Henrietta's Closeup

I sit on a lawn chair in a hay carpeted shed with Henrietta, a large brown hog, at my side, and a renowned portrait artist, Brenda Zlamany seated directly across from me, peering into her Camera Lucida, a drawing aid that performs an optical superimposition of the subject being viewed.

“This one is from the 40’s,” explains the slight dark curly haired woman dressed in black jeans, now smudged with dirt. “I could replace it, but…”

Brenda, a city gal from Brooklyn, has never had a close encounter with a hog; she’s nervous that Henrietta might destroy her delicate piece of camera equipment. I reassure her and distract Henrietta with a carrot. From the sketch she quickly makes, Brenda will paint Henrietta and me with watercolors; this portrait will be included in a project Brenda is doing about the impact of climate change on people’s lives.

Brenda, who brands herself “the Itinerant Portraitist” is visiting Goatlandia, one of several stops in her exploration of the devastating Sonoma fires. She’s studying how Californians live with the effects of climate change induced threats. When she’s done with us, she’ll conduct her final interview and make a portrait of the Fire Chief of Sonoma County; she'll pack up her paints and proceed to her next destination, Alaska. She'll be painting portraits of Inuit whalers in Utqiagvik and of scientists and park rangers in Denali National Park.

Through portraiture and video interviews that will later be edited for a documentary film, Brenda gives context and meaning to social and environmental justice issues. She captures the faces of people (and now, pigs), collecting narratives that both inspire and inhabit each portrait. The collaboration between artist and subject that Brenda facilitates results in something remarkable.

Her work is not just a rendering of a person -- it becomes part of a story, an exchange that belongs to something larger, something that she hopes will move people to care deeply and perhaps take action about issues such as climate change. “We’ve gotten so used to and numbed by the media images,” she explains. She is interested in slowing things down and providing a richer perspective through her art. 

I talk to Brenda about how my experience at Goatlandia has helped me counter the despair I feel about the state of the world; I explain how caring for these creatures soothes my soul and sparks joy. I think about the sign I pass on 101 when I drive home from the animal sanctuary that declares, “Sonoma, we will rise from the ashes.”

Before our session in the shed is over, Henrietta places her snout into Brenda’s palette of watercolors.

Laughing, I grab Brenda’s iPhone, and start videoing the curious hog and the artist interacting.  “I’ve never had an experience like this one,” Brenda declares as she wipes “pig slime” from the top corner of her paper.  

Some of Brenda’s past projects include traveling throughout China, painting portraits of aboriginal Taiwanese teenagers and over 888 Chinese people. She’s created 100 portraits of 100-year-olds at the Hebrew National Home in New York, painting and talking with many Holocaust survivors.  She has received a Fulbright grant to pursue her artistic globetrotting, and later when I check out her web site (brendazlamany.com), I am blown away by the beauty and humanity of her work.

“And now you’re here at Goatlandia, where we also have stories of survivors,” I observe. I describe how as a runt, Henrietta was thrown into a fire by an abusive farmer, and then saved by the founders of Goatlandia. I show her a photo of Henrietta as a baby, wearing a t-shirt reading “Pants Optional,” that protected the burnt skin on her back. I tell Brenda how Alana and Deborah rescued a large herd of goats during the Camp Fire.  

She remarks on the calm and peaceful vibe at Goatlandia, marveling at how the animals interact seamlessly across species. To punctuate the point, a rooster pops into the shed to check out what we’re up to, and then the Hog sisters amble in, wondering why they aren’t being included in the portrait. I reward Henrietta with an apple, as she has been such a willing participant.

We talk for a while on the porch as Brenda continues to paint  -- about our daughters, about the power of storytelling, about art and writing. “Goya painted animals,” Brenda says.  “Did he do pigs?” I ask, delighting at the image of Henrietta she has captured.  Me, I am looking pretty intense in the portrait, but that’s not surprising. 

Brenda promises to send me an image of the finished portrait and then hurries off to her next meeting because what was supposed to take 20 minutes has turned into three hours.  She waves goodbye from behind the wheel of her rental car; inspired by this interaction, I return to raking goat poop. Another unexpected day at Goatlandia.