Alumni

Scholar studies humanity through skin and ink

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 29 Jan 2026 17:51:52 +0000

Scholar studies humanity through skin and ink Rachel Sauer Thu, 01/29/2026 - 10:51

Chris Quirk

In his new book Indigenous Tattoo Traditions, ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus and Tattoo Hunters host Lars Krutak highlights traditional techniques that sometimes date back millennia

Lars Krutak is not the kind of scholar who is content to simply write about his field. Krutak, a 1993 University of Colorado Boulder graduate in art history and anthropology, is an internationally recognized researcher of the history and culture of tattoos and has about 40 of them himself. He even went under the knife for his research—a scarification ritual of the Kaningara people of Papua New Guinea, during which an elder made more than 400 incisions in his skin.

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Lars Krutak (left) has studied with indigenous artists around the world, including Pius (right), one of the last Makonde tattoo masters of Mozambique. (Photo: Lars Krutak)

“That technique of incision tattooing where they cut you to create a scar and then they rub in the pigment is by far the most painful,” he says. “You're getting cut open like a piece of chicken, and then you're just bleeding all over place. It's hard.”

It’s one of the traditional techniques described in his recent book, Indigenous Tattoo Traditions: Humanity through Skin and Ink, lauded as a best science pick in the journal Nature.

The author of four books on tattooing and host of the Tattoo Hunters series on the Discovery Channel, Krutak became fascinated with the art and custom of tattoos 20 years ago. After completing his bachelor’s degree at ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��, Krutuk began work on his master’s degree in anthropology and archaeology at the University of Alaska Fairbanks. “I moved there in January of 1996,” he says. “When I got off the plane it was minus 55 degrees.”

Krutak was walking across the Fairbanks campus one day and saw a woman with three chin tattoos. “I didn't have any tattoos. I didn't know anything about tattoos. I didn't know indigenous people had tattoos,” Krutak recalls. “I could recognize that she was indigenous, and I got to know her later on, but that moment opened my eyes.”

His scholarly interest piqued, Krutak began digging through the university’s archives and extensive collection of artifacts. “I quickly realized that basically every indigenous society across the circumpolar north, from East Greenland to Siberia and seemingly everywhere in between, had a tattooing tradition at one time or another, but almost all I could find were records from 100 years ago and a few things from the 1950s.”

Krutak resolved to change that. “My main goal when I started doing this research was to preserve a history. No one in academic circles seemed interested in studying indigenous tattooing,” he says. “There were a lot of stigmas attached to tattooing at that time, and there are still some to this day. But I always felt that this was a significant part of the world's cultural heritage, and it was vanishing rapidly around the world, with no one going out there to document it.”

Permanent records

After learning about the tattooing tradition of the Yupik people of St. Lawrence Island in the northern Bering Sea, Krutak wrote to village councils and received permission to visit. What he found was that tattooing was on the wane among the Yupik, with just a small number of women who were in their 80s or 90s sustaining the custom.

In his recent book Indigenous Tattoo Traditions, author and ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Lars Krutak highlights work from indigenous artists around the world.

But he also found that the tradition went back about 2,000 years. The Yupik had, for two millennia, created anthropomorphic dolls, carved out of walrus ivory, that most likely represented ancestral personages. And the dolls had careful renditions of Yupik tattoos.

The significance of tattoos, for the Yupik people and for other cultures across the globe that Krutak has since visited—more than 40 to date—can be widely varied.

“If there is something that needs to be permanently recorded, tattoos can do that,” he says, adding that a tattoo can function as a record of hunting prowess, tally enemies killed in warfare or identify a person as a member of a particular clan or family. There are tattoos that denote a rite of passage, tattoos that invoke ancestral spirits and tattoos that relate to medicinal purposes, Krutak says.

One important meaning that bearers of tattoos have cited, across many cultures, is to identify the person in the afterlife, he says. In the case of the Yupik people of St. Lawrence Island, there are tattoos to help ancestors recognize the person so they can enter the sanctity of the afterlife. “I've been told, by many elders, that they would not be recognized as a true person from their culture without certain tattoos,” Krutak says. “This is one of the most common beliefs and purposes for tattoos across the indigenous world.”

‘Ancient marks of humanity’

What began with that serendipitous moment in Fairbanks has turned into a lifetime pursuit and a synthesis of two threads of Krutak’s interest that he cultivated at ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� as an undergraduate: art history and anthropology. “I had two very formative professors,” he says. “Roland Bernier encouraged me to explore more deeply the connection between anthropology and art history, hence my double major. John Rohner was in charge of the museum studies program and introduced me to what a career in the museum field would look like.”

In some of Krutak’s travels, including his experience with the Yupik, he has encountered some of the last people in the culture who had or could share the history of tattoos in their culture, which increases his sense of urgency. “I firmly feel that indigenous tattooing deserves our attention, because it speaks volumes about what it means to be human,” says Krutak. “I think we can learn a lot about each other by studying and appreciating these ancient marks of humanity.”

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In his new book 'Indigenous Tattoo Traditions,' ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus and 'Tattoo Hunter' host Lars Krutak highlights traditional techniques that sometimes date back millennia.

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Filmmaker charts path from rented cameras to Hollywood marquees

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 20 Jan 2026 22:35:57 +0000

Filmmaker charts path from rented cameras to Hollywood marquees Rachel Sauer Tue, 01/20/2026 - 15:35

Bradley Worrell

On campus on Wednesday for a screening of his movie Roofman, ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alum Derek Cianfrance praises the professors who mentored him and talks about what motivates him today as a filmmaker

From making short films as a teenager to sitting in the director’s chair today for Hollywood marquee films, Derek Cianfrance’s path to professional filmmaker has been anything but conventional.

Long before he directed films such as Blue Valentine and The Place Beyond the Pines, Cianfrance was a kid growing up in Lakewood, Colorado, who turned birthday parties into movie sets. At age 13, he was shooting short films on a rented video camera—driven by a sense of play that he says still fuels his work today.

In a recent, candid conversation with Colorado Arts and Sciences Magazine, Cianfrance reflects on the formative years that shaped his vision, the mentors who guided him at the University of Colorado Boulder and the persistence—and rejection—that defined his rise from short home films to Hollywood movies.

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Derek Cianfrance directed films such as Blue Valentine and The Place Beyond the Pines, in addition to his most recent, Roofman.

Question: What’s it like for you to come back to Boulder now? And what are your plans while you are here?

Cianfrance: It’s always amazing coming back. Boulder shaped me as a filmmaker. I had transformative experiences there—with mentors like Phil Solomon, Stan Brakhage, Bruce Kawin, Don Yannacito and Jim Palmer. Some aren’t around anymore, but they left a mark.

On Wednesday evening, at the Muenzinger Auditorium, I’ll be screening my most recent movie, Roofman, and I’ll probably do an intro and a Q&A.

I’ve been back to Boulder many times since leaving college—and some of my most important relationships came from there. Every time I return, I enjoy getting to see the next generation of students and teachers carrying on that tradition.

Question: You started experimenting with film and other media as a teenager?

Cianfrance: Earlier, actually. At age 6, I borrowed my older brother’s tape recorder and used it to make skits, fake movie trailers and to do interviews. At 13, I rented a video camera from my school librarian at Green Mountain High School and made The Bat Movie, which was about this rubber bat that attacks people. The movie was 15 seconds long, four shots, and it was from the point of view of the bat. It was actually kind of funny and ridiculous. …

From then on, I kept making little films. It was play for me—like a sport. Even now, in my 50s, I feel connected to that 6-year-old—it’s still play at its best moments.

And, I have to say, my parents were very supportive. I feel very fortunate. They dealt with me putting a camera in their face, filming birthday parties, turning the birthday party into a set for my movie. If they hadn’t supported that, I don’t know if I would have had the confidence to keep going. My parents were awesome that way.

And I immersed myself in film. I grew up on VHS and Hollywood movies—Martin Scorsese and George Romero. I had a picture of Scorsese over my bed.

Question: Many aspiring filmmakers set their sights on NYU or UCLA. Why did you choose ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��?

Cianfrance: I wanted to attend UCLA, USC or NYU as well. When I was in high school, I was obsessed with the film school generation back in the 1990s, but those schools were cost-prohibitive. I ended up going to CU because I knew they had a film program and Boulder seemed like a great place to be. I didn’t know what to expect, but it was transformative.

At CU, my professors deconstructed cinema. Stan Brakhage showed us films out of focus to study shadow and light, and very quickly I learned I was getting a unique education. It was avant-garde, experimental. I learned aesthetics and formalism differently. Bruce Kawin taught screenplay structure; Jim Palmer taught thematic analysis.

When I showed my student films at festivals, I realized just how unique my education was. NYU students had huge budgets; mine cost $1,000 and was shot on 16mm Bolex. CU taught me to embrace limitations. That has shaped everything I do.

If you go

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Derek Cianfrance will be present for a screening of Roofman at 7:30 p.m. Wednesday, Jan. 21, and will participate in a Q&A after the film.

