Friday, March 4, 2016

Shit I Miss About My Brush Creek Artist Residency

Seeing our jackrabbit friends at Artist Camp

Being around fellow kindred artists on a daily basis
Waking up at 9 a.m. most days
The view of the snow-filled field and surrounding rock outcrops from my bed every morning
The ritual of taking off my boots and stepping into my slippers whenever I stepped into my writing studio
The view from my writing desk

The comfy couch in my writing studio (great for afternoon naps)
All the quietude and solitude
Becoming acutely aware of the shades and play of light and shadow within my studio as the day passed, as well as out on the various trails
Wearing a scarf and mi chullo on a near daily basis
Walking into the kitchen at 12 and 6 p.m. on a daily basis and magically having plentiful free food to gobble
Our communal meals
Murray’s wit
Beverly’s mischievous grin
Susan’s smile
Elizabeth’s infectious laugh
Federico’s voice
Kathy’s kindness
Sliding over the heated wooden floor in the kitchen in my socks
The sound of our boots as we walked on the wooden platforms around Artist Camp
The hills and beautiful rock outcrops around Artist Camp
with my writing partner, Chepita
All the birds on the ranch: the robins, magpies, the occasional crow, the little small dudes and the rare falcon and golden eagle
The primordial fear of running into a moose or mountain lion on our hikes past Artist Camp
The Swinging Bridge!
with photographer extraordinaire, Susan Hillyard
Taking hikes before or after meals
Hearing and seeing the creek
The blue sky on a clear day
Seeing horses in this snow-filled landscape
Brush Creek Ranch
The orange sunsets over the Snowy Range Mountains
Seeing all the stars at night on clear evenings
Having the writing studio (and Artist Camp, really) all to myself late at night

Going to a small town on a weekly basis
The salty caramel ice cream at Lollipops
Seeing icicles hanging from our roofs
The snow!
The howling winds!
Playing in the snow by making snowmen
Seeing animal tracks in the snow everywhere
Having to always be aware of where you’re stepping when you’re not indoors or on the wooden platforms (spoken like a relatively young man)
Having life siphoned down to eating, shitting and writing

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