Changing of the Guard

Had the picture frame continued a hair more to the right, there was a perfect arc of a rainbow in the sky.

Croquet by the studios on one of the last warm summery days. Anne, Josette, Jeff, me.

This year summer didn't hand itself over easily to autumn in Ucross. The week before I arrived, it snowed three inches, prematurely killing half of the garden and downing tree branches everywhere. In contrast, during the first two weeks of my residency, the temperatures soared in the eighties and nineties. Sometimes there was a hot dry wind that felt like it was being propelled by a large fan. Occasionally it would rain, but only a few drops here or there and you could still stay outside and wait it out. On a couple of the ninety degree afternoons, I waded in the cool creek that runs past my studio, but now at the start of my third week, a cold wind arrived along with steady rain, herding all of us into our studios for two days. I also experienced my first starless nights, which seemed appropriate since one of my stargazing buddies had left for home.

Before my friend Jeff left, he spent several evenings with me and Luc learning new constellations. We used the Big Dipper to navigate our way around the sky. From the Big Dipper to the Little Dipper to the North Star and then on to Draco, Pegasus, and Hercules. We marveled at shooting stars that drew lines of lights in the sky. We also renamed several constellations like one that looked like a tennis racket and another two that are officially named Puppes and Bootes, but we referred to as Puppies and Booties. On one of the evenings we stood in the middle of the 65 mph highway gazing at the stars. I have a vision of Luc walking down the highway, head down, talking to himself, the red light of his headlamp illuminating only his hands and the star book. These heart warming moments have been handed to me, one after another, during my stay here. Jeff, along with two of the other residents left several days ago only to be replaced by three more. I can be resistant to change, but it's necessary and I understand it can lead to good things.

Luc, me, Anne, Jeff in the middle of the highway. 

Along with the cold came the faint smell of fallen leaves lingering in the air, hunting season, and multiple layers of clothing. The cold also seemed to drive a small field mouse into my car.  On a quiet and rainy Sunday morning, I climbed into my car and discovered there was a small hole at the bottom of my secret stash of peanut M&M's. I wasn't sure if it was made by a mouse or not, so I checked on my road trip food in the trunk. As I discovered more bags with holes chewed in them, a little brown mouse leaped out and scurried to the front of my car. There is only one other time in my life that I recall screaming out of fear. I was like the cartoon of the huge elephant that sees a mouse, shrieks "Eek!", and climbs atop a tiny bucket. While this was happening, Luc was inside trying to do his daily morning meditation. I later found out that he heard everything go down, starting from the first scream to when Josette came out to join me and we blasted dramatic classical music on the radio and started honking the car horn like a car alarm, to when Josette found the mouse snuggled up in my shoulder bag, it leaped out, and I screamed yet again. Needless to say, I spent most of my Sunday disinfecting all of my belongings, vacuuming up mouse shit, and putting my food in tupperware. Lesson learned.

I realize I probably should report on what I have been doing in my studio. At first I floundered. I've been trying to limit myself from doing the things that I know. I have split my days in three: mornings for drawing, afternoons for carving (strategically placed the physical activity during the time I am fighting off the urge to nap), and evenings for experimenting with materials. At night I try to read or research, whether it's reading Mcphee's geology book or watching Ken Burns' documentary on the development of the West. I'm not sure if I'm making progress, but I am sure that I am being mindful and that I am working my tail off. My goal isn't necessarily to have completed sculptures at the end of my residencies. Rather, I hope to develop the way I make and think about my work.

If you are one of the few people still reading my posts, I want to say thank you for letting me share my adventures with you. I think of these as letters home from camp. I'd love to hear from you, too, hear your voices!

Much love, S.

Not sure if I will combine figure and bear. Maybe.

Wall of mountains. Drawings get bigger as I gain courage.

Magical Thinking

Bighorn National Park. 

