I don’t yet have a name for this moment that continues to repeat itself over the years, but it looks something like this. What starts out, as a conversation with an elder on today’s current affairs, quickly turns painfully honest as the elder speaks to what is likely in store for my generation. This last happening occurred on Sunday while at my boyfriend’s mother’s house for her birthday. It was a women’s only affair and I suddenly found myself in a room of white hair, the youngest by easily 45 years. While sipping tea and eating scones and clotted cream I found myself deep in a conversation with two other women on climate and politics. Two grandmothers dressed for tea were suddenly in the thick of their passion, struggling to keep their voices even as they spoke to the reality of our times. Berkeley's late afternoon sun poured into my lap while I sat mainly quiet, sandwiched between the two. I could feel where this was heading, and suddenly we had arrived at ‘the moment’, where the grandmothers had talked themselves out, and all that was left to do, was turn to me in sadness. “All I can say”, spoke one, “is that I’m grateful I was born at the time that I was.” The other woman silently nodded her head in agreement. “We’re sorry, we don’t have to talk about this any more, it’s too depressing” she finished with. 

This is the moment that I have yet to name. I wonder about the other times in the history of humankind, when the passing of the baton to the next generation was such a somber ordeal? When elders felt more grateful for the fact that their lives were nearing an end, when looking into the eyes of those who still had so much life to live out. A few years ago when these odd interactions first started happening they confused me. I was used to looking towards adults for guidance and support, and it was a strange sort of societal initiation when I realized that I was now also considered an adult, in that I was no longer shielded from all that was falling apart. Perhaps what was most unsettling was the ease that sometimes accompanied an adult handing over ‘the world’ to me. “Here,” some would say, “we may have fucked it up beyond repair, hopefully you can make it better.” These dead end comments would leave me infuriated and struggling with myself when I couldn’t seem to create the capacity to internalize that we seemed to currently be living out some version of the end of the world. Now I realize, that this is a near impossible task. I am not sure that we humans are fully equipped to comprehend on an emotional or psychic level what it is we are in store for. We are struggling to realize in the midst of the unraveling, that we are unraveling. And we are struggling with the ability to take responsibility for our part in it all. 


The Prayer: 

I’ve had a small collection of rose buds drying over the last weeks and I took them with me outside, with these thoughts in mind. I sat and slowly began to peel a bud open, petal by petal. “This is me consciously creating an unraveling,” I thought to myself. I picked up a second bud that was still intact and placed it in the center of the petals, and questioned the possibility of new growth from something old and decaying. Often I find myself feeling stuck, conscious that I am living and working within an old and dying system with the hopes of creating something new. I feel frustrated when I bump up against what seem to be immobile boundaries. “Will I to one day be an elder grateful for my passing time on this earth, simultaneously saddened by all that I could not or did not do? Will I give up early, and eagerly throw the baton of responsibility into the hands of my grandchildren?” I ask myself these questions and it makes me feel like a coward. I pick up a pinch of tiny dried petals and sprinkle them within a larger petal, “this will be a prayer for courage”, I say to myself. Moving to the next petal, I place a prayer within for belief. I desperately need to believe in something beyond our current environmental and political crisis. I do this 9 more times, moving around the center bud, laying down prayers for my own responsibility, for growing into eldership, for steadfastness even when I am scared. And then right as I place my last prayer down, a small gust of wind comes through, overturning a petal, sending bits and pieces of my thoughts into the air. An eternal reminder that we will never be in control and that everything is already in motion. 




“So long as Hawaii was a monarchy, however, a non-Hawaiian would never have complete control of the government and therein lies the tale of Bayonet, the Overthrow and the American annexation.

The same founders of the Independent/Reform Party in 1883 made up the committee of safety that took control of the government in 1893 under the protection of American soldiers and warships. In 1895, in a particularly spiteful and cynical piece of timing, they declared their republic on July 4, a “government” that had all of 4,000 mostly white citizens, and declared Sanford Dole president for life. That this “republic” was set up for no other purpose than to encourage the Americans to annex the islands makes it impossible to commemorate the Fourth as a day of independence. I cannot imagine how any Hawaiian, knowledgeable about this history and feeling any sense of kinship with his or her nineteenth century ancestors, celebrates the Fourth of July.”

