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Allen
Moe
by MJ Andrak
Soft spoken with a
ready smile, a wealth of talent, many adventures tucked under his belt,
and admittedly “city phobic”, Allen Moe sits with a cup of
coffee in a log cabin on Guemes that is warm and overflowing with the
art that expresses his love of all things natural. The cabin with its
windows and skylights lets in the natural light. It is the glow that emanates
from inside that brings me here on this cool, crisp autumn day to hear
the fascinating account of his life.
Allen Moe was born
in Yosemite Valley, California to parents, who were park district employees.
He received his BA in Ecology from UC Berkeley in 1970.
Allen spent two years
as a park ranger in Alaska at Mt McKinley. He also worked for the Department
of Fish and Wildlife as a biologist studying seabirds in the remote Aleutian
Islands.

Allen's
homestead in Alaska. |
Allen, and his then
girlfriend, were one of the last to obtain a federal homestead grant of
5 acres, in Alaska, {1972 before the pipeline} After staking their claim
they built a 12x16 log cabin. In spring of 1973 the two were flown with
supplies to this remote area. Without a clue about what they were doing,
the couple cut down and used 40 white spruce logs. They used ingenuity,
a cold chisel, and single shot rifle to carve out their cabin in the wilderness
and become self-sufficient.
He arrived on Guemes
via the inside passage after having kayaked from Prince Rupert. He resorted
to hitchhiking the marine highway after encountering some bad September
weather. Armed only with the map from the ferry and the name of a friend’s
brother, he arrived on Guemes prepared to sell his kayak and buy a bus
ticket south.
Last spring he did
a seminar workshop in textiles at Honolulu University. Winter often finds
him in Death Valley, California observing the desert floor and gravel
pattern after a flash flood and turning it into art. When asked about
the future he says he has no plans. “I just want to work on my art.”
His art goes back
to his college days. He made his first clay pot in college and needed
to put skin on it. He went to the drugstore and bought suede and shoelaces
to glaze over. This artform has evolved considerably since then.

What
look like gilded satin ribbon is actually herring. |
They are simple black
pots adorned with the organs, skin, and bones of animals, fish and insects.
Large pots covered with cow stomachs look like contour maps, or shoals
of shifting sands seen from above. Hundreds of ladybugs assembled under
translucent, resinlike deerskin cause the object nearly to burst with
implied life. What look like gilded satin ribbon is actually herring.
Ladybugs form a symmetric pattern. Chicken feet are splayed across a pot’s
surface. He gathers his materials not only from forest roads but also
from supermarkets: chicken-foot skins from a Food Pavilion; smelt from
an Anacortes Safeway; cow stomachs from a local butcher.

A
simple black pot adorned with chicken-foot skins from Food Pavilion. |
These are not serviceable
pots. Vessels are usually built to carry necessary elements; these are
built to bear some kind of witness to the dead creatures they wear. They're
respectful and spiritual.
Robert Sund’s
word description of the river: “Out on the river you know you are
in the midst of a great creation. You see the old work, and the
new work side by side; the ancient migration routes of all the birds,
and the slow building of silt and soil in the estuary; a small grassy
island, for instance, that wasn’t there last year and that, in a
few seasons, will grow new willow for the blackbirds and the beavers.”

Allen working on pots at his house along the Skagit River. |
Robert Sund died in
2001. Allen spends much of his time at Robert Sund’s former gill-netters
shack in Fishtown on the North Fork at the mouth of the Skagit River.
Allen created a beautifully unique urn that contains Sund’s ashes.
At the river he sits with a flashlight and draws the stars in the night
sky. He relishes the birds and the wildlife. He creates his pottery. There
are many parallels between the two artists lives. We are fortunate to
have the memory of one and the company of the other.
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