Yesterday, I know for certain, I will remember for the rest of my life. I drove to the mountains with my newfound friend, Jeff, who is a photographer from Ohio. We are both interested in trying to understand the sense of a place or a landscape. While I have grown to love the rolling hills that surround the residency, I feel an undeniable pull toward the mountains in the distance. I am a certified New England autumn snob and couldn't imagine it could be equally beautiful elsewhere in the states. Against the faded yellows and whites of the Wyoming landscape, the yellows and oranges of the birch trees and maples seem equally vibrant as the colors of New England.  Since arriving here, I have been reading a John McPhee book about the geology of this area. Supposedly Wyoming has one of the most diverse arrays of different geological phenomena in the world. This was clearly illustrated as we drove up the winding streets, ascending the mountain range. The terrain and vegetation continuously shifted with surprises around bends in the road. If I remember correctly, some of the rock formations were made 3 billion years ago. I cannot even begin to wrap my head around this number.

Partner in crime, Jeff.

We drove through the mountains, over the pass and descended into a canyon. Jeff told me a story about a Native American man who was serving as a tour guide, maybe in New Mexico ( I might have the place wrong). He would always ask for permission before taking a picture of something, in case it was forbidden to do so. Sometimes the chief would say that something could not be photographed but instead, "this one is for your memories." Yesterday there were countless things I experienced that I couldn't capture through the lens of my camera or with my sketchbook and I had to remind myself, this one is for my memories.

Sense of scale. My car versus rocks.

Lunch spot at Meadowlark Lake, storm clouds forming.

We stopped at Meadowlark Lake where we found a spot on the rocks to eat our lunches, assembled from the spectacular leftovers of dinner from the night before.  Rain clouds were forming over the mountains. We waded into the icy cold water and stood in awe of this magical place. How could this be real? We took countless side roads, one of which led us to a pale green field of grass overlooking the canyon. Some of the rocks were intense hues of reds and pinks. We stumbled upon birch tree forests, countless deer, and black shiny cows blocking the road. As we drove up a windy gravel path, our view opened up to dozens of cows grazing and resting in a parking lot, behind the signs labeled "Parking Spot" and "No Hunting".

My favorite birch tree forests.

The storm.

Parked cows.

The rain lifted and the day ended atop rolling hills dotted with cattle and a rainbow arcing across the sky. When I checked my camera at the end of the day, I had somehow only taken a few photos. I thought I had taken so many more. This trip was for my memories: the clean air, the animals, the variety of rock formations, a long conversation without any pauses, the kind you have when you're excited about forming a new friendship.

End of the day.

Back at Ucross, all of the residents made a camp fire and smores near the artist studios. We intended to play headlamp croquet, but the cold night air kept us close to the fire. We did wander away from the fire once to traipse into the wooded areas and collect the dried out remains of a deer. One by one, people returned to their dorm rooms, and I was left again with Jeff and Luc. The three of us share living quarters and have formed an unlikely trio. I love our conversations and am so grateful for how often they make me think in a different way or laugh until my eyes water and I am doubled over. Jeff leaves in two days and I wonder how the dynamics will change. Will it be like a three legged stool missing  a leg? The evening usually wraps up with the 2/3 of a mile walk through the fields back to where we sleep. Again we were overwhelmed by the stars and the white band of the Milky Way. At this time of year, the Big Dipper sits low in the sky. It looks enormous near the horizon and we agreed that it looked like a lighted sign for a diner.
I am savoring my time here. I already feel rejuvenated and optimistic about things to come. When I was a kid, I thought that the world was a magical place. It has been nice to have moments here that make me think that maybe that 6 year old kid was right. 

Stranger than Fiction

This is my fourth full day here and I am slowly developing a rhythm. In the morning, the residents make their own breakfasts. My go to meal has been homemade granola, yogurt and sliced strawberries. This place is like a butler that anticipates your every need from bug spray to flashlights to office supplies. The kitchen is also equipped with an espresso maker and a bottomless cookie jar, as well as an endless supply of coffee and tea.  I fear that I may return to - or roll back to - Boston a little more spherical than before. 

View when riding my bike from living quarters to studio.

