We had the opportunity to talk to documentary photographer, Tracy Barbutes, about her recent participation in our annual public outdoor exhibition, Vision(ary). Her ongoing project, At Home with Fire in the Sierra Nevada, began with the 2013 Rim Fire events near her hom, envolving into a contemplative reflection of artist’s connection to place: “Wildfire changed the trajectory of my career and it altered my nervous system,” remarks Barbutes. “My vision has evolved from the reverence I hold for this natural phenomenon.”
Tracy Barbutes is an independent photographer who has lived in Northern California on Sierra Miwok lands near Yosemite National Park for more than two decades. Her current work often features wildfire, women’s issues, rural life and Yosemite National Park. Tracy’s work has been featured in National Geographic Magazine, The Washington Post, High Country News and The Wall Street Journal, to name a few. Her image, “Transformation” is included in the Women Photograph book, “What We See: Women & Nonbinary Perspective Through the Lens.” She has exhibited throughout Europe, Asia and the U.S.
Follow Tracy Barbutes on Instagram: @tracybarbutes
Website: www.tracybarbutes.com
What inspired you to start documenting the wildfire crisis in the Sierra Nevada region, particularly after the Rim Fire in 2013?
The Rim Fire was, more-or-less, the advent of the mega-fire era we find ourselves experiencing. I cannot leave my home without seeing a burn scar from any number of fires that have burned since 2013. This changing landscape exists throughout the Sierra Nevada and Western U.S. (and globally, obviously). As a photojournalist and documentarian, it is my duty to tell the story of the changing climate and its impacts.
Can you share more about your journey as a photographer and how you began focusing on themes such as wildfire, women’s issues, and rural life?
As a photojournalist working for daily newspapers, I regularly covered everything from sports, breaking news, gang violence, community events, structure fires, politics, etc. The 2013 Rim Fire ignited not long after I left a staff position to become a full time independent photographer. An international event happened, literally, in my backyard, and that 402-square-mile fire changed the trajectory of my career. I began to document wildfire, which led to documenting forest management/mismanagement, prescribed burning, community education efforts, noticing that women are a minority in firefighting, as well as a host of issues that impact rural communities. The more people I meet, the more questions I ask, the more I find to document.
Your project, At Home with Fire in the Sierra Nevada, spans over 10 years. How has your approach to documenting wildfires evolved during this time?
My imagery initially focused on helping residents understand the dynamics of wildfire, hoping it would help them to make good preparation decisions for themselves and their families. My strictly photojournalistic approach has since evolved to include contemplative, poetic, conceptual work in hopes the imagery will educate a broader audience about how climate change, and specifically, fire, affects all of us, and especially those who live in the Wildland Urban Interface (WUI).
Could you describe a memorable experience or moment while photographing wildfires that deeply impacted you or your work?
Obviously, the Rim Fire had the most profound effect personally and professionally. It was the first time I covered a large wildfire, it was the first fire I watched from my inside my home, and it was the first time I evacuated. I spent many days in active fire zones with Public Information Officers (PIOs) and firefighters learning how to safely be in and around fire, while learning about fire behavior. It was eight years later, during the 2021 Caldor Fire, that I was ready to see an entirely different aspect of wildfire. The Caldor Fire had already churned through the south side of this section of the river canyon corridor, and it was continuing to burn moderately up and down the hillsides. However, the fire was raging upward on the backside of the canyon, creating a pulsating orange light show that illuminated the entire sky. I pulled safely off the road to experience trees torching on the ridgeline easily 1,000 feet above the road, the fire spotting up and over the ridge, the fire’s glow and smoke pulsed and it roared. It shook me awake to the fact that fire is a living, breathing, powerful entity capable of destruction, cleansing, beauty, rebirth.
Is there/are there particular images in the series you’d like to expand on or tell us more about?
Transformation. I spent the day exploring the Sequoia National Forest (Western Mono/Monache and Tübatulabal lands) in areas along the Great Western Divide Highway and in and around the Trail of 100 Giants at the end of September 2021. I felt compelled to find and document Giant Sequoias that had survived multiple lightning-caused wildfires: the KNP Complex Fire burning to the north in Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks and this one, the Windy Fire, burning in Sequoia National Forest. I needed to bear witness to survival after having already documented so much devastation this fire season. I should have carried a chainsaw and was fortunate that I could work my way around burning logs and downed trees choking the roadways. I walked through powdery gray soil while breathing putrid, suffocating smoke and avoiding fire-weakened and damaged trees that crashed around me. I did a double-take at this burning remnant, as ironically, it felt like the most ‘alive’ thing I had experienced thus far on the day’s journey. In an instant, this downed tree, smoldering from the inside, became symbolic of a grieving, weeping planet, a Western landscape ravaged from drought and an inflamed nation fractured from deceptive narratives.
In what ways has living in such a wildfire-prone area shaped your personal and artistic outlook?
I rarely sleep through a night during fire season. Year after year of intense fires and more days of intensely unhealthy air quality, I find myself searching for poetic beauty in the changing landscape. I need to find positives to balance with the destruction.
Can you tell us more about the juxtaposition in Diptych – Spring Storm, September Suffocation at Tenaya Lake (2015, 2020)?
Tenaya Lake is located along Tioga Pass Road, Yosemite’s mountain pass (the highest elevation highway mountain pass in California). The pass, which is just up the road from my home, closes in the fall as inclement weather encroaches and reopens anytime between May and July, depending on snow and road conditions. Opening day is my favorite day of the year, by far. The lake, the pass, and all that is made possible by having access equals absolute joy and a multitude of options. Spring Storm was taken on the pass’s opening day 2015, which led to a full day of hiking and fishing in pure mountain air, where the AQI was ~10. September Suffocation was taken on my birthday while multiple mega fires raged throughout the state, forcing the closure of most public lands in this region, and the AQI was well over 300, equal to emergency advisories. This meant no hiking, no fishing, no paddling, no exploring new mountain lakes or meadows, and warnings to remain indoors. These images represent the dichotomy of joy, renewal, beauty, exploration and possibility with devastation, loss and grief that comes with living in the heart of wildfire country.
Finally, what advice would you give to aspiring photographers who are interested in documenting environmental issues or landscapes undergoing significant change?
Please – listen to people who live in the communities you are documenting. Make time to understand the issues. Please fight the urge to create stereotypical imagery. If you’re covering fire or other weather events, please have all necessary PPE and have some training before you put yourself in the elements.