What: International Film Series screening of Roofman with writer and director Derek Cianfrance

When: 7:30 p.m. Wednesday, Jan. 21

Where: Muenzinger Auditorium E050

Admission: $8 students/$10 general admission

Learn more

Question: What year did you graduate?

Cianfrance: Well, I didn’t actually graduate. I spent five semesters at CU. At the time I entered film school, Trey Parker and Matt Stone (later of South Park TV series fame) had just graduated and made Alfred Packer: The Musical. I was watching that from afar, as this young, ambitious film student, and so by the time I was a junior, I decided I was going to make a feature, too.

I dropped out for what I thought at the time would be a semester, raised $40,000, and shot Brother Tied. It took four years to finish, and it went to Sundance in 1998.

I spent a year on the road with that film. I had no money. I was literally living off of hors d’oeuvres from film festivals. I was like Ratzo Rizzo from Midnight Cowboy at the film festivals, just stuffing my pockets with food. The movie went to about 30 festivals and it won a handful of awards.

I got a lot of business cards, and I met a lot of people in the industry while I was doing that. I was writing Blue Valentine at the time, so I started sending out scripts for Blue Valentine—and I got a lot of rejections. Just non-stop rejections, but I just kept working on it.

It was far from an instant success. From when I first started writing Blue Valentine it was 66 drafts and 11 years later that I shot it.

Question: After leaving CU, did you move to Hollywood?

Cianfrance: No, I moved to New York in 1999. I lived on couches, edited tribute videos for TV award shows and worked enough to buy time back to write. That leapfrogging lasted 10 years until I made Blue Valentine.

Derek Cianfrance's (striped jacket) most recent film, Roofman, is about a convicted spree robber who hides out in the roof of a Toys R Us after escaping from prison.

Question: Blue Valentine was praised by critics and received multiple award nominations. Did you feel like you had ‘arrived’ as a director after it debuted?

Cianfrance: I don’t believe in arrival points. It’s a journey. That hasn’t changed for me. That’s why I feel so connected to my 6-year-old inner child—because I’m doing the same process I’ve done forever.

When you experience success, it removes barriers, which can be dangerous. Resistance and rejection are blessings—because they force growth. Blue Valentine took 11 years because I needed that time. By the last draft, I was married with kids, so I could tell the story authentically.

Question: Many people aspire to become a screenwriter or director but success eludes them. What do you believe helped you break through?

Cianfrance: Focusing on the work—not ego. I never cared about seeing my name on a marquee—only the movie’s name. It’s about staying true to your inner voice. Success and failure both come, so keep swinging.

Question: Even today, rejection comes with the territory as a recognized director?

Cianfrance: That’s the life of a filmmaker. You’re just knocking on doors and saying, ‘Do you want to buy this idea that I have?’

No one’s ever asking for those (films). Like, no one was asking for Blue Valentine. No one was asking for Roofman. Those were things where I found myself in a story and then you have to get excited about them.

I always feel like making movies is like the energy source. It’s the sun. When I see an energy source that I’m attracted to, I start orbiting it. And my job is to pay so much attention to it that other people start to pay attention to it as well, because you can’t do it alone.

It’s not like being a painter or a writer. You can write all by yourself, but to be a filmmaker, you need so many people. It costs so much money and there’s so many different elements involved.

That process has not changed at all for me. Roofman, Brother Tied, Blue Valentine—every movie I’ve ever made is pretty much the same. What has happened to me, though, is actors like Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams believed in me—and because they believed in me, with the performances they delivered in Blue Valentine—that meant other actors would then trust me. And so, I think a definition of my work has really been about the quality, the vulnerability and the courage of the performances.

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Derek Cianfrance (right) praises the vulnerability and courage of the performances from actors with whom he's worked (including Kirsten Dunst, left, in Roofman).

I don’t want to say I’ve arrived as a director, but that’s been the thing that allowed me to make the films that I’ve been able to make. Without my actors, I’m nothing.

Question: Today, what attracts you to a movie project?

Cianfrance: Family stories. Movies feel voyeuristic—about secrets, flaws and relationships. I’m interested in impossible choices and consequences. My films reflect my life: Blue Valentine came from being a child watching my parents’ marriage; Roofman reflects on being a father.

Question:Can you name a creative decision that you made as a director that scared you at the time but that you’re proud of now?

Cianfrance: Roofman, as a whole. It pushed me out of my comfort zone—I aimed for a tone that was sad and sweet, not just dark. It was terrifying but rewarding.

Question:If you had unlimited resources and no commercial expectations, what kind of movie would you make?

Cianfrance: Honestly, I’ve had that once, with HBO’s I Know This Much Is True. But limitations often create magic. Throwing money at problems isn’t always good.

Question:Are there any film genres you’d still like to explore?

Cianfrance: Horror. That’s how I got into movies—Creepshow was my first VHS obsession. Horror allows limitless experimentations in form. That excites me. You can go anywhere with a horror movie.

Question:If you could give two or three bullet points of advice for today’s ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� film students, what would it be?

Cianfrance: Stay close to your friends. Help each other make things—you can’t do it alone. Get comfortable with rejection—it’s 99% of the process, so learn from it without losing your voice. And have a life—movies about movies aren’t enough.

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On campus on Wednesday for a screening of his movie Roofman, ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alum Derek Cianfrance praises the professors who mentored him and talks about what motivates him today as a filmmaker.

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Top photo: Derek Cianfrance (right, baseball cap) on the set of Roofman with actor Channing Tatum (in orange). (All photos courtesy Derek Cianfrance)

Couple capture the wonders of wildlife (and wolverines!)

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 13 Jan 2026 16:50:39 +0000

Couple capture the wonders of wildlife (and wolverines!) Rachel Sauer Tue, 01/13/2026 - 09:50

Clint Talbott

Having stepped away from high-powered careers, alumnus Scot Bealer and his wife, Lea Frye, now focus on what they love, writing about and photographing Rocky Mountain wildlife

Scot Bealer doesn’t think of himself as a writer, but he’s written one book and co-written another. The way he tells it, he just communicates about what he loves: wildlife and nature.

His partner in publishing and in life has, quite literally, the same focus. She’s a photographer.

Together, Bealer and Lea Frye, who are married, have published a new book titled Wildlife Through the Lens: Animal Stories from Montana and the Rocky Mountains, which fuses their lifelong passions for wildlife, photography and storytelling. Last year, they teamed up on Most Trout Don’t Read: Lessons from Time on the Water.

Scot Bealer (left), a 1986 ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� biology graduate, and his wife, Lea Frye (right), recently published Wildlife Through the Lens: Animal Stories from Montana and the Rocky Mountains, which fuses their lifelong passions for wildlife, photography and storytelling.

His path from college biology student to author was not exactly linear. Here’s how it happened:

Bealer graduated from the University of Colorado Boulder in 1986 with a BA in biology, cum laude, and went on to earn an MBA from Texas McCombs School of Business.

When he came to ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� and majored in biology, he was initially baffled about why he had to take non-science courses. One of those courses was philosophy.

There were weekly writing assignments, and the professor returned Bealer’s first essay covered in red ink and bearing a “stunningly low grade.” The professor invited students who didn’t do well to see him during office hours. Bealer did that.

The professor told Bealer that he clearly knew the material and could talk about it, but writing was another story. “This will make a difference in your life, if you take the time to learn how to get your thoughts down on paper,” the professor told Bealer.

By the end of the semester, the professor praised Bealer’s progress, noting, “I hope you see how much you’ve changed in your writing.”

Bealer calls that encouragement “transformational.”

Science, fly fishing and business

At ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��, he was mentored by biology professors Carl Bock and David Armstrong, who encouraged him to develop critical thinking and communication skills. Armstrong was Bealer’s advisor for his honors thesis.

After graduating from ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��, Bealer joined a PhD program, thinking he’d go into academe. While in graduate school, though, Bealer took a job with the L.L. Bean fly-fishing school, where he worked with Dave Whitlock, who wrote and illustrated the L.L. Bean Fly-Fishing Handbook. He had such a satisfying time in Maine that he stayed at L.L. Bean and didn’t return to the PhD program.

An American badger featured in Wildlife Through the Lens: Animal Stories from Montana and the Rocky Mountains. (Photo: Lea Frye)

Also at the L.L. Bean Fly-Fishing School, Bealer met Brock Apfel, who would become a great friend and mentor and who encouraged him to go into the business world. Bealer got an MBA and launched a business career that went “pretty well,” he notes.

Bealer eventually rose to vice president of worldwide sales and marketing for Universal Air Travel Plan (UATP), a global payment network and expense management system for corporate air travel. Prior to that, he worked at Continental Airlines in revenue management.

At Continental Airlines, he crunched data to figure out when one person might pay $1,000 for a seat even if the person in the next seat paid $200. “Well, it was all about demand. And I was very good at analyzing statistics to predict demand on future flights,” he notes, adding: “The foundation in statistical work I did at CU is really what drove me to succeed in the realm I did from a business standpoint.”

