our stories
Maryo | Miki Klocke | Allison
Leete
Allison Leete
Since the early 1990s, Allison Leete
has been integrating her love of art, science and nature
to develop a body of work which portrays the inner life
of animals. Allison's subjects are drawn from her personal
experiences of raising and caring for animals, and range
in breadth from California condors to Disaster Search
dogs. Allison's medium of preference is pastel, yet she
enjoys exploring the ability of watercolor, oil painting
and photography to communicate her celebration of life
in a vibrant spectrum of color.
Originally interested in veterinary
science, wildlife health and animal behavior, Allison
discovered the burgeoning field of Conservation Biology.
She embraced the opportunity to be involved in the recovery
of a highly endangered species - the California condor.
Her observation and data collection of breeding California
condors in captivity and the experimental release of captive-reared
condors acquainted her with not only the condor, but with
world-renowned scientists and philosophers who would subsequently
guide Allison to discover her own strength in artistic
expression.
Miki Klocke
Photographer and craftswoman Miki Klocke
was born and raised in the intense beauty of the Ojai
Valley, a haven for artists of all kinds. Surrounded by
talented and imaginative individuals, Miki felt both inspired
and encouraged by the dazzling creative energy enveloping
her.
Upon graduation from high school, Miki's
adventurous spirit took her from sunny southern California
to the high mountain peaks of Colorado where she finally
got to experience all four seasons. Pursuing her study
of photography, Miki found herself in the heart of snowboard
country. She spent the next 11 years torn between her
passion for photography and playing in the snow. While
managing to maintain both these loves, she also developed
an affinity for woodcraft.
Knowing she needed to be with her family
brought Miki back to Ojai. While she greatly missed the
snow, Miki soon discovered a powerful connection to the
canine world. Everything she does now is about dogs, work
and play are one and the same.
Miki pursues her love of all things
canine through the mediums of photography and woodcraft
and is exploring ways to combine the two. Her companion
and constant source of inspiration is Moose, a 5 year
old Chocolate Labrador. Moose not only keeps Miki company
in the woodshop, but is also a very willing model for
the camera.
Maryo
I was born into
the languid heat of a steamy Florida afternoon on March
1, 1965 in the tiny red brick hospital of a sleepy little
beach town on the gulf of Mexico.
As a small child,
the stark and brilliant sugar white sand and turquoise
water of the gulf around the Florida panhandle nurtured
and delighted me - and I vividly remember dolphins swimming
playfully around my sister and me in the bath water warm
gulf.
My parents soon
found out I had been born with an eye condition, inherited
from my Father, that left me partially blind. I was unable
to focus, and because I was so young and my eyes were
changing so rapidly, they were unable to fit me with glasses.
I spent the first six years of my life in a soft, yellowish,
confusing blur - unable to understand what people were
talking about when they described the world and all the
things in it I could not see - like birds, and clocks,
and shoelaces.
Knowing I was
different from other people, but not really understanding
how or why, I developed into a shy, withdrawn and anxious
child with a deep burning need to do something with all
these harsh, unsettling feelings. So I began to draw.
It didn't seem to matter that I could only vaguely see
the crayon in my hand - the simple act of moving it around
on the paper, of creating and leaving a mark of some kind,
calmed me and exhilarated me all at the same time.
Since I could
not see clearly, I learned to draw my impressions of things
- I drew the energy around them and what they meant to
me, and the connection I felt to whatever my subject might
be. I stubbornly refused to listen to comments or allow
anyone to change my pictures in any way. They were the
only things that portrayed my own world view - the only
things that were wholly mine.
In first grade
I was fitted with my first pair of glasses and the world
changed completely and so abruptly I was almost literally
thrown off balance. I was not familiar with these crisp
and intimidating lines and angles rushing up at me. People
didn't look the way they were supposed to - and there
was so much information to process I was completely overwhelmed.
I withdrew even further - creating elaborate dreamscapes
inside my whirling, tumbling, shifting thoughts and pouring
them onto whatever surface I could get a hold of. My later
pictures may have more structure, but they are still built
out of paint, pencil or computer with the same passionate
intensity and need to give voice to my mind, heart and
soul.
My parents, while
they loved me, were logical and analytical people - brilliant
and reasonable. They sometimes treated me bewilderment
- they did not understand my need to create and so for
the most part they ignored it. I went off to art school
- secure in the knowledge I was already an artist - but
unable to explain to them what that really meant. This
frustration, however, only served to fuel my need to find
my voice through color, shape and line.
Art school turned
out to be exactly the opposite of what I thought it should
be. I found the opportunity to draw and paint from the
model for hours at a time very useful - but I found the
academic culture stifling. Instead of being encouraged
to experiment - to find our own paths while feeling safe
enough to fail along the way - the students were met with
rigidity and unrelenting pressure to conform. My artistic
vision was strong and I quickly ascertained that art school
was not the place to foster it. I left after two years.
I will say, however, that the training I received there
in classical drawing and painting skills was invaluable.
In 1995 the genetic
defect that affected my eyes caused my lenses to completely
detach. Surgery on my left eye to remove the lens and
implant an artificial one was successful but a string
of complications left me blind in the right eye. I was
distraught. The medical establishment felt brutal and
insensitive to my loss - and I was deathly afraid I would
never paint again.
Painting and drawing
were much more difficult for me after the surgeries -
the loss of depth perception and ability to see fine detail
affected my work greatly. Yet all was not lost. About
a year before I became partially sighted, I had begun
experimenting with a new medium - the computer. With this
miraculous tool I could zoom in on a picture as close
as I needed to without even leaving my chair. I was saved.
Over the next several years, with much trial and error,
I painstakingly retrained myself to paint in the digital
medium. My traditional skills were very important - giving
me the solid foundation and structure to created balanced
and harmonious compositions - while still allowing my
artistic vision to burst through in color, shape and line.
The computer cannot
"generate" art any more than brush and canvas
can - only a passionate heart can endow a picture with
enough human intensity to truly create a work of art. |