– Jonathan Osorio, Excerpt from ‘A Hawaiian National on Independence Day’

My family is First Nations from northern British Columbia, but I grew up in Hawai`i, and have an American passport. These identities are more than present for me, from July 1st through the 4th as Canada celebrates its Confederation Day and America their Independence Day. As I’ve become an adult, these four days have also become all the more confusing for me. I didn’t grow up with a nationalistic sense, as my parents were always honest with me about the history on which this country was founded. My mother, an African American woman, had us watching Roots at an early age so that we would always understand how the color of our ancestors skin was linked to the inequity of the ‘American Dream.’ I remember having serious doubts around the age of 10 about the daily standing in school to observe the flag while pledging allegiance to “The United States of America”. So much of my ancestry and present reality did not lend itself to comfortably believing in this pledge. Hawai`i is geographically isolated from the mainland of America. We were literally, not united with the rest of the states, and culturally we were being raised with what seemed to be a very different mentality than those raised on the mainland. 

The Hawaiian Sovereignty Movement has been present my entire life. On the side of the highways are homemade signs that state just this: "Reinstated Kingdom of Hawai`i". I couldn’t always comprehend the full immensity of these signs as a child, but by the simple fact of being native, there was a deeper sense of knowing. I often sit with myself now and ask, “What does it mean to be native?”  For me the answer is tied up with an understanding that at some point, invaders arrived on the land of my ancestors and took over through any means necessary. Today we use words like colonization to sum up the before history of massacre, disease and religion, when really colonization is only possible after indigenous populations are left decimated, hanging onto the bare threads of survival. Assimilation is also a part of this process. Through the use of shaming the native or Indian out of populations, total control can be taken, as cultural identity is lost to the larger mass identity of nationalism. 

A few years ago new language began to rapidly move around me in the islands. “Occupied by the American Military” was suddenly a way to understand the deeper ‘why’ behind Hawai`i as a state and the large military base that is on the island of Oahu. “The Overthrow” of the Hawaiian Kingdom became a focal piece of history as the general public started untying the knot between water issues, the shipping industry and our extreme dependence on food and other resources from the mainland. People started understanding their place in it all. The word settler, became commonplace as those non- Hawaiians accepted the actual history of the place they now inhabited. We were not Native Hawaiians, we were from somewhere else, but that didn’t mean that we couldn’t work together. As it was most recently explained to me, if you are not native to the land you are currently living on, then your responsibility is to support those who’s ancestors are of that land in their rightful fight for sovereignty. Part of this process is supporting the re-framing of what was once commonplace. I don’t write any of this in an act of shaming, but I do write in an act of honesty.  Simply put from my perspective, the celebration of Canada Day and The Fourth of July are a celebration of continual land theft and most importantly, the celebration of Indigenous resiliency in the fight for survival against all odds. 

I am aware that there are many other perspectives that one can bring to my viewpoint, but as our “democracy” unravels for all I am sure many more are beginning to feel into this loss of “independence” that native peoples have felt for hundreds of years. There are ways forward, and together, but they will not fit into our conventional sense of business as usual. As The United States takes pause to observe and remember false histories built upon slavery and war, I ask you to take a moment aside from the usual agenda as well. Ask yourself, who are the original caretakers of the land I live on and where are they today? How is their history wrapped up in the one that America is celebrating? And lastly, what do I want my place to be in it all? That might be the most important question, because against all desires of our government at hand, you still have a choice in how and where you bring your voice. 

The Prayer:
I’ve been watching dandelions spring up within my yard over the last months. At first there were just a few, lone yellow topped stalks that budded closed at night and wisped across the yard over the days, seeding the barren soil. Now they are everywhere, covering whole areas with their thick dark green leaves, I can’t help but look at them and think, “against all odds.” Dandelions are incredible. The plant itself is a token of resiliency, a reminder that even where seemingly nothing can regrow, there will be life again. When used medicinally to treat inflamed livers, they whisper, “this too will heal.” I decided that for these thoughts I wanted to sit with these plants as a way to provide healing for my own anger and pain. The prayer that wanted to come forward was one that asked for wholeness. 

I collected petals that had fallen from their stems over the last week and began to weave them into the base of dandelions, re-forming them into a larger flower. I thought about how many of us are scattered from our true places of origin, how many of us hurting in our search for a place to call home. There is so much that cannot be rebuilt to replicate what was, but that does not mean re-building cannot happen. The reality is just that what will be born will look different than what was. I don’t think its wrong that it hurts to come to that realization, because it does hurt. In matters of reconciliation we ask, “What is possible?” Sometimes the answers seem futile, not enough for all the wrong that has been. But then I have to ask myself, “Will my anger feed me and those around me into further right action?” I know that it won’t. I know that the real injustice is to live my life out of anger and the only real possibility of reconciliation is to define my own healing. 

This is my own prayer for healing from the roots up. 



This video clip has been haunting me. 