Bealer found that in many ways working at UATP was that “dream job” with good pay and a chance to travel around the world, “which in one sense was spectacular. I got to do business trips to New Zealand, where I could bring my fly-fishing gear and take a few days” to fish. But constant travel is “not healthy,” and he stepped away from the dream job, eventually returning to work as a fly-fishing guide in Salida, Colorado.

“And I was back to doing what I loved. It was really kind of a fun circle, and it worked for both me and Lea, who also did very well in her business career. … We were kind of spendthrifts, so when we were ready to go do stuff that we loved, we could pay down debt and live on what we made doing jobs that paid less.”

“We’re working 60 to 80 hours a week on our book and photography ... we’re getting about 2% of the income we used to get, but we love everything we do,” notes ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Scot Bealer of producing Wildlife Through the Lens: Animal Stories from Montana and the Rocky Mountains. (Cover photograph: Lea Frye)

A shared love of the outdoors

Bealer and Frye both grew up loving nature and wildlife, which they continue to explore together:

They met in Texas, but their families are both from Pennsylvania, and both families enjoyed spotting animals in the wild. “Lea’s passion was wildlife photography ... She loved taking pictures of animals with little instamatic cameras.” Over time, those cameras would get bigger and better.

“Her mom and dad both loved taking pictures, and when she was 8 or 9, her dad built a dark room in their basement. She remembers going down and helping him with that archaic technology called developing film.”

One thing that cemented their bond was that Bealer and Frye loved spending time outside. “And if we saw an animal, we were happy to stop and watch it and see what it was doing. We might even wander off trail for miles because what it was doing was interesting, and we stayed with it.”

Bealer notes that many people love animals but are satisfied looking at pictures and getting outside a few times a year. “If they see something, cool; that’s exciting, and it shows up and then it goes away. Lea and I love to spend time watching what the animals do. We think seeing their little neat, quirky behaviors that are part of their life is just wonderful.”

Hitting the jackpot

But seeing and photographing wildlife can require a lot of time waiting and watching. Sometimes, the investment pays off. Last summer, Bealer and Frye were in the Montana wilderness when they spied (and photographed) a wolverine.

Such a sight is extraordinarily rare. Bealer calls it a “once-in-a-lifetime” encounter. He also calls it a “lottery-ticket kind of win.” (The wolverine photos are in Wildlife Through the Lens.)

“But our time in the field buys us a lot of lottery tickets. We still got lucky. I know people who have lived here all their lives; they’re serious outdoors people like I am. They still haven’t seen one.”

Then there are badgers, which few people see. Frye has photos of them, too. They spend a lot of time in prairie-dog colonies (because prairie dogs are a favorite food) but are less visible than prairie dogs. Bealer noted that Frye has an eagle eye for things like plumes of dirt rising from prairie-dog towns.

For instance, as they were driving, they noticed a puff of dirt flying into the air. “Most people would not have seen that or cared if they did because it was windy and there were lots of little dust plumes.”

But Bealer and Frye stopped the car. “Five plumes later a badger pops his head up. If you didn't stop when you saw that first plume, you wouldn’t have seen it.”

Bird lovers and ‘birders’

Bealer and Frye love to see birds, and Wildlife Through the Lens includes arresting images of birds. Still, they pause when they’re asked if they are “birders.”

Bealer puts it this way: Those who call themselves birders can be focused on completing “life lists” of birds they’ve seen and on traveling great distances to find an individual species. Meanwhile, “we don’t find as much excitement in seeing 10 new birds. We find the excitement in finding one bird and then watching it do something really cool.”

Nonetheless, Frye is keen to photograph the dance-on-water moves of the western grebe. Bealer says they’ve seen the grebes dancing on water. “We just didn’t get the pictures yet.” They’re planning to return to that same place next spring to try again, so one might call them “birder-adjacent.”

Among the wildlife that Scot Bealer and Lea Frye document are bighorn sheep. (Photo: Lea Frye)

Among the many other species they chronicle and display in their book are bighorn sheep. Bighorn males are known for butting heads (literally) in the rutting season. They’re less known for another contest of wills: kicking each other in the, um, privates.

In the book, Bealer notes that Frye was hesitant to publish the images. “But over time I convinced her that I couldn’t be the only adult in the world that still had the sense of humor of a 13-year-old.”

As soon as she printed the first one, he adds, “it became a hit.”

Bealer notes that he and Frye are a synergistic team.

“We can spend hours watching stuff without saying a whole lot,” he says, noting that they are both skilled at finding animals. “Lea is just hell on wheels finding nests. She can hear in a range that I can’t. And if we’re hiking and she hears baby birds, it’s like she’ll just stop and look up like there’s a nest and I haven’t heard a thing.”

When they make such a find, they’ll back away and make a note of where the nest was. They want to see the parents and watch the young grow.

Their previous book, Most Trout Don’t Read, reflects Bealer’s philosophy that fishing should be fun.

The book’s title “was a one-liner I used when teaching beginners about fly fishing,” he says, adding: “It doesn’t have to be complicated. You can take six fly patterns and fish a whole lifetime and catch lots of fish. You don’t need to be a master caster.”

Lifelong learning and reflection

From his career in business, Bealer saw the value of a broad education and critical thinking, especially in leadership roles:

“People coming out of school with technical degrees fill immediate needs, but for advanced roles, you need people who can think creatively and solve problems,” he says. “I became a huge fan of looking for people with a liberal arts education.”

Now retired, Scot and Lea continue to pursue their passions with enthusiasm and humility: “We’re working 60 to 80 hours a week on our book and photography ... we’re getting about 2% of the income we used to get, but we love everything we do.”

Even the writing.

“I would not go so far as to say that I’m a writer,” Bealer says, adding: “I translate oral stories into reasonable texts that hopefully people understand.”

Black bear

Northern pygmy owl

Mountain goats

Grizzly bear

Photos by Lea Frye

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Having stepped away from high-powered careers, alumnus Scot Bealer and his wife, Lea Frye, now focus on what they love, writing about and photographing Rocky Mountain wildlife.

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Top image: wolverine on a riverbank (Photo: Lea Frye)

Photojournalist turning aerial art into climate archive

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 04 Dec 2025 14:30:00 +0000

Photojournalist turning aerial art into climate archive Rachel Sauer Thu, 12/04/2025 - 07:30

Cody DeBos

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� geography alumnus Katie Writer shares Alaska’s changing landscape from the skies

On a clear day high above south-central Alaska, you can find Katie Writer pulling open the window of her Super Cub airplane and leaning her camera out into the rushing wind. Below, the landscape doesn’t look like the same one she once hiked and skied. That’s exactly why she’s flying.

For Writer (Geog’91), flying offers a unique vantage point from which to witness the planet changing in real time.

“Climate change is something I saw coming all the way back in my CU days studying geography, and I knew it would be a big part of my life’s calling. I have a sense of duty as a photojournalist pilot and an advocate for the environment. Whenever there’s a chance for me to tell the story of the landscape or point emphasis to an area that needs some protection, I jump on it,” she says.

Geography alumnus Katie Writer has built a career at the intersection of science, storytelling and adventure. (Photo: Katie Writer)

From documenting glacier retreat to photographing generations of spruce trees withered by beetle kill, she’s built a career at the intersection of science, storytelling and adventure.

Skiing onto the page

Writer’s journey to the cockpit wasn’t traditional. At ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��, she majored in geography and raced on the ski team, balancing course loads with weekend races. After graduating, she worked as an interpreter for the United States Olympic Committee at the 1992 Winter Olympics in France, and that lit a fire in her for world-class racing.

“I quickly moved up the ranks and placed 17th at the U.S. National Championships in 1994,” Writer recalls.

But when an injury derailed her career, she pivoted her skiing passion from racing to the page, becoming an aptly named writer of outdoor adventure articles for the likes of Couloir and Powder magazines. One story led her to Denali National Park.

“On that trip, I was inspired to become a pilot,” she says. “I’d also been on another ski trip where a Cessna 185 flew us into the wilderness in a ski plane, and it made me realize that these little planes give you some great access to the wilderness.”

After earning her pilot’s license with support from aviation scholarships, Writer settled in Alaska, where she has since filled her appetite for adventure and storytelling through the lens of her camera. She didn't give up competitive skiing entirely, though, and races in three World Extreme Skiing competitions in Alaska

“Others were noticing my photography and really appreciating the bird’s eye view I was getting as an aerial photographer/pilot. It helped me realize that capturing these images was something I was really passionate about,” she says.

Seeing the story from above

When Writer takes her camera into the sky, the viewpoint of Alaska’s stunning landscapes brings awe, but also a sense of urgency. From her Super Cub, she observes patterns of change. Hillsides of dying spruce. Once thriving glaciers shrinking every year. Riverbanks collapsing after torrential storms. She has returned often to the same places, documenting changes that most people never get to see.

“There’s no doubt when you live in Alaska, you see the effects of the beetle kill. I realized this was an excellent way to present climate change with the visuals from an aerial perspective,” Writer says.

Warmer winters have allowed spruce beetles to survive year-round, leaving entire forests stained with rust-colored decay. Glaciers tell a parallel story of loss.

