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A lighthouse’s geographical range is the greatest distance the curvature of the earth permits an object of a given height to be seen from a particular height of eye without regard to luminous intensity or visibility conditions.

We met by chance at an art lecture in New York. We started talking and realized we lived near each other. Several years went by, and we never really kept in touch, but we didn’t not stay in touch either. Maybe there was something kindred in us but not explicit, except we are both artists who grew up in New York City and make work that cares about light. We reconnected on a hot summer day in August 2024 and again the following summer. In the fall, we began a collaboration at a distance over the dark months, using text message as the most expedient medium.

We began sending each other cross-country weather reports from our respective locations. Our geographical range was the 3000-mile distance between us—Julia in New York, NY (40° N, 74°W), Shaw in Olympia, WA (47° N, 122°W)—and our particular height, without regard to visibility conditions. Feels like this from here.

We wrote during the dark months of short, cold days, November through February. Sometimes we reported numeric facts like temperature, pressure, humidity, dew point— facts our phone app told us, but didn’t always mean much in our bodies. We wrote many words about color and light, trying to describe the sky as it changed from sunrise to sunset. Eventually, personal notes got stitched into the weather reports. There was overlap in the categories of sickness, relationships, the small world around us, and the wide umbrella of politics. We made paintings during these months. The words and paintings did not describe each other, but they came about in a similar fashion: daily, accumulative, conditioning, non-heroic, facts of being.

Now it is March. We meet in Bellingham, WA, and bring the writing and the paintings into a small room that is round-like, like the earth. We install them across the walls, bringing a curvature by wrapping words and images, and open a show on the weekend of the Spring Equinox

–Shaw Osha & Julia Rooney

1. Everyday just because; watercolor, pencil, and cyanotype on paper; 4×4 in (each); 2025-2026

2. Bent at the ankle because its back to rain; watercolor and ink on paper; 4×4 in (each); 2025-2026

3. 11 hours, 12 minutes of daylight now; watercolor and pencil on paper; 4×4 in (each); 2025-2026

4. Lasted less than a minute and it has already passed; watercolor and acrylic on paper; 4×4 in; 2025-2026

5. Circadian animal inside the animal; watercolor on paper; 4×4 in (each); 2025-2026

6. The dark months are here like when Mina knows Dracula has arrived; watercolor on paper; 4×4 in (each); 2025-2026

7. Kind of a shadow form; watercolor, cyanotype, acrylic, and paper towel on paper; 4×4 in (each); 2025-2026

8. Water and air mixed all the way through; watercolor on paper; 4×4 in; 2025-2026