deep in the desert

April was an interesting month.  March was non-stop studio preparing for Feathers, Scales, Shells at the teahouse, so when the show was hung and I finally stopped to breathe, I realized what was ahead of me.  My dear friends, Sarah, Christian, and Cyr began brand new beautiful adventures in the month of April, and so much of the first couple weeks were spent bidding bon voyage.

It's not my favorite, saying bye to people.

The Tallest Man on Earth says "there are no real good-byes if you mean it."  and I would say he is correct.


In order to re-center, re-invigorate, and remember what's clear- I headed east last weekend with my boy besties (I think they hate it when I call them that) to the Alvord Desert, which is snug in between the Steens Mountains and the Pueblo Range in one of the most remote places in the lower forty-eight.  It was divine, and exactly what I needed.  The first night in, we camped in tents without rain flys. and I grinned myself to sleep while watching the stars and listening to the Fleet Foxes new album (which, I might add, mentions Innisfree several times: a lake isle beloved by WB Yeats and also the Mullen Family of Maury County, TN).  I woke with the dawn over the desert, spent the morning soaking in the Alvord Hot Springs, then hiked all afternoon on the Pike Creek Trail.  The weekend continued with campfire food, frisbee throwing, guitar playing, walking out into the half inch lake that covered the Alvord with a soft milky mud, and spending a lot of quiet time with the boys and Kelt, letting the desert wind refuel me.

Now, back in Bend, with the PoetHouse in transition and spring STILL not here, I am hanging on to the clarity of being in the outside lands, and looking forward to pouring some of that clarity into my artwork.