Aerial views of the changing Alaska landscape captured by Katie Writer from the open window of her Super Cub airplane. (Photos: Katie Writer)

“We spent a lot of time going back to the toe of the Ruth glacier, photographing the specific area year after year and seeing how dramatically the receding lines were, as well as observing the collapsing walls,” she adds.

She also tracks what happens downstream. After record rainfall from an atmospheric river in August 2025, she flew over the swollen Talkeetna River and saw entire stretches of bank washed away.

“These weather events with high levels of moisture, in my opinion, are another visual acceleration of erosion.”

These scenes are part of a photographic timeline Writer has spent years assembling. With each flight, she adds a new layer to the growing visual archive that captures the rapid reshaping of Alaska’s wilderness. For those of us on the ground, it’s a rare glimpse at what our world looks like from above.

Exploring a new medium

In time, the stories Writer wanted to tell outgrew both print and pictures. During the COVID-19 pandemic, she launched the All Cooped Up Alaska Podcast, a show born from isolation and the desire to connect. It’s since evolved into the Alaska Climate and Aviation Podcast, where she explores stories of weather, flying and environmental change.

“Being in the air and photographing the landscape feels like artistic movement and is a spiritual experience. The natural world is just stunning,” says Katie Writer. (Photo: Katie Writer)

“The benefit of producing your own podcast is that you get to be as creative as you want and can tell the stories you want to tell,” she says. “A lot of the stories I used to create for our local radio station would be edited down to three and a half minutes for airtime. I was always a little bit frustrated by that.”

Now, Writer brings on regular guests, including prominent Alaskan climatologists Rick Thoman and Brian Brettschneider, to discuss everything from wildfire smoke to Arctic feedback loops. She also covers major events like the Arctic Encounter Symposium in Anchorage.

“Arctic Encounter is attended by world leaders from all around Arctic countries, including Indigenous leaders, policymakers, scientists, villagers and Arctic dwellers,” she says. “It’s a very inspiring event with fascinating panels of people talking about the problems they’re having and solutions they envision.”

Writer has also added a sightseeing business to Visionary Adventures, taking people out on Super Cub Airplane Rides so they can experience the beauty themselves. And these days, her children are her most frequent fliers: "We—my son, Jasper, and daughter, Wren—have also enjoyed soaring above the wilds looking for wild game and fishing spots."

CU at altitude

Looking back, Writer credits her time at ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� with helping to shape her worldview.

“One of the primary things that made a major influence on choosing geography as a major was an upper-division course that was in the Arctic Circle, learning field research techniques,” she says.

She also recalls the atmosphere of both Boulder’s scientific community and cultural diversity.

“As a sophomore, our house was across the street from the Hari Krishnas, where we ate a meal a week and enjoyed philosophizing on life and world religions. It was just a really neat place to be,” Writer says. “All of the beautiful architecture and even the Guggenheim building for Geography really held a special place in my heart for a place of learning.”

Her advice for today’s students? Write often.

“Writing is a really important skill that I’m noticing more and more being lost with the use of AI. Getting the pen flowing onto a piece of paper lets you tap into a whole different type of creativity,” she says.

“Realize that you may not know what your whole career is going to be, but don’t be afraid to explore and take a risk in opportunities you might get. When I look back at the journals that I had at that time in my life, I’m like, ‘Oh my gosh, I’m doing it,’” she adds.

Even now, after decades of flying and learning to balance the art with the business, Writer isn’t sure where her career will lead next.

“I always aspired to work for National Geographic as a photojournalist,” she says. “And I still haven’t met that goal—but who knows what could happen in the future.”

One thing is certain: Writer has no plans to stop flying over Alaska and documenting its changes.

“Being in the air and photographing the landscape feels like artistic movement and is a spiritual experience,” she says. “The natural world is just stunning.”

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��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� geography alumnus Katie Writer shares Alaska’s changing landscape from the skies.

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Craft-beer pioneer is still eyeing the next big thing

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 16 Oct 2025 15:23:37 +0000

Craft-beer pioneer is still eyeing the next big thing Rachel Sauer Thu, 10/16/2025 - 09:23

Clint Talbott

Keith Villa, who invented Blue Moon Belgian White, thinks cannabis-infused beer might take off; he and his wife, Jodi, both ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alums, have launched an alcohol-free brewery that could help lead the way

Keith Villa did not set out to shake up the American beer industry. He’d aimed to become a medical doctor, but his love of biology led him to become a bona fide beer doctor. That led to the kind of career that happens once in a blue moon.

Or, rather, a Blue Moon.

In 1995, Villa invented what’s now known as Molson Coors Blue Moon Belgian White beer. Ultimately, it became the largest craft beer on the market.

Keith Villa (MCDBio'86) got his start in the science of beer by responding a job posting at Coors for someone to do molecular research on how to improve their yeast. (Photo: Jodi Villa)

After more than three decades at Molson Coors, Keith Villa and his wife, Jodi Villa, launched Ceria Brewing Co., which brews alcohol-free beer and is eyeing the potential for alcohol-free beer infused with cannabis. The Villas are still busy innovating, and their latest chapter is still being written.

It’s a tale with several plot twists, but one key player was the University of Colorado Boulder.

Improving yeast

Before college, Keith Villa was inspired by his mother, who was a registered nurse at the Veterans Administration hospital in Denver. He resolved to become a pediatrician.

While in high school, Keith and Jodi met and began to forge their own partnership. They both enrolled at ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��, he in a pre-med program and she in architectural engineering. Both graduated in 1986.

As a student in molecular, cellular and developmental biology, he worked in the laboratory of Professor Emeritus Lawrence “Larry” Gold, who founded NeXstar Pharmaceuticals.

In the Gold lab, Villa was helping graduate students conduct original research. In 1986, shortly before he graduated with his bachelor’s degree, Villa responded to a job posting at Coors for someone to do molecular research on how to improve their yeast.

“And I thought, ‘Wow, that’s exactly what I’m doing here.’”

Coors hired him more or less immediately, and he went to work trying to design a yeast that would make it cheaper to brew light beer. Although Villa was successful, the yeast was never used commercially, he notes.

After that project concluded, Villa told Coors he was ready to quit to pursue a PhD in biochemistry. Coors’ director of research and development made a counteroffer: Go to Belgium to join a PhD program in brewing, and Coors would foot the bill.

Keith and Jodi didn’t have a mortgage or family yet, so they said, “Let’s do it.”

Studying in Belgium

Belgium was an eye opener. Easy train rides to Germany, Switzerland and beyond widened their horizons to new beers, foods and regional dialects. He conducted his PhD research in Belgium and finished writing his dissertation in Colorado.

Villa’s bosses at Coors said, “Well, you just came back from Belgium. You know about these beers. Can you make something?”

“So that’s when I created Blue Moon,” Villa says.

The top executives at Coors had initial reservations about this new beer: Why was it cloudy and infused with orange peel and coriander, for instance? Eventually, however, Blue Moon became a billion-dollar brand, brewing 2 million barrels a year.

Keith Villa (in the CERIA lab in Brussels, Belgium) earned his PhD at CERIA and named his company in honor of it. (Photo: Jodi Villa)

By 2017, Villa had done “a lot of what I wanted to do in the brewing world,” and he retired from Coors. Soon, he and Jodi launched Ceria Brewing Co., which pays homage to Ceres, the Roman goddess of the harvest. “Ceria” also reflects CERIA, the acronym of the Belgian campus where Keith earned his PhD.

Initially, Ceria produced cannabis-infused beers sold through dispensaries in Colorado and California, and they were aimed at those who consume THC in moderation. But the products faced regulatory hurdles, not least of which is that the federal government doesn’t recognize cannabis as a legitimate business undertaking. The U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency classifies marijuana as a Schedule 1 controlled substance, even though individual states have legalized it to varying degrees.

'Bad movies, hot showers and vanilla'

Today, Ceria offers two non-infused alcohol-free beer styles: Grainwave Belgian-Style White and Indiewave Hoppy IPA. Grainwave is brewed with orange peel and coriander (sound familiar?) and is billed as pairing well with Mexican food, anything spicy, “bad movies, hot showers and vanilla.”

Indiewave, meanwhile, is said to pair well with “charcuterie, Middle Eastern cuisine, after-parties, rainy days, chocolate, your record collection.”

Ceria’s offerings are alcohol free, which differ from “non-alcoholic” beers. According to federal regulations, non-alcoholic beer must be sold with less than 0.5 % alcohol by volume. Alcohol-free beers must have 0.0%.

That distinction matters. One reason is that to infuse beer with THC, the psychotropic ingredient in cannabis, the beer must be alcohol free. And selling cannabis-infused beer could be, in Villa’s estimation, the next big thing.

Hemp-derived THC is a key ingredient. Hemp is distinguished from marijuana largely by the concentration of THC in each; hemp’s concentration is lower. In some states, it’s legal to distribute hemp-derived THC, and selling cannabis-infused beer there is more cost-effective for brewers and consumers.

In states where such sales are legal, Villa notes, consumers can buy cannabis-infused beer in many places, right next to alcoholic beers.