Stephanie Woodward, a disabled woman protesting Trumpcare, is literally ripped from her wheelchair while being arrested. My immediate response is a tightening in my throat as I watch the footage from the comfort of my bed. Everything that created this one instance is wrong and I am struggling to understand how this can be okay. Simply put, it is not okay. Just because it is happening, does not make it okay. Sometimes I have to say this aloud to myself so that I don’t forget. Disabled peoples, whose lives are being placed on the line by a proposed $800 billion dollar cut to Medicaid, should not be arrested for stating their right to stay alive. As Woodward writes, “I mean to live in freedom. Because the liberty of so many Americans with disabilities is at stake, we laid our bodies on the line last week. We chanted loudly as we were taken away from the office and into police custody.” 

The Prayer:
I went and sat out in my garden after watching this clip. My baby greens have bolted and I harvested the last bits from a plant before pulling it out of the ground. I outlined a circle in the earth, where the roots of the plant had once been. I wanted to ‘plant’ this prayer in my garden bed. I had carried from the house a bowl of purple flowers that I had dried a few months ago. My original inclination was to make something with all of them, but once outside I only felt like using a few flowers and nothing else. Nothing so big wanted to be created, because within me I felt small. This actual piece itself only took about two minutes to put into place, but once done I sat with it for quite some time. I lay my hands down alongside the edges of the circle I had traced and closed my eyes. I realized that as much as this was about those directly impacted by Medicaid cuts this was also prayer of forgiveness. I thought about what it would feel like to be one of those policemen pulling disabled people from their wheelchairs, and my heart broke for them as well. As Woodward had put it in an interview with Democracy Now! the ADAPT activists and the policemen were both doing their jobs, it just turned out that on that day, those jobs directly confronted each other. 

You can read Woodward's words on this incident at this column she wrote for Vox.  





Can we learn to respond to the mounting violence in our time with soul- honoring and life- giving ways of being in the world? Much depends on the answer.
 Parker J. Palmer

Dear Friends, 

In the face of social, environmental and political unrest, Parker J. Palmer’s words have become my compass of compassion and grounding. While thinking about what I wanted to offer to the LOAM community, I referred again and again to the feeling that these works evoke within my being. “Somehow, through it all, there could be a way to exist within the chaos,” they seem to be whispering.  This idea, that I could feel whole while living within so much fragmentation seems far-flung and nearly impossible. I decided that for my artist-in-residency I wanted to explore deeper into this contradiction. 

Most days people refer to me as an activist or an environmentalist. I like to call myself an educator on earth stewardship. My personal life is as much my work as my work is personal, as I am always seeking to live into what it means for me to be an active steward. For most of my work and projects I am asked to take in an incredible amount of media. This media more often than not comes in through screens and sometimes through radio or actual printed publications. I love my work and the relationships that have been built through these spaces, but staying updated on all that is going wrong in the world often leaves me depleted. I think many of you out there might feel similar. We live in an age of unbelievable connectivity and at our fingertips lay an endless string of ways to get involved amidst the devastation.  As Kate Weiner of LOAM writes, “There is a tremendous pressure within the mainstream climate movement to work yourself to the bone. I've written before about how the pressure to perpetually act conforms to the same capitalist measures of productivity that so many of us are fighting against. But it can be difficult to bring it on home— to believe that it is not only nourishing but also necessary to provide pauses in our day; to trust that sitting some things out can create the space for beautiful things to bloom; and to know that rethinking our everyday actions can be as healing to the world as advocating for broad policy change.” This is the space from which I wish to share and offer an invitation, and LOAM as a publication is the perfect place to offer from. Here, the concept of sustainability is understood as more than just an outward application. Sustainability must first and foremost begin from within if we are to talk about this being the work of our lives. And so I ask myself, “What will be the soul quenching practice of pause that will nurture me for the long- haul?”

The times are urgent; let us slow down.
Bayo Akomolafe

Pause Within the Chaos is an art project that works with imbuing prayer and ritual into everyday life. Inspired by Asumund Seip’s book, 100 Days for the Earth, which explores 100 days of writing to the places we hold dear, Pause Within the Chaos, will channel this same exercise of dialogue with the earth as a daily practice of active prayer. The practice will follow three steps, which I’ve outlined below. 

    1. In-taking media: This project is orientated around finding new ways of working with taking in and digesting media. The daily ritual of listening to or reading the news will remain a crucial part of this process.
    2. Giving pause: Often I let incredibly dense news wash through me unconsciously. I realized that an important piece to keeping my own sanity is to create moments of pause after learning about something particularly maddening or upsetting.  Often it is only a few minutes, but those moments allow me to build the capacity in myself to hold this new information. I noticed that when I fall into the unconscious space of letting news hit me, while say I am preparing and/or eating food, that my body’s ability to even digest is limited. Giving pause is a part of how I integrate.  

