Archive for the ‘The Cave’ Category


January 31, 2013
As a hermit, I'm not overly fond of places like malls, freeways clogged with cars, public schools, or even the grocery store at 5:15 pm or within about 3 days of any major holiday. I'm ok with silence in the car while I'm driving so I can process my thoughts, and certainly ok with working in silence with you if it doesn't creep you out. I confess to owning an invisible cloak. Yeah, I'll own up to it.  Its been mine for many many years and I still use it to escape the noise and notice of a bland public. I never really thought about it, never really gave it much attention until I noticed myself pulling the cloak over myself (and my car) on a recent night when I was heading back to the Hermit-stead, wanting to avoid being seen.  I can just slip away.  Moments before eyes rest on me, I can somehow move myself out of the line of vision, skirt the gaze of the viewer and be gone.  In a moment or a series of quiet steps, darkness can swallow me up and I am invisible.  If I am driving my car, there is a point where I know I've passed into invisibility and I have vanished from your radar. I was never there.

'My Coat', 2003

Thinking back, I do remember doing this when I was much younger, and in a very bad part of town, at a very bad time, being pretty reckless, with certain catastrophe looming right in front of me.  Realizing my mistake and bad timing and foolishness to be in so much the wrong place at the wrong time ... without even knowing what I was doing, somehow I managed to vanish and escape certain evisceration. So while I will never be an extrovert, and never dominate your conversations, pollute facebook threads with photo after photo of myself modeling new yellow high heel shoes or talk you into a stupor ... I am fine with being a hermist, an observer and flying through the fringes. A look behind the cloak though exists:  

Home Is Where Your Hermit Is!

September 1, 2011
I'm half pre-occupied, with the smells of corn relish coming in from the kitchen. I'm trying something new and hoping that I can put up these jars of grilled corn on the first try. But I also want to go out in the back and work on our fledgling chicken tractor that soon, will house some cluckers and hopefully, one day, eggs. Which means pancakes. 

shut up and give me pancakes.

I just returned from a quick trip over to a friend's house, around the corner and up the hill.  They've got the right idea.  A little homestead of sorts, tucked away in a sweet little neighborhood.  They've got their brick-red stucco house tucked away amid a forest of ash junipers, spiraling pathways, mulberry trees, winding gardens and chickens galore.  Every time I go over there, I think wow, I wish my little place was like this.  I want chickens!  And cucumbers! 

Nothing could be better than chickens AND cucumbers.

Once a thriving city girl who biked everywhere, loved GWAR, the boutiques, dive bars and thrift stores of the underbelly of my chosen cities ... somehow I've ... changed over the years. 

woo hoo. wilder days.

The desire to be surrounded by people and sound and music and cars has been replaced by a different need.  Now I'm up before dawn, running on the hill country roads in my area, with the yipping of coyotes just out of range, and occasionally, the dart of a golden pair of eyes, just past my path.  My fingernails get lined with the dirt from the gardens, a never-ending loop of watering, weeding, thinning and goading.  My seven trusty dogs are my closest companions from the first time I trip over them at 6 am until we're tucking away late at night. 

Milan and I. Present Day.

I discovered recently, with a little bout of surprise, how happy I am out here, in my little neck of the woods, out in Hermit-Ville.  I don't have many aspirations to be wildly popular, a social butterfly and present at every art opening. I do like to get out; I do love my vietnamese lettuce wraps with mint and good fish sauce, and I still love combing through the those flea markets and garage sales ... but now I feel content.  When I've got a wide open afternoon that includes some sort of food preparation, whether its from the nearby farmer's market or a new recipe I want to create ... the prospect of working on a piece from my ongoing kitchen goddess art installation or stretching out under the beautiful big oak trees in the yard ... this for me, is happiness. 

It rained here once. Observe.

Home is where the hermit is and I'm perfectly pleased to be here with you.