“And when you offer a consumer that choice, you see these beverages just start to take off,” Villa says, adding that there’s a sizable market of people who don’t want to drink alcohol, “or they want to switch back and forth, maybe alcohol this weekend, next weekend cannabis.”

“I would say that we were probably a little ahead of our time with what we did, because now when you look at hemp-derived THC, that really proves our original thesis that beverages with THC are a really great option for people that don’t want alcohol all the time, or they may find alcohol to be bad for their health.”

Now the Villas watch the national market and wait for regulatory changes that could help restart their efforts to sell cannabis-infused beer.

As Villa observed, “We socialize with beverages, and you can’t toast a bride and groom with a gummy.”

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Top photo: Jodi and Keith Villa and their daughter, Catherine (right), co-own Ceria Brewing Company. (Photo: Jodi Villa)

Charting the rise and fall of great sea powers

Rachel Sauer — Thu, 18 Sep 2025 17:29:31 +0000

Charting the rise and fall of great sea powers Rachel Sauer Thu, 09/18/2025 - 11:29

Bradley Worrell

CU alum’s book examines how the fate of the Netherlands, Great Britain and the United States as economic and political powers has been deeply intertwined with their ability to project power via the seas

Colin Flint, a University of Colorado Boulder PhD geography graduate and professor of political geography at Utah State University, researches the rise and fall of great world powers.

It’s a topic beyond simple academic interest to Flint, who was born in 1965 and raised in England during a period of seismic change in the country.

“At the time, Britain was still struggling to figure out that it wasn’t the world’s greatest power anymore, so my socialization and political coming of age was in a declined power,” he says. Additionally, Flint says being raised in the busy ferry port of Dover made a powerful impression on him by highlighting the country’s long history as a maritime nation.

Colin Flint, a ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� PhD geography graduate, researches the rise and fall of great world powers.

“Dover definitely has influenced me, being so close to the water,” he says. “My high school was on a hill overlooking the harbor, which at the time was the busiest ferry port in the world, with ships going back and forth to France and Belgium. So, the notion was very much rooted in me that Britain drew its power, historically, from the sea.”

At one point, Flint entertained the idea of joining the Royal Navy before setting his career sights on academia. He obtained his bachelor’s and master’s degrees in Britain, then pursued his PhD in geography at the University of Colorado Boulder thanks to fortuitous connections between his undergrad mentor and ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� Department of Geography Professor John O’Loughlin.

“I moved to United States of America in 1990 to attend university, and the literature at the time and discussions were all very declinist. It was very much, ‘America has gone down the tubes,’” he says. “Broadly speaking, I moved from a declined power into a declining power, or so I thought at the time.”

After the fall of the Soviet Union, Flint says the idea of America as a declining power was largely replaced with a triumphalist narrative that saw the U.S. as the world’s only remaining superpower.

Ideas about what makes a country an economic and political superpower—and how a country can lose its status as a hegemonic power—had been percolating in Flint’s brain for years when he recently published his book Near and Far Waters: The Geopolitics of Seapower. The book specifically looks at the Netherlands, Great Britain and the United States for context on how the countries used sea power to project their economic and political influence across the globe.

Flint spoke with Colorado Arts and Sciences Magazine about his book, while also offering insights on how current events are shaping the outlook for the United States and the world. His answers have been edited for clarity and condensed.

Question: What is the context for your book’s title: Near and Far Waters?

Flint: There are legal terms about coasts and the exclusive economic zone around the country’s coastlines, but I’m not using it in that way. I’m thinking about an area of ocean in which a country has interest and influence over and off its coastline.

"Near and Far Waters" by ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Colin Flint focuses on the Netherlands, Great Britain and the United States for context on how the countries used sea power to project their economic and political influence across the globe.

That is an important piece of ocean for a country because there’s resource exploitation, but it’s also a matter of security. If a country wants to protect itself from potential invasion, it needs to control those waters off its coastline—it’s near waters.

Some countries, once they’ve established control of their near waters, have the ability and desire to project beyond that, across the oceans into what would then become its far waters. If you think about Great Britain in the context of the British Empire, once it fought off European threats to its coastline—its near waters—it was then able to develop the sea power to establish its empire. It was in African far waters, it was in Indian far waters, in Middle East far waters and so on.

Another good example of this would be how the United States of America, over the course of history, pushed other countries out of its near waters. The Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico are good examples, where Spanish and British influence were ended over the 1800s and 1900s. And then by establishing control through annexation of Hawaii and the purchase of Alaska, America developed its Pacific near waters, too, which it expanded upon through the course of World War II, pushing the Japanese back and establishing bases in Okinawa, Japan; the Philippines; and Guam, etc.

Question: One of your chapters is titled ‘No Island is an Island.’ What do you mean by that?

Flint: I was talking about how the projection of sea power requires the control of islands. Often, the geopolitical goal and benefit of controlling an island is not the island itself—it’s how it enables projection of power further, or how it hinders other countries’ projection of power by being near sea lines of communication that you can have a base to try and disrupt. For example, when Hawaii became part of the United States, it allowed the U.S. to project power across the Pacific. Again, it’s not the island itself—it’s the projection of power across an ocean.

Projecting sea power is about more than just having a strong navy.

Question: If one country’s far waters extend into the near waters of another country, that would seem to be a recipe for conflict, would it not?

Flint: That is the kicker, of course, that a sea power’s far waters are another country’s near waters. And it has historically led to conflicts and even wars. It’s always involved violence—and not just between great powers and lesser powers, but also violence against the people living on islands or in coastal lands where sea powers are looking to establish dominance and exploit resources.

Question: China has been rapidly expanding its navy in recent years. Is it simply beefing up its sea forces to protect its near waters, or is it looking to supplant the U.S. as the dominant sea power? Or are there other motives at play?

Flint: You often see in newspaper articles written in the United States and maybe other Western countries that China has the biggest navy in the world. This always makes me laugh because, yes, it’s got hundreds and hundreds of tiny little coastal defense vessels, but even now that it has two aircraft carriers, it does not have the ability to project power like the United States of America, which has 11 carrier groups. So, I think that should always be recognized.

The other sort of trope that’s often wielded out there, which I think we need to question, is: The West is worried about China developing a navy, because it will allow China to disrupt trade networks. Well, wait a minute. China is very dependent on imports, especially of fuel or energy. Additionally, it is the world’s largest trading economy, and it’s worried about the robustness of its domestic economy. They cannot maintain their economic growth based purely on their domestic market, so they need to have a global economic presence for markets and for securing inputs into their economy.

Putting those two things together, it makes no sense why China would want to disrupt global trade. In fact, the country’s reaction to President Trump’s sanctions tells us that the last thing China wants is global trade disrupted. They’re very worried about the fragility of their own economy and whether that leads to social unrest, etc. The flip side of that is how the West could really hurt China by blocking those trade routes to prevent energy imports into China and exports.

China is definitely trying to grow its navy. I think what makes it so interesting is its simultaneous attempt to have a navy that can defend its near waters while perhaps preventing the operation of the United States in its far waters. To what extent China is attempting to establish a presence in its far waters is less clear.

"A sea power’s far waters are another country’s near waters. And it has historically led to conflicts and even wars," notes scholar Colin Flint. ("Naval Battle of 1812," Painting, Oil on Canvas; By Rodolfo Claudus; 1962/U.S. Naval History and Heritage Command)

Question: From your book, it seems like you have some serious concerns about the potential for a serious conflict arising from disputes over near and far waters?

Flint: In fact, I’ve never been so concerned or worried in my career, to be honest with you. When I started teaching my class on political geography many moons ago, let’s say in the mid-1990s, I used to start off with some structural model of global political change, which essentially says, we have cycles of war and peace, for the want of a better term.

And I asked my students to try and get them engaged: ‘Picture yourself in 2025. What are you going to be doing?’ It was staggering to me how many of them believed that they would be millionaires and already retired (laughs).

The point of that was that the model I was using predicted another period of global war, starting in 2025. I don’t do that exercise anymore, because it isn’t funny; it’s really quite serious. So yes, the risk of war is high, and I think it could emerge in a number of different places. One focus is on the South China Sea, the near waters of China, as that is clearly a potential flashpoint. Taiwan is the obvious focal point of what that conflict would look like.

I also wonder about potential flashpoints of conflict in Chinese far waters—and that could include the Arctic and the Northern Atlantic, because another factor that has to be considered is global climate change and the increasing possibility of a trade route through the North Pole, which would cut trade times from China into European markets considerably. Those waters represent U.S. near waters, so …

Question: Do you envision any sort of viable alternatives to a conflict between world powers over near and far waters, especially in today’s environment?

Flint: My motivation with the book was with an eye to waving some sort of flag about how to think about peace rather than war. Most of our lenses are national lenses. If we keep on this pattern of a national lens, then I see a strong likelihood to repeat these cycles of near and far water sea powers, which have always involved a period of global war.

We need to change that lens. We need to have a global view as to why countries are always seeking far waters, entering other people’s near waters and why that can lead to conflict.