There is a 2/3 of a mile path leading from where we eat and sleep to where the studios are located.
UCross provides old sturdy bikes, the kind that you have to pedal backwards to brake. Mine is black, clunky and squeaky with a basket in the front. The joke has probably gotten old to people here, but I can't help singing the song in Wizard of Oz when the witch flies past Dorothy on her bike. You know the song I'm talking about. The path leads through a grassy field where there are almost always deer grazing. They usually unabashedly stare at anyone approaching, their heads immobilized like statues. This morning they broke into a run as I neared, their long white bushy tails waving back and forth.

 Being here has been like landing in a National Geographic special. Since arriving, I have seen a bunny hanging out with a deer, a skunk, a couple of raccoons, and one night as I drove home in the pitch darkness down a long, straight, tree-lined road, I spooked a owl, which took flight ahead of me and led me, gliding, down the path with its awe-inspiring wing span. It was a magical moment that I tried to commit to memory as it happened. It reminded me of running behind a great blue heron that had taken flight over a path in Brookline, near where I used to live. Its wing-span was so unbelievably wide and its legs looked like those of a prehistoric bird. I have also seen magpies, crows, and long-horns, which look like deer but are more closely related to giraffes. Down the street, I am told, is the carcass of a deer that was jumping over a barbed wire fence and got stuck. Its body is now hanging on the fence like a sweater thrown on the back of a chair. This morning I rode my bike down the highway trying unsuccessfully to find it. I did, however, pass what everyone here keeps referring to as Prairie Dog Village. It is another wide open field filled with literally hundreds of prairie dogs that are darting around and standing on their hind feet. This afternoon, I spent a few hours drawing a perfectly preserved dead hawk that had died with its head, body and wings forming a graceful arc.

The people who run this place and all of the people I have interacted with since arriving here have been nothing but warm and generous. I like the Wyoming drawl and local terms. We aren't supposed to use names so I am going to refer to people by what they do. The head of grounds and maintenance was telling me about how long and hard last winter was. "Winter just drug on," he told me. We are surrounded by a ring of rolling hills. Sometimes the tops of these hill are a rich burnt sienna or a charcoal black. The locals call this "clinker" which is formed when underground coal supplies light on fire and create a natural kiln, heating iron oxide in the soil until it turns red or blackens.

Last night I made a bonfire near the studios with a few of the other residents. At the end, it was only me, a photographer, and a writer that remained. We sat around the dying embers in fits of laughter. The writer is 27 years old, the youngest amongst us. When he relays any kind of information, he is hilariously funny, always wildly gesturing with his hands. The photographer is a kindred spirit, thoughtful and kind. At the end of the evening we rode with our headlamps through the pitch darkness. When we aimed our flashlights into the field, it lit up with at least a dozen pairs of glowing eyes. The deer were motionless and the little sharp lights of their eyes were all frozen in place. We thought it would somehow make a great start of a Far Side cartoon. The sky at night is usually a planetarium of stars. On this particular night, we had the extra added bonus of lightning lighting up the distant mountains. This was another moment I tried to record in my memory as it occurred. I have done this a lot since arriving, feeling this strange mix of joy and premature nostalgia for a moment that I am still in. It is just so heart breakingly beautiful here.  Even though I have had a rough start in the studio, I am in my own personal heaven here. I could not be any happier.

Dead hawk near my studio.

In the Footsteps of Giants

When I was leaving my friend's house in Massachusetts, her housekeeper called out to me, "Have a great trip! And don't get murdered!" She said this in the same tone of voice a mom would say, "Don't forget to call home!" For the most part I have felt safe and traveling alone makes me more observant of my surroundings. I spent the afternoon in Badlands National Park. It was difficult to capture the grandeur and strangeness of the landscape by drawing or taking pictures. I overheard multiple people describing it as another planet. What makes it even stranger is that it is surrounded by grassy plains. This entire area used to be submerged under the sea and the layers of rock were formed by sedimentary deposits.

Sometimes I wish I were more like the person who takes a hundred mile detour to see the Biggest Ball of Twine or the Corn Palace, so on my way out of the Badlands, I made a detour to see Wall-Drug. It was a tourist trap nightmare, and needless to say, I literally lasted 10 minutes surrounded by cheap tee shirts and wooden Indian statues. Mt. Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Monument are equally touristy, but quite awe-inspiring and worth the visit. Both are very different in person than in a photo, but of course I would say this as a sculptor. Ziolkowski, the man who conceived of the idea, began the project in 1948 and worked on it until his death. Now his sons have taken over the project. I actually like what it looks like in its current unfinished state. It reminds me a great deal of Michelangelo's series of slaves in Florence. I wish there was some way to get them to stop the project and declare it finished.

