Bridge takes away from scenery that feeds imagination

But now there is a new endangered species here on Flathead Lake: the mythical beasts and monsters of artists’ imaginations. A bridge is being built on private property that is real and significant (over 500 feet long) and violates an important environmental act (The Lakeshore Protection Act) passed by the Montana legislature in 1975. Part of the purpose of the Act was to make sure that any work done on a Montana lakeshore would not create a visual impact “discordant with natural scenic values.”

The Dockstader Island bridge obscures the previously breathtaking view across the lake to the Swan Mountains and limits the ability we’ve had here previously to just roam wild and be part of all the beauty around us.

Originally from New Jersey, I moved to Montana to heal the wounds that are created by living in the most densely populated state and being so isolated from nature. In Montana I see (and love) the land and its people and animals differently each day, recording it as I experience it with my approach of natural spontaneous capture. My work falls in the matrix where fine art and documentary meet—where I can tell truths about our relationships to other people, animals, nature, and ourselves. My work is about empathy.

When I first arrived here I was told by more than one local naysayer, surprised at my arrival here in the Flathead, that I could not eat the landscape here —inferring how difficult it was to make a living in this remote northwest corner of Montana. But I proved them wrong by creating new and meaningful bodies of work inspired by the people and earth around me and having the greatest successes of my career since. And there are many other creative spirits here as well who also make their living off the land in a similarly sustainable manner.

But now a new sort of alien has landed on the shore of Flathead Lake and artists here may soon go hungry.

— Lauren Grabelle is a Bigfork-based photographer. The column appeared originally in the Whitefish Review.

Out on the north shore of Flathead Lake there are beasts—mythical as well as regrettably real. I took this photo of the former shortly after arriving in Montana in 2010. The land and spaces around me in my new home allowed my mind and body to be free and run wild. I saw whale bones and Giger-like aliens scattered across the lowered shore line that first May. I delighted in their presence and in the time spent transferring that delight and wonder to pixels so that I could share my vision with others.

But now there is a new endangered species here on Flathead Lake: the mythical beasts and monsters of artists’ imaginations. A bridge is being built on private property that is real and significant (over 500 feet long) and violates an important environmental act (The Lakeshore Protection Act) passed by the Montana legislature in 1975. Part of the purpose of the Act was to make sure that any work done on a Montana lakeshore would not create a visual impact “discordant with natural scenic values.”

The Dockstader Island bridge obscures the previously breathtaking view across the lake to the Swan Mountains and limits the ability we’ve had here previously to just roam wild and be part of all the beauty around us.

Originally from New Jersey, I moved to Montana to heal the wounds that are created by living in the most densely populated state and being so isolated from nature. In Montana I see (and love) the land and its people and animals differently each day, recording it as I experience it with my approach of natural spontaneous capture. My work falls in the matrix where fine art and documentary meet—where I can tell truths about our relationships to other people, animals, nature, and ourselves. My work is about empathy.

When I first arrived here I was told by more than one local naysayer, surprised at my arrival here in the Flathead, that I could not eat the landscape here —inferring how difficult it was to make a living in this remote northwest corner of Montana. But I proved them wrong by creating new and meaningful bodies of work inspired by the people and earth around me and having the greatest successes of my career since. And there are many other creative spirits here as well who also make their living off the land in a similarly sustainable manner.

But now a new sort of alien has landed on the shore of Flathead Lake and artists here may soon go hungry.

— Lauren Grabelle is a Bigfork-based photographer. The column appeared originally in the Whitefish Review.