Today, we’re facing a humanity-scale problem, which is global climate change. Is that the thing that will tell us we need to work together, rather than compete? I’m not saying it is; I’m saying, if I see a glimmer of optimism to your question, that’s it.

Question: Based upon your research, if a country loses its status as a hegemonic power, can it later recover that status? And, in the context of today’s world, what might things look like if the U.S. lost its hegemonic status?

Flint: The short answer is no, based upon past history, a country that loses its hegemonic status has not been able to reclaim it once it’s gone.

But to your second question, it goes back to the question about what China’s intentions are. In American popular culture, where every sports team has to be No. 1, even if they are eighth in some Mickey Mouse conference, there is this obsession that there has to be a singular winner or champion.

What I’m saying is that we shouldn’t just assume that if the United States declines there will be another emergent dominant power in the world. It’s quite possible that if the United States declines, what might emerge would be a multipolar world, although I don’t know what that might look like.

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Top image: A squadron of the Royal Navy running down the Channel and An East Indiaman preparing to sail, by artist Samuel Atkins (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

From Huffy to high tech, it's been a wild ride

Rachel Sauer — Fri, 05 Sep 2025 19:29:05 +0000

From Huffy to high tech, it's been a wild ride Rachel Sauer Fri, 09/05/2025 - 13:29

Rachel Sauer

For ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Todd Carver, what he learned in the lab as a student inspired industry-rocking innovation in developing digital bike-fitting technology

For a long time, one of the unspoken truths of cycling was that if you ride hard and long enough, it’s going to hurt: foot or hand numbness, back pain, shoulder pain, the list is intimidating.

Every rider feels it differently. For Todd Carver (IntPhys’00, MIntPhys’02), “my lower back is the problem. I struggled with my position but finally got to the point where I could ride pain-free as I understood the human body more and was actually able to make changes to my position on the bike.

“Plus, the bike’s adjustable, right, so you can move the seat, you can adjust your touchpoints to the bike, your hands, butt and feet can all be adjusted. And if you don’t adjust those and just plop yourself on the bike, there’s a chance you’re not going to perform well and you’re going to get injured.”

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Todd Carver (IntPhys’00, MIntPhys’02) co-founded Retül, a bike fitting and product matching technology now used by professional cycling teams, performance centers, rehabilitation centers and bicycle retailers worldwide.

While working with Bill Byrnes and Rodger Kram, associate professors emeritus in the University of Colorado Boulder Department of Integrative Physiology, in the Applied Exercise Science Laboratory during his graduate studies, Carver began wondering if competitive cycling—or even long-distance recreational cycling—needed to end in pain.

“The big thing the cycling world was missing was information about the rider—the human aspect,” Carver explains. “How should riders fit on a bike? How do you position a rider to be powerful, efficient and perform well? All the things I was learning in my academic career under Bill Byrnes and Rodger Kram—the focus of my research—was in predicting cycling performance, who’s going to perform well and who’s not.”

The problem was, there just weren’t that many tools to assess a rider’s position on their bike and give them a three-dimensional, dynamic bike fit. So, Carver and two colleagues developed one: Retül, a bike fitting and product matching technology now used by professional cycling teams, performance centers, rehabilitation centers and bicycle retailers worldwide.

Retül wrought such a change in the cycling world that Specialized acquired it in 2012. Now, as head of human performance for Specialized, Carver continues to innovate at the vanguard of cycling fit and performance.

“Riders just want to be pain free,” Carver says. “And even if they don’t care about being fast, they don’t want to push on the pedal and not go or push on the pedal and it hurts.”

Bike = freedom

Carver discovered young that pushing on a bike pedal is bliss and freedom in equal measure. “My first bike was a Huffy, and it was frickin’ rad,” he recalls. “As a kid, I realized that on a bike I can go way farther. So, I had this Huffy that I rode around the neighborhood, and it gave me a lot of freedom as a kid.”

Celebrate cycling (and correctly fitted bikes) Sunday, Sept. 7, at the Buffalo Bicycle Classic!

Learn more

His first “real” bike as a recreational and then competitive cyclist was a mountain bike, which he rode while figuring out what to do during the several years he lived in Breckenridge between high school and college. “I moved to Breckenridge and just got hooked on endurance sports, especially mountain biking, and I said, ‘I need to go study the science of this.’”

He came to ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� and joined the cycling team, eventually realizing that he didn’t want to pursue professional cycling and that the science of riding held a lot more fascination for him. Plus, he brought to the performance lab and insiders knowledge of the problems cyclists could have.

“One of the studies that we did with Rodger (Kram) was measuring aerodynamic drag on bikes, and I saw how big of an opportunity fit was,” Carver says. “You can have a really fast bike, and that’s good, but the human body makes up 80 to 90% of drag.

Todd Carver (left) works with a cyclist to gather data for a bike fitting. (Photo: Todd Carver)

“To this day, we still do that analysis with all of our pro riders. We take them to the velodrome, measure aerodynamics and then work with fit to try to improve it. I’d almost say that one of the biggest impacts we’ve had is helping send professional and career cycling more toward science.”

After earning his master’s degree, Carver worked at the Boulder Center for Sports Medicine, where he and an engineer colleague, Cliff Simms, soon realized that people were flying in from as far as Europe to get fitted for bikes. He wondered why they couldn’t get fitted in their hometowns, “and it really came down to the technology. For a bike shop to get the digital technology was too expensive and it was too hard to run—you basically would need a master’s degree in biomechanics to do it—so this engineer friend and I started to look at how we could break down those barriers.”

They began developing a motion-capture system that measures length and trigonometric relation between small LED markers placed all over the cyclist’s body and synchronized to flash at certain times, a process that happens in milliseconds. 3D cameras positioned around the rider record the data, which is immediately analyzed and used to fit riders to bikes with millimeter precision.

Affordable, portable, easy to use

With partner Franko Vatterott, Carver and Simms founded Retül in 2007 with a goal of making bike fitting more affordable, portable, easy to use and data driven.

“I say I got my MBA starting a company,” Carver says. “I knew nothing, and I learned it starting a company. One big thing we learned is you better have a darn good product, and what we felt we had was a really good product, so that made some things easier. We didn’t need to take investment initially; we were able to just bootstrap it and work off the money we were making (during development).”

They also were building a database containing everything they were learning about different types of bodies and how they fit on bikes—data they knew would be appealing to bike manufacturers. In fact, he adds, the goal was always to sell to Specialized, which had worked with doctors on ergonomic design and lacked only data from digital fitting.

Todd Carver (right) shows a cyclist data from a digital bike fitting. (Photo: Todd Carver)

They initially worked with professional riders, drawing on connections Carver had made with riders in ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� performance labs, and marketed Retül to fitting pro teams. “Then bike shops were coming to us saying, ‘We’d like to buy one of your systems.’

“From the rider point of view, what I was hearing was, ‘Wow, that feels way better, and it’s easier for me to pedal’ or ‘That completely got rid of my injury and now I can push harder.’ The problem might not be the bike itself, it just might be the saddle or the shoe or the footbed, or it just might be that the rider needs to reposition themself on the bike. From the rider point of view, that’s powerful because they could see that bike shops weren’t always trying to sell them a new bike, but had the data to say, ‘Let’s try a new saddle.’”

‘More fun with data’

As head of human performance for Specialized, Carver continues to work with riders at all levels and in all areas of cycling.

“We work in optimizing athlete and product performance using science,” Carver says. “In addition to fitting pros and selling fit systems to retailers, we do a lot of research and development—we take that fit knowledge we have and are able to then use that for ergonomic design of saddles, shoes and hand grips.

“How hand grips are shaped, for example, affects how a rider’s hand sits, which can mean the difference between a comfortable hand and one that goes numb. So, what we do is prototype and test and gather data for better design. We do so much work in saddles, which is the hardest thing on a bike to get right, so we’re always testing with pressure mapping.”

The overarching goal, Carver says, is to solve riders’ problems, “and that’s more fun with data.”

Carver often considers whether his life’s work is science or art, and figures it lives somewhere between the two: “We use scientific tools, have all these ranges, but we can’t know everything from that. I think that’s where the art comes in. You need to work with a lot of different riders—some who just want to ride bikes down to the grocery store and don’t want to be aerodynamic or fast—and you have to be able to empathize with that as well as the more competitive side of cycling. You have to have the human side, too, and really read people, have really good interviewing skills and listening skills to know what they want to do on a bike.

"I think I can empathize because I still love to ride, and I still feel that freedom when I get on my bike.”

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For ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Todd Carver, what he learned in the lab as a student inspired industry-rocking innovation in developing digital bike-fitting technology.

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Top image: A cyclist receives a bicycle fitting using technology co-developed by CU alumnus Todd Carver. (Photo: Todd Carver)

Secrets, spies and a stirred Vesper

Rachel Sauer — Tue, 02 Sep 2025 19:53:24 +0000

Secrets, spies and a stirred Vesper Rachel Sauer Tue, 09/02/2025 - 13:53

Cody DeBos

CU alum mixes CIA career into newly published cocktail memoir

When Robert Dannenberg (IntlAf’78) began photographing cocktails against the backdrop of mountain views from his home in Nederland, Colorado, during the COVID-19 lockdown, it started as a casual hobby. He’d send the photos to a group of retired CIA colleagues, all of them still close after decades of fieldwork and covert operations.