On my last leg from where Crazy Horse Monument is located to Sheridan, Wyoming, I stopped at a roadside antique store. It was a large building filled to the gills with antiques, furs, and animal skeletons. As I rounded a corner inside the store, there was a live donkey standing in the aisle. I kid you not, it was blocking the entire aisle. True to its reputation, the creature would not move out of the way, so I had to choose another route. The only other remarkable thing that happened on this drive was seeing the faded outlines of purple mountains in the distance. They almost looked like apparitions and gradually materialized as I neared. Oh, and my car was also dodged by several large predatory birds. I think they mistook my red car for a large field mouse. I actually clipped a wing of one of the birds as I slowed down.

I am writing now from UCross, which is truly heavenly. I have a beautiful, spacious studio and my own bedroom with a sink. There is a chef who cooks amazing meals during the week and leaves lunches on your studio doorstep every day. Someone washes your towels and sheets once a week. The kitchen is stocked with coffee, tea and food. There are no faculty meetings or sitting on committees. As I walked back to my room from the studio, the sky was filled with stars. I am excited to start working tomorrow morning. I like to imagine Annie Proulx or Elizabeth Gilbert, both former residents, working in their studios here or walking down the same paths I will tread on over the next four weeks.

Corn, Cattle, and Conservatives

Low clouds of Iowa

 I am writing from the Valentine, Nebraska Comfort Inn, which is sandwiched between "The Gun Locker" and a steak house. The past couple of days have been good for the most part but also trying at times. I seem to have found the Bermuda Triangle of the Midwest. Either that, or I can attribute the past two days to what I believe are my Yuri Geller-like spoon bending abilities. Electrical things frequently and inexplicably break in my presence. I was in Iowa where I filled my tank with 10 gallons of gas. When I turned my nearly new car on, the gas gauge didn't rise. I tried to fill it again but couldn't, so I assumed that the gauge was broken and the gas tank was full. I started to drive again and the gas gauge dropped. I immediately pulled over to buy yet another 10 gallons of gas and this time the gas gauge rose. I should also mention that my credit card was simultaneously shut off when this happened. I know this story is tedious, but if anyone can solve this riddle, I'd welcome any explanations. My midwest curse continued when  (mom and dad, don't read the next sentence), I was pulled over in Nowhere, Nebraska and given a speeding ticket. This area was so unpopulated that I only saw another car every hour or so. I swear, this cop materialized out of thin air.

Besides this drama, my drive was quite normal. Although I have driven cross country three times before, I was pleasantly surprised by the beauty of this one stretch of I80 in Iowa. It brought me back to a bus ride I took in Italy from Florence to Sienna. There are endless rolling hills and instead of the reddish-browns and greens of the Umbrian landscape, the palette leans more towards saturated yellows and greens. The fields are spotted with picturesque cows, tractors, and farm houses. Iowa provided some good weather watching as well. There were times when the dome of the sky was completely filled with dramatic and oppressive cumulonimbus clouds. The clouds almost felt like they were pushing down on the earth like a too-low ceiling. There were also times when I could see a clear line in the sky where two weather fronts met. In Iowa and Nebraska, I have been constantly reminded of the map illustrating where blue and red states are located. Every twenty minutes or so there is a pro-life sign, oftentimes hand-painted. I In addition to the pro-life signs, I spotted several billboards with the words "ADULT STORE" in all capitals nearly filling the picture plane. Below this in parenthesis, it said "For men! And women!"

Anyone who has ever travelled with me or sat next to me during a slide talk knows that I am a talented sleeper, or maybe even a borderline narcoleptic. Driving long distance solo has definitely been a challenge and I consistently take much longer than the estimated driving time on my GPS due to frequent breaks and catnaps. Trying to find ways of entertaining myself during 10 hour driving days has been a challenge. Along with car advice, I also welcome any non-NPR podcast suggestions. My latest podcast recommendation is "Anything Ghost". The first story was aptly about a ghost in Nebraska. I have also listened to hours of Ted Talks, This American Life, and my secret guilty pleasure, Pop Culture Happy Hour.

