flavor my coffee while sparks threaten lit forests. Finding myself sucking on ice cubes to stay cool.
Breathe out…

Ancient civilizations both revered and feared the Sun. For the Aztecs, Egyptians, and countless others, it carried symbolic power. Today, Vacay Sun feels more like an Apéro Spritz, not a celestial force.
Unexpected weather patterns, melted popsicles in May, and unsettling climate trends may reshape our collective delirium.
Summer, associated with the sun and fire, has always held an ambivalent power. Life and death. In contemporary culture, sunshine is celebrated as happiness, rain and cold as party poopers.
Tan is fashionable. Yet, heat stroke is not.

After record temperatures, a dry winter and spring, El Niño style, another intense fire season is anticipated.
Perhaps 2026 is the turning point in how we cultivate resilience, humility, and reciprocity with Nature.
It might be the year to start a Banana business in Portland, Oregon. Should we introduce chimpanzees to Mount Hood National Forest?
Summer solstice is traditionally celebrated with bonfires; however, this year fire bans arrived before the season itself.
In twenty years of sacred fires hosted by Elder Norma Schell, this is the first year no flame was lit.
During the ceremony, teachings were shared about dreams, birds, trees, prayers, and responsibility. We talked about climate resilience, protecting forests and watersheds, as they are the lungs and blood of our world. As a freshly recertified Wilderness First Responder, this is basic: the airway, circulatory, and nervous systems are the human body’s most critical networks. Together, they regulate breathing, oxygen delivery, and electrical control. The forests and watersheds sustain us no differently than our airway, circulatory, and nervous systems with the human body. When these systems fail, everything else destabilizes.
Everything unfolding around us is sobering.

So instead of sweating more, I want to share a few refreshing stories.

SPRING HIGHLIGHTS

I recently completed a grief-informed training at the Dougy Center, marking the beginning of a new chapter in my work. Beginning this fall, I will facilitate seasonal retreats for those navigating loss, including at Hoyt Arboretum, creating spaces where personal and collective grief can be honored through creativity, nature, and community.
I also offer one-on-one sessions that blend together art, seasonal wisdom, and nature-based practices. It feels both natural and significant. For years, mentors and peers have encouraged me to lean towards this work. I now feel ready, empowered, and humbled to accompany others creatively through the rivers of life and the seasons of grief.

Home is a recent mixed-media piece that brings together analog photographs, memory, and poetry. The Polaroid was taken by Charlie during my forty-first birthday motorcycle trip through the Alvord Desert, only months before he died. Stretching toward the horizon behind it is a photograph I made along the Pacific shoreline on a winter morning a few months after his death.
Owls were a symbol we shared. During our first trip to France together, we each had an owl tattooed by Monsieur Biz. When Sgt. Ty D. Engstrom returned my call on the morning of August 19, 2021, he asked whether my husband had an owl tattooed on his chest.This is how Charlie was identified.
This work, rooted in memory, grief, movement, and place, embodies what Home means for me.
My recent birthday poem I wrote through several trips to Seattle and the Olympic Peninsula, Nuages sur l’étrangeté, continues that exploration, tracing the strange ways grief reveals belonging, synchronicity, and presence.

Home (bark, analog photography, owl seal, poetry) Spring 2026

During the Griffin Museum of Photography artist talk for Landscapes of Wonder: National Parks, I had the pleasure of meeting photographers and listening to stories of connection carried by rivers, rocks, and landscapes. The soft eye of Hannele Lahti stayed with me.

I am closing the studio for the summer, looking for more time, work, and inspiration infused by the outdoors.
Opening my creative space over the past year and gathering with others through the rhythm of the seasons has been a gift. It has invited me to be more vulnerable, to share my process more openly, and to welcome others into a space of curiosity, experimentation, and presence.
I am the first one to benefit from my own teachings. Witnessing creativity spark in others nourishes me deeply. With patience and perseverance, I see how art can gently transform a person, reigniting confidence, rekindling a sense of belonging, and helping us navigate life with grace.
Christina, a dear friend, who has been joining the workshops since last fall, recently rediscovered a part of herself through pastels. Watching her reconnect with that creative thread inspired me to pick them up again myself, leading to the mixed-media collage created during our Beltane gathering.
If you would like to join us this fall, be sure to add info at cijipi.com to your address book and check your spam folder so you don’t miss announcements and registration information for the next seasonal cycle.

Honoring Beltane, mixed media collage, Spring 2026

“Perspective is tunnel vision.” — David Hockney (1937-2026)

PAUSE-CAFÉ

This spring, I had the pleasure of collaborating once again with Pacific University around the centennial of photography. French students explored the history of the medium while learning how images can translate songs through symbolism, metaphor, and imagination. One student reflected: “I thought the photo activity was awesome. It was super cool to do something more hands-on that pushed us to interpret a song and express it through photos while speaking French.”
After a vibrant spring season at L’École Buissionnière, my fall programs will continue exploring French language and culture from head to toe, blending literature, cooking, conversation, and art. The Cafés littéraires will return, joined by a new series of Salons inspired by the French tradition of gathering around ideas, art, and conversation.
In San Francisco—a city that continues to grow on me—I had the privilege of visiting Villa Albertine, a residency welcoming Francophone artists and creators. Meeting with Consul General Valérie Brisset and Villa Albertine Director Rouksana Simjee reinforced my desire to build bridges between Portland and contemporary Francophone arts and culture.
Sip that. At the De Young Museum, I had a moment. Among Monet’s rare paintings of Venice, one stopped me in my tracks: Rio della Salute (1908). Unlike most works in the series, where water dominates the composition, a tree appears above the canal. A tree of life suspended over the water.
“Li(f)e is a delicate balance” read Charlie’s tattoo.

VERNAL COCKTAILS

et enfin…

Wishing you an unplugged Summertime, filled with coolness in all its forms.
Drink water.
Don’t waste your time.
Sup it, sensually,
Like on a popsicle…

If my photography, poetry, workshops, or reflections have inspired you, you can support the continued creation of these offerings and buy me a coffee.

With love & gratitude,
Sincèrement,
Clara-Julia
🦉

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