“One of them suggested putting them together in a book,” Dannenberg recalls. “That was the wife of my co-author, Joseph Mullin.”

What started as a way to pass the time soon stirred up something more refined.

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Rob Dannenberg (left) at The Fountain Inn in Washington, D.C., enjoying an Old Fashioned (the cocktail mentioned on p. 52 of A Spy Walked Into A Bar). (Photo: Rob Dannenberg)

“We were reminiscing about various points in our careers where cocktails were important in helping us get the mission accomplished,” he says.

Soon after, A Spy Walked Into A Bar: A Practitioner’s Guide to Cocktail Tradecraft was born. The book blends real-life CIA stories from Dannenberg and Mullin’s careers with the drinks that helped mark the end of a successful operation or the forging of a crucial relationship.

“Cocktails and espionage are linked in real life as well as in fiction like the Ian Fleming novels,” Dannenberg says.

But his book isn’t a James Bond thriller. It’s a memoir in disguise, served shaken, not stirred.

A Cold War toast

For much of his life, Dannenberg worked in the shadows. Before eventually becoming the CIA’s former chief of operations for the Counterterrorism Center, chief of the Central Eurasia Division and head of the Information Operations (Cyber) Center, he was a field agent with boots on the ground.

“I was mostly a Russia guy and did two tours of duty in Moscow,” he says. “I was responsible for the agency’s global collection operations in Russia. Truly important and fascinating work if you consider what is going on in the world today.”

Dannenberg’s career was punctuated by moments where toasting a drink meant more than relaxation. Lifting a glass meant trust, camaraderie or closure. The stories in his book don’t spill classified secrets, but they do offer a glimpse into the rarely discussed human rituals of intelligence work.

The Vesper and the Manhattan

While his book includes everything from the Vesper Martini to bourbon sippers among a carefully curated selection of 58 cocktails, two stand out for Dannenberg.

“My favorite from the book is the Vesper Martini—probably the cocktail most truly associated with Fleming’s James Bond,” he says. “If you watch the movie Casino Royale with Daniel Craig, you will know what I mean.”

But when Dannenberg settles in for a drink of his own, he switches spirits. “If I’m in the mood for a whiskey cocktail, I’m a Manhattan guy,” he adds. “There are several variations of the Manhattan presented in the book.”

These two drinks have special connotations for Dannenberg, who associates each with specific operations he took part in during his career. Readers can find those stories within the pages, he promises.

Rob Dannenberg began photographing cocktails against the backdrop of mountain views from his home in Nederland, Colorado, during the COVID-19 lockdown, sending the photos to a group of retired CIA colleagues. (Photo: Rob Dannenberg)

Better than briefs

After decades of writing intelligence briefings, reports and operational memos, Dannenberg says that A Spy Walked Into A Bar offered a new kind of writing freedom.

Mostly.

“Writing the book was a lot more fun than writing intelligence reports!” he says with a grin. “But one of the agreements you make with the agency when you have a top-secret security clearance is that you have to submit to them for approval anything you write.”

Dannenberg sent in a draft of the manuscript, and, in true CIA fashion, it was returned with numerous redactions.

“I thought the redactions might look amusing to the reader, so we went ahead and left the blacked-out text in the book,” he adds.

Making a difference

Dannenberg’s path to the CIA began at the University of Colorado Boulder, where he studied international affairs.

“I grew up wanting to work overseas,” he says. “While at CU, I narrowed it down to three options: State Department, U.S. military or CIA.”

The CIA called first, and he answered. Dannenberg served through tense political shifts, cyber conflicts and counterterrorism operations during his career. Along the way, he learned the personal cost of the work.

“Being an operations officer (or case officer) in the CIA isn’t easy,” he says. “There is a lot of pressure, a lot of time away from home and family, plenty of risk and times that require patience and persistence.”

Still, Dannenberg believes it was worth it.

“I was privileged to experience things in my career, both good and bad, that I would not have experienced in any other profession. My time at CU set the stage for a career that was more than I could have ever imagined,” he says.

Now retired, Dannenberg remains in touch with many of the colleagues who shaped his career and the book. He also hopes that today’s CU students will consider international affairs and public service.

“We live in dangerous times, and you can make a difference,” he says.

If A Spy Walked Into A Bar proves anything, it’s that even in the secretive world of espionage, stories still find a way to be told— even if the best parts are blacked out.

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CU alum mixes CIA career into newly published cocktail memoir.

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New exhibit celebrates ceramics at ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ��

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 27 Aug 2025 23:09:59 +0000

New exhibit celebrates ceramics at ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� Rachel Sauer Wed, 08/27/2025 - 17:09

Rachel Sauer

Opening Sept. 5 at the CU Art Museum, ‘Shaping Time: CU Ceramics Alumni 2000–2020’ focuses on themes including the environment, domesticity and rituals of home and material connections

The joy—and sometimes frustration—of ceramics may be found in its contradictions: its fragile strength, its rough refinement, its elastic rigidity. Drop it and it might shatter, or it might survive millennia.

“It’s a material that’s about so much transformation,” says Jeanne Quinn, a University of Colorado Boulder professor of art and art history. “It goes from being very plastic and malleable to something that’s more like stone. And embedded in ceramics is all kinds of material meaning. Our students who are trained in ceramics are really trained to dig into technical mastery with the material but also dig into how you find meaning in the material itself, how you’re using the material as metaphor.”

Myers Berg Studios, United States, …in plain sight, 2025, ceramic, maple, "Shaping Time: CU Ceramics Alumni 2000–2020," CU Art Museum, Sept. 5–Dec.19, 2025. (Photo Rachel Sauer; © Myers Berg Studios)

For students in the ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� ceramics program, the material also represents connection to an artistic lineage that has grown in breadth and renown through successive cohorts. It is a lineage nurtured by ceramics faculty Quinn, Scott Chamberlin and Kim Dickey, who have been teaching together and broadening the program for 25 years.

It is the length of those associations, in fact, that planted the seed of what has grown into the exhibit “Shaping Time: CU Ceramics Alumni 2000–2020,” kicking off with an opening celebration Sept. 4 at the CU Art Museum and opening to the public Sept. 5.

“CU has a really long history of investing in ceramics and having a very strong ceramics program,” Quinn explains. “Kim (Dickey) had this idea that it’s our silver anniversary of teaching together, we have this incredible group of alumni, so many amazing artists who have come through, as undergrads, as post-bacs and as grad students, so we should create an exhibit to celebrate that.”

A ceramic tradition

��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� has long championed the arts and supported artists, including ceramic artists who have created a student-focused program that prioritizes learning, technical mastery and artistic exploration. The ceramic program was significantly bolstered by Betty Woodman, an internationally renowned artist whose 2006 retrospective show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City was the first such show by a living female ceramicist, and who taught at ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� for 30 years.

Shaping Time: CU Ceramics Alumni 2000–2020

What: The ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� ceramics program is celebrating its history with faculty Scott Chamberlin, Kim Dickey, and Jeanne Quinn. To honor the achievements of artists who graduated from this program, faculty curators are partnering with the CU Art Museum to present a retrospective exhibition.

When: Opening celebration Sept. 4 from 4–6 p.m.; exhibit opens to the public Sept. 5-Dec. 19. There will be an all-day symposium celebrating the exhibit Sept. 5.

Where: CU Art Museum

Learn more

Chamberlin was a colleague of Woodman, and Quinn was a student of both Woodman and Chamberlin before joining the ceramics faculty in 1997.

“In this program, there is a real commitment to ceramics and its incredibly rich history,” Quinn says. “Every civilization from the beginning of time has had ceramics, so it’s an incredible kind of medium to work with and have the opportunity to reference all that. But I also feel like we have a very non-dogmatic approach to teaching—there’s so much history, but also so much space for experimentation and invention.

“Ceramics is a very demanding material. Anybody who’s ever sat down and tried to throw a pot on the wheel realizes oh, you don’t just toss this off. Every step requires real skill, real technical skill, but we’ve worked to build a program where students receive this amazing education in learning how to learn and learning how to grapple with the material and how the material can offer so many different avenues of expression.”

Erica Green, a post-baccalaureate student in the program between 2011 and 2013 and one of the exhibit’s 30 featured artists, credits the ceramics program’s emphasis on exploration with helping her forge her path as an artist.

“Ceramics is always my first love, but the nice thing about this department is you’re encouraged to follow the idea and not just the material,” Green says. “One of my professors in the program suggested I set clay to the side and focus on fiber and being more in tune with the material.”

Green’s work in the exhibit, “California King,” centers on a bed covered in a blanket of knotted felt and wool-blend fibers. “I work a lot in knots as a metaphor for mending and repair and healing.”

Artist Lucero Aguirre, who earned an MFA in the ceramics program, created the quilted tapestry “Mije” to include thousands of iridescent ceramic sequins—bringing together “the spaces of brownness and queerness in its sequined message,” Aguirre explains. “The term ‘mije’ is a gender-neutral version of the often-used Spanish term of endearment ‘mija,’ or daughter.”