While in Nebraska, I unfortunately didn't see any ghosts, but I did spend a night in Omaha visiting my friend Kelly and her family. I had my car checked by a mechanic which set me off to a late start and placed me in this odd little town. There are cowboy hat-wearing men walking down the street and the main drag looks like a set from an old Western movie. Tomorrow I hope to sketch in the Badlands, visit Mt Rushmore and Crazy Horse, then point my car towards my Sheridan, Wyoming, where I am told it had its first snowfall the other day.

Valentine, Nebraska

Pulling Back the Arrow

 Audobon Society, Barnstable, MA

It seems entirely appropriate that to begin my trip out west, I first drove as far east as I could to Cape Cod where I spent time time with a group of friends from college. My friend, Dana Clancy, so poetically described this as pulling back the arrow before releasing it into the air. It felt good to begin my journey with good friends and in a place that is so quintessentially New England. I love the Massachusetts cloudless, blue sky, the scrubby seaside landscape and the rolling dunes. We spent the weekend kayaking in the pond, wading out into the ocean during low tide, eating good food, and playing games. Perfect weekend.
I left the Cape and followed the Tucker-Smiths to their home in Williamstown, MA, where I spent a full day. My sister went to college here so this place is flooded with memories. I still remember driving away from her when my parents and I dropped her off for her freshman year of college. It is hard to believe that this is now long over twenty years ago.

Becca Abbott, Becca and Dave Tucker-Smith

Mark Abbott, Becca and Dave Tucker-Smith

My first day of driving felt interminable. I listened to multiple podcasts, playlists and attempted to listen to books on tape, but quickly realized that this makes me fall asleep or immediately start daydreaming. One man, or should I say one-woman, karaoke was probably my main activity. I think it took me nearly 10 hours to get to Elyria, OH. Why Elyria? My friend since freshman year of college, Kerry, coaches basketball at Oberlin College. It was so wonderful to see him and to meet his family for the first time.

Below is a picture of him playing xbox Just Dance with two of his kids. Sorry it's not the best picture, but you just have to believe me that this was one of the cutest things ever. Kerry always reminds me that I am the first person he met at Amherst. I strode into his room, introduced myself as "Sachi like Chachi from Happy Days, but don't call me Chachi", grabbed his bag of cheetohs, sat down and made myself comfortable. From this day on, we were fast friends and his nickname for me has been "Sachi don't call me Chachi".

From Elyria, I had a shorter drive to west of Chicago. For much of the journey, I drove through a wall of rain. I love being in a rainstorm when the land is flat and you can see for miles around in every which way . It feels like being covered by a dome of weather. I'm writing now from Chicago where I'm staying with another dear friend, Elizabeth, from college. This trip has turned into one big Amherst and friend reunion. At the risk of sounding cheesy, lately I have been feeling beyond grateful that there are so many people in this world who I love so dearly. It is truly a privilege.

Elizabeth's kids, Ben and Jonah

For lunch today, Elizabeth and I met up with my painter and BU friends, Rachel and Jen. The two of them are collaborating on a project at Ragdale, an artist community. We had a delicious lunch at a Japanese market. 

I apologize if this is not the most exciting first post. No grand landscape photographs or interesting stories. So far my trip has really consisted mainly of friends and endless hours of driving on interstate 90. Tomorrow morning I drive to Omaha, Nebraska where my friend Kelly lives. She and I taught chemistry (yes, chemistry!) together long long ago in another lifetime. From there, I will head to the Badlands 

for two nights and then to Sheridan, Wyoming where I will begin my residency! My Prius feels like it glides, so it is easy to imagine myself as an arrow sailing through the air. I am anxious to reach my first destination and to start working, but Rachel and Jen calmed my fears today by talking about how amazing their residency at Ragdale has been.

Take care for now! And I promise to post pics of the Badlands soon!   xo Sachi