cabin on the green

No photos, ah, I haven't uploaded them yet. I've already been back from my one-week Catskills residency for a few days and I'd thought I'd post the moment I returned, but then, I suppose I felt no need to hurry. I'd gotten to Beacon on Sat just in time to go out and roam Main Street- there were a lot of art openings, many of my friends were showing work or wandering around, so I went from being solitary to sociable rather quickly, which was fun. The wet oil paintings I brought home are dry now, so I want to mess with them again as soon as I can. All the tasks and jobs I set aside for a week are all, well, still here and I got right into it again. No, actually I took another day of leisure, going to see more art at the Wassaic Project, swimming in a lake (eating leftovers still in the cooler in the back of the car, pulling rumpled clothes from the suitcase), dinner out. But now, really, I'm back to the lists and the moving things around, that's what I do. In the next few days I want to post some of the notes I wrote at the Platte Clove cabin, and photos- heavy on the green- and will photograph the work I started there, some paintings and drawings.

Last Sunday: "By the time I'd arrived at the cabin it was mid-afternoon, sunny and cool. I'd missed my exit on the thruway due to daydreaming and had to double back. I enjoyed how my new leaf-green car motored up the winding mountain road like the three of us were made for each other.
I brought everything inside, grabbed a trail map, and set out on what became a three-hour hike. I hadn't fully planned on such a hike, but it felt so good to be completely alone walking beneath the dense tree cover-- I think I needed it to help me settle into my surroundings up here. The trail had a gradual and meandering ascent, so it was easy to keep going and going, across the Plattekill Creek and up along the rocky footpath, until I realized that I would eventually have to turn around and head back. I persisted a bit longer till I finally emerged to a commanding view at Codfish Point, by an old bluestone quarry. Now I'm back inside, it's dark out and I'm feeling just a little bit isolated, listening to the rushing sound of the waterfalls and maybe the wind in the trees. I don't think I can start anything new tonight but I have impressions of layered green leaves and damp earth, I have a stack of books to read, and I know I'll awaken early."
I did awaken fairly early each day, but then I kept staying up late reading. I had so many dreams, like fifty a night, maybe it's always that many, I usually don't remember. It seemed like there's a lot of action in my subconscious, a lot of story lines, even if the specifics still escape me.