Out my window is the Gihon River, still mostly covered with ice, but the water peeks through in spots, and it’s rippling around a bend just beneath the bridge nearby. Vermont is cold in March–what isn’t covered with snow is gray and wet (the ground) or gray and dusty (the roads). But it’s paradise to me and home for the next two weeks. I’m at the Vermont Studio Center, a colony that includes writers and visual artists of all kinds.
On the shuttle yesterday from Burlington Airport, I met a painter from Beijing, a writer from NYC, an art teacher and muralist from North Carolina, and a painter from LA who is a recidivist, here for her fifth residency. David, our shuttle driver, talked of Vermont and the studio center and a life of producing various kinds of art (and buying vintage fire trucks) as we wound through the mountains toward the small town of Johnson. Tonight he’ll screen a film, Days of Heaven… which reminds me… I’ve got more True/False films to write about. Ah, but I’m at a writing retreat. I should be writing. Wait! I am writing. But, not the kind of writing I thought I’d be doing. I just got here, okay? I’m still in that first/second day figuring-things-out stage. Yes? I’ll have it all figured out tomorrow. I promise.
Poem of the Week
On retreat in Vermont
Out my window is the Gihon River, still mostly covered with ice, but the water peeks through in spots, and it’s rippling around a bend just beneath the bridge nearby. Vermont is cold in March–what isn’t covered with snow is gray and wet (the ground) or gray and dusty (the roads). But it’s paradise to me and home for the next two weeks. I’m at the Vermont Studio Center, a colony that includes writers and visual artists of all kinds.
On the shuttle yesterday from Burlington Airport, I met a painter from Beijing, a writer from NYC, an art teacher and muralist from North Carolina, and a painter from LA who is a recidivist, here for her fifth residency. David, our shuttle driver, talked of Vermont and the studio center and a life of producing various kinds of art (and buying vintage fire trucks) as we wound through the mountains toward the small town of Johnson. Tonight he’ll screen a film, Days of Heaven… which reminds me… I’ve got more True/False films to write about. Ah, but I’m at a writing retreat. I should be writing. Wait! I am writing. But, not the kind of writing I thought I’d be doing. I just got here, okay? I’m still in that first/second day figuring-things-out stage. Yes? I’ll have it all figured out tomorrow. I promise.