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.