Moving to Washington was interesting because I had actually never been here before. This move was really an act of self-preservation and taking a leap of faith. I moved to Olympia sight unseen and just had to hope it worked out. It really is a special place. I loved it here, coming from Utah, where it is hot, dry, high elevation, and then plunging to sea level, where it is cool and wet. It was like reviving a dying plant.

But I also see so many similarities between Hopi, Arizona, Utah, New Mexico, the Bay Area in California, the East Coast—Baltimore and Georgia—all places I have lived in and loved. Recently, I drove through eastern Washington and Oregon, and the desert full of sage felt so familiar. But then you turn a bend, and there’s water—reminding me that I am far from the desert.

I will always feel at home in Arizona; it is ancestral. Every time I go back to visit Hopi, I feel a deep, rooted connection—like a heavy sigh of relief. I cry every time I see the mesas. But I have made this place home too, and tending to the land, caring for her, and being connected in those ways connects me to that ancestral feeling, no matter where I am.

My art is landscape-based, but it is also about memory and moments—sometimes those collide. A memory of the desert while I am painting on the beach; if you look at my work, you can see those landscapes collide. I wrote this poem about that feeling—the connection between plants, ancestors, and landscape:

 
What keeps your creative practice moving forward? Why do you create?

I think I have to create. It is survival. Even when I wasn’t showing my art or didn’t have access to art supplies, I was still creating—writing poetry, cooking an elaborate meal, making my clothes, building community. I need to create because it is how I process—grief, happiness, sadness, anger. I might implode if I don’t.

But also, the reception of my artwork has really fueled me forward. Every time I have a show, people share their memories with me, tell me their stories—these moments we have together are very special. It is also a healing process for me and for those who connect with my art.

I believe I am unraveling a lot of trauma—not just my own, but ancestral trauma as well—and if that helps anyone, that’s enough to keep me going.

Mikaela Shafer, Firekeeper

Mikaela Shafer The Sky is Bigger Out Here

You were recently named as a 2025 Arts Innovator Award recipient. How do you anticipate that this award will impact you and your practice?

This award is huge; I am still processing receiving it. I have plans for what I want to do with it. The first thing I did was pay for my fees for Indian Market. Going there is a big deal for me, but it is costly to travel with all your art to a different state.

I also plan to visit the reservation and pay for an artist residency in the desert. Lastly, I am putting some of the funds toward building an art studio in my backyard because, over the years, that will save me thousands—that’s a huge one.

Really, this award is giving me access to more opportunities and providing the means to have more financial security, ensuring I never lose my ability to create art.

How can Artist Trust continue to support artists across Washington State?

I think AT does an amazing job. I can’t imagine what else you could do. The only thing I would love to see more of is an artist meetup- just gatherings to build community.
 

Mikaela Shafer is a mother, artist, and community builder based in Olympia, Washington. Her artistic journey centers on themes of memory, healing from grief, and reconnection through the mediums of art and poetry. Using unconventional techniques and materials, her work reflects a balance of chaos and calm, inviting viewers to discover their own stories within each piece. An abstract expressionist, she blends sewing, painting, weaving, and occasionally beading, often incorporating natural pigments and found items, to create emotionally charged and evocative works.