    3. A breath & a prayer: From this place of pause, small earth prayers will then be made from natural materials like sticks, rocks and petals. The idea is not to illustrate the media but to find a way to work with creating a healthy cycle of inhalation and exhalation; Inhale media, exhale a tangible prayer of grace. While facing “the mounting violence in our time” I feel dedicated to finding a new response to that reminds me of my own humanity. 

Simplicity is key to this project. Like many of you, my life is full, and I am often looking for practices that can be easily incorporated into my routine. This project is also an invitation into a conversation with each of you. Perhaps you work with a practice that proves to be sufficient in holding space for the pain of the world, or maybe you are seeking one. Over the coming month, I would like to support a dialogue around what feels enriching, nourishing and soul- giving for you during these wild times. I am also curious how can we begin to become even more creative when thinking about ways to bridge our personal lives and the work of our lives. Your thoughts are eagerly welcomed as we continue to recognize and harness the power of our collective minds. 

In Deep Gratitude,

Kailea Frederick is a First Nations woman dedicated to supporting individuals of all cultures in remembering their ties to the earth. Growing up off the grid in Maui, Hawai`i forever imprinted in her the importance of reciprocity through indigenous world - view. She feels raised by wild spaces and intimately tied to Honua, our island earth. 

She is a Spiritual Ecology Fellow, and has served as a youth delegate twice to the United Nations Climate Change conferences (COP). Her work on the front-lines of international climate justice has forever connected her to the lives of those most impacted by climate change and extractive based industry. These are the foundational pieces that fuel her as she observes the radical disconnect that most human beings experience from our only living habitat.
Currently she is developing an immersive curriculum titled, Earth Is `Ohana which explores the question "How do we practice returning home to our landscapes in order to regenerate our relationship with the earth?” Her artist-in-residency project, Pause Within the Chaos, aims to approach this question through artful prayer. You can learn more at 



Working with nature, in nature, for nature, and through nature has enriched my life, widened my perspective, left me in awe, and given me purpose. 

My latest painting is a tribute to this journey—a path taken, a perspective changed. A tribute to all that is green and good in this world! It is still a work in progress and far from finished, but I will give you a sneak preview at the creative process!

As you know by now, my work process is completely sustainable. This starts with the surface I choose for my work. For this painting, I used burlap because it is a sustainable material and biodegrades. The burlap needs to be glued and prepared with a gesso to create a surface ready to paint on. All of the materials I use for making glue and gesso are carefully chosen.

With this painting, I wanted to start with green from the very beginning! So I mixed in green pigments with the glue and later with the gesso. The result was a green canvas to start working with. I deliberately left some of the burlap exposed, wanting to show the material as is, appreciating and respecting the materials given to me by nature.

When it comes to creating my image, I often work on the idea for a long time, sketching it out in my mind. The process of drawing itself takes a long time but I don’t mind, because I know this part of the process is so very important! 

Once the drawing is complete, I start adding the first layer of paint. Working with paint made from natural pigments is a slow process—you have to add thin layer over thin layer to build up colours and depth.

I will be working on this painting whole summer and will be experimenting with changing colours with natural acids. This will (hopefully!) expand my range of greens. I will also be working outdoors a lot, because the sun will work with the acids. And because it is just so blissful and humbling to be working in nature! 

Working with nature, in nature, for nature, through nature…researching, discovering, failing and learning along the way. I love every part of it! For me, the best part of my work is not the end result, it is the process, the journey…





I love art. And even though I am an artist myself, I still consider all my work to be possible waste. Why? Because I love nature. My fascination with nature, life, and the world around me has been with me throughout my childhood. But as I grew up and attended art school at the turn of the 21st century, my love for nature faded to the background. 

Sustainability, climate change, cradle-to-cradle, bio-based, and other now common terms were unheard of then. As the years passed, I searched for beauty in simplicity, concentrating on the little things both in my professional career as an artist and in my personal life. More and more, nature has found its way back into my life and into my work. I have started to dig deeper and broadened my perspective. The relationship between human, nature, and sustainability have become recurring themes in my work. I have found beauty in the rough, pure burlap, the homemade gesso, the pigments. 

I cherish these materials, the craftsmanship, and the cradle-to-cradle way of thinking and working because for me, image and content should strengthen each other, not contradict each other. Art that explores a theme like sustainability but is made with non-sustainable materials is, in my opinion, a contradiction in terms and the height of hypocrisy. 