In transforming “mija” into “mije,” Aguirre considers the “affective labor of navigating brownness as a queer subject. The piece responds to the way that intimacy is often gendered in Mexican and Latine spaces, leaving queer Latine bodies at once inside and outside.”

Erica Green assembles her work "California King" (2022, knotted fibers on mattress) for the "Shaping Time: CU Ceramics Alumni 2000–2020" exhibit opening Sept. 5 at the CU Art Museum. (Photo Rachel Sauer; © Erica Green)

‘You can do anything with clay’

Quinn emphasizes that even though the exhibit celebrates the ceramics program, it also includes textiles, video works, photography, live performances and other media. “(The exhibit) runs the gamut of materials, but the unifying piece is that you can see that sense of commitment to the craft, to really handling a material with authority and also expressing something beyond the material.”

The hardest part, she adds, was choosing exhibit participants “because we’re in touch with all of these alumni, we’re following what they’re doing, they’re sending us updates.”

At the same time the exhibit participants were being chosen, Quinn and her colleagues were working with CU Art Museum staff to envision and plan the exhibit—a time-intensive but rewarding process, says Hope Saska, CU Art Museum acting director. Saska also partnered with Quinn, Dickey and Chamberlin to organize an all-day symposium September 5 celebrating the exhibit; it will include performances, conversations and in-gallery artist talks.

“You say ceramics and people have this idea of, ‘Oh, you’re making pots on the wheel,’” Quinn says. “And ceramics certainly fits in this kind of lane, that is absolutely part of what we teach. But you also have an artist like Casey Whittier, who made thousands of ceramic beads and then strung them together into this gorgeous textile piece that hangs on a wall. Casey has taken ceramics, which you might think of as fixed and static, and then created this piece that hangs and moves and is as much a textile as it is ceramics.

“So, we want people to come to the exhibit, and especially we want students to think, ‘Oh, you can do anything with clay.’”

Lucero Aguirre, mije, 2024, handmade and lustered ceramic sequins, thread and batting and fabric, "Shaping Time: CU Ceramics Alumni 2000–2020," CU Art Museum, Sept. 5–Dec. 19, 2025. (Photo: Rachel Sauer; © Lucero Aguirre)

Linda Nguyen Lopez, United States (1981), Gummy Worm, Ombre Dust Furry, 2021, porcelain, "Shaping Time: CU Ceramics Alumni 2000–2020," CU Art Museum, Sept. 5–Dec. 19, 2025. (Photo: Rachel Sauer, © Linda Nguyen Lopez)

Joanna Powell, United States (1981), Flower Vessel no. 1, 2019, earthenware, majolica, gold luster, "Shaping Time: CU Ceramics Alumni 2000–2020," CU Art Museum, Sept. 5–Dec. 19, 2025. (Photo Rachel Sauer; © Joanna Powell)

Sandra Trujillo, United States (1967), Mosaic - Yellow, 2024, Mexican Smalti (glass), Wedi (polystyrene board), wood, steel, "Shaping Time: CU Ceramics Alumni 2000–2020," CU Art Museum, Sept. 5–Dec. 19, 2025. (Photo: Rachel Sauer; © Sandra Trujillo)

Julie Poitras Santos, United States (1967), The Conversation, 2019, single channel video, "Shaping Time: CU Ceramics Alumni 2000–2020," CU Art Museum, Sept. 5–Dec. 19, 2025. (Photo: Rachel Sauer; © Julie Poitras Santos)

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Opening Sept. 5 at the CU Art Museum, ‘Shaping Time: CU Ceramics Alumni 2000–2020’ focuses on themes including the environment, domesticity and rituals of home and material connections.

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Matthew McConnell, United States (1979), Didn’t Miss a Thing, 2023, dark stoneware, twine and twist ties on steel panels, "Shaping Time: CU Ceramics Alumni 2000–2020," CU Art Museum, Sept. 5–Dec. 19, 2025. (Photo Rachel Sauer; © Matthew McConnell)

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Top image: Matthew McConnell, "Didn’t Miss a Thing," 2023, dark stoneware, twine and twist ties on steel panels, "Shaping Time: CU Ceramics Alumni 2000–2020," CU Art Museum, Sept. 5–Dec. 19, 2025. (Photo: Rachel Sauer; © Matthew McConnell)

‘There’s no standard way to be Indian or Indigenous’

Rachel Sauer — Wed, 13 Aug 2025 18:57:35 +0000

‘There’s no standard way to be Indian or Indigenous’ Rachel Sauer Wed, 08/13/2025 - 12:57

Chris Quirk

In new memoir, ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Tony Tekaroniake Evans eschews narrow notions of identity, especially Indigenous identity

Of all his childhood memories, one in particular sticks in the mind of Tony Tekaroniake Evans (DistSt'86, focusing on cultural anthropology, biology and geography): In his third-grade class in Georgia, while making decorations for Thanksgiving, his classmates began asking about American Indians.

“Where are they? Can we meet them?” they asked.

“I’m an Indian!” said the young Evans, who had recently begun to learn more about his Mohawk heritage. His teacher replied that, no, the Indians were gone. “The teacher said Indians were extinct,” Evans recalls. “That was a little traumatic, and I realized I was going to have to take what I was learning in school with a grain of salt. After all, my grandmother spoke Mohawk in our house.”

In his new memoir, ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Tony Tekaroniake Evans explores history, identity and society through a personal lens, encouraging readers to eschew received and narrow notions of identity, especially Indigenous identity.

Evans recounts the episode in his new memoir, Believing in Indians: a Mixed-Blood Odyssey, published by Basalt Books. In the book, Evans explores history, identity and society through a personal lens. Along the way, he encourages readers to eschew received and narrow notions of identity, especially Indigenous identity.

The author of three books, Evans is also a journalist, historian, columnist and public speaker. He began his career writing for the Santa Fe New Mexican and the Taos News newspapers and since then has written for A&E Networks, History.com, High Country News and Smithsonian’s American Indian magazine. In addition, he has thousands of reporting bylines over the past three decades for the Idaho Mountain Express, his hometown newspaper in Ketchum, Idaho.

“People are so much more interesting than we can realize by glancing at their appearance, or making stereotypical assumptions about someone’s background, knowledge and interests,” he says. “It’s important to hear the details, because details bring us together as human beings, and that’s what I hope I’m doing with my book.”

Telling family stories

The jarring incident in the classroom spurred Evans to ask more questions about his family and background.

“My mother started telling me stories, and that my name, Tekaroniake, meant ‘two skies’ in Mohawk,” he says. “My Aunt Nadine had a medicine pouch made for me, and my mentor, who was also my mother’s childhood friend, Ed Two-Axe Earley, sent me some books from the reservation. That’s where my life journey began—but it didn’t end there.”

One of the questions about identity that Evans weaves through the book is who decides, and on what grounds? “If you tell people you’re Indian, they’re often going to have all these boxes to check—language, fluency, culture. Are you from the reservation? Do you know your history? It just goes on and on,” he says.

“When do you stop being Indian in somebody else’s eyes? When you get a vacuum cleaner? When you do yoga? There’s no standard way to be Indian or Indigenous. My Jewish grandfather was taken in by the Mohawks. He married my grandmother and worked with them building the Manhattan skyline. Did he stop being Jewish?”

In his book, Evans tells ironically of receiving his official registration “as an Indian and a member of the Mohawks of Kanawà:ke Band” from the registrar of Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development of Canada. “Becoming Indian is no simple process,” he writes. “Today, as a newly minted official Indian, I could go down to a nearby reservation and legally take peyote, stay up all night and visit with ancestors in the spirit world. Or I could just stay home and watch PBS Masterpiece programming and have a glass of wine.”

Time spent at CU was rewarding

His interest and investigation of his own identity led Evans to study cultural anthropology at the University of Colorado Boulder.

“I learned a lot of wonderful things at CU and absolutely loved my time there,” he says. “I found that I could learn from many cultures, not just my own. And I learned to interpret Iroquois traditions in my own way. Our Great Law of Peace, perhaps a thousand years old, stems from an experience of compassion and understanding for the pain of others, and how to heal from violence and move on from retribution to a better way of life.”

Evans’ book ranges across cultural topics and religious traditions, and provides numerous history lessons along the way, but stays firmly in the personal throughout. “I realized that the book needed to be about my story and emerging sense of Native values, and all of its quirks and weirdness, and heartache and humor,” he explains.

“Memoir is a really important art form. It is personal and subjective, and also specific. It gets deeper than the ethnographic generalities that people recount in much of the scholarly writing on native history and culture.” Evans also makes a case for what Indigenous people and traditions have to offer the world in a turbulent and uncertain moment: “Indigenous cultures can provide spiritual renewal and a sustainable path forward for humanity.”

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In new memoir, ��Ҵ�ý�ƽ�� alumnus Tony Tekaroniake Evans eschews narrow notions of identity, especially Indigenous identity.

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