I believe that the art world should be progressive and innovative. But through years of doing research and forging my own path, I have found that when it comes to sustainability, the art world painfully lags behind. 

There is still so much art being created with non-sustainable materials, even toxic materials, and artists aren’t taught to think about their production process. It is the art/end product that counts. The art world doesn’t allow itself to see work as possible waste. 

While we have seen and continue to see positive change, integration of circular systems, and cradle-to-cradle production in many other fields like design, architecture, manufacturing, and engineering, somehow there is no room for discussion in the arts. Yet we live in a time where there is more art being created than ever before, by professionals, amateurs, and hobbyists. It’s an illusion to believe that all of it will be preserved for future generations. Some of it will be worth hanging on to, but let’s face it—most of it will become waste. 

However, it doesn’t have to be this way. Much could be accomplished if the art world was willing to broaden its focus and consider the impact of the art-making process and the afterlife of artworks in addition to worrying about the end product. Only by seeing art as waste and therefore a possible problem can solutions be found. 

And solutions can be found! It may sound strange, but I am very proud of now being at a stage where my work process is completely sustainable, the end result cradle-to-cradle. This means that my paintings are completely biodegradable, yet they can be conserved for centuries as well. 

So after my personal research I am now taking things a step further. Sharing my thoughts, raising awareness, changing perspectives. Exploring possibilities to make real changes in the art material supply business together with interested, engaged businesses. 

Sustainability, climate change, our relationship to the earth we live on and the species we share it with—these are the defining issues of my generation and of the generations to come. The art world should take a stand. It has an important role to play in this changing world.



When it comes to working with nature’s treasures, everything starts with the way you look at things. Once you open your eyes to the potential of stones, layers of soil, plants, and roots, you will see colour everywhere. Wandering will not be the same anymore and you will begin to come home with beautiful treasures after each walk!

Working with natural capital is a learning process. But experimenting with and discovering what works and what doesn't work is part of the fun! With inorganic pigments, I start by roughly grinding the raw material, sifting it, and grinding it again (and again) until the material is as finely ground as possible. I really love this process because it's a way for me to physically work with nature and to truly engage with my materials. Watching it change within my hands is a very humbling and meditative process. 

Organic pigments are a different story as there are not many that can be extracted from plants or flowers although I have learned that both madder and woad can. I especially like to use these pigments to make tempera paint because it is biodegradable. To make this paint, mix the pigments with water to create a paste before stirring in a mixture of egg yolk, linseed oil and water. Mix until smooth. 

The colours that come from nature are beautiful as they are, but when you treat them differently, the possibilities are almost endless. The reaction of each pigment to heat or acid is almost a miracle to see. You might know in theory that soils or stones with a lot of iron oxide will turn more red when exposed to high temperatures or that a pigment will react when you change its pH level— but seeing it happen is still kind of magic to me! 

In the image above, you can see how the same ten pigments transform with temperature. The first row shows the original pigments, the second when the pigments are heated to 850 degrees Celsius, and the third when the pigments are heated to 1150 degrees Celsius. It really is a kind of magic!

With so many different treasures, so many shades and hues, it is not difficult to make art that shows the beauty of nature! Art that is and always will be part of nature. Art that leaves me humbled and in awe...

THE ART OF WASTE: Reflections on the Biodegradable Research Project


At the moment I am working on a research project about the biodegradability of my work. This raises a lot of eyebrows. Some people ask me: Why should you want to destroy your artwork?! Others state that it is a waste of capital. A waste of art, really!

But is it? Considering art as capital in a world where everything is translated into monetary value doesn't ring true for me. My work is inspired by nature, and I have spent the last two years doing research into sustainable alternatives for regular painting materials. My work process is now completely cradle-to-cradle so that everything that I create will eventually biodegrade if wanted or needed. That's why I wanted to watch the process of biodegrading firsthand. 

As I will be writing about more in the coming weeks, my materials come from the earth. In that sense, nature is my capital. I have spent a great deal of time observing and reading about processes in nature. And what I have learned is that there is no beginning and no end—nature is a circle. There really is no waste in nature and everything has a purpose after its lifespan.

This project is about giving back. If nature is my capital—and I believe nature is the only real capital we humans have because if we destroy nature, we are bankrupt—how can watching my work biodegrade be a waste of art? I give my art back to nature so that it can once again be part of the circle of life. I have come to see art as potential waste, and have changed my work process to make sure that, like in nature, there is no waste, only a circle.