8 weeks have finally counted themselves down and at last I am on my way back to the Western winter. Just in time too, as my final day at MacDowell was filled with a flurry of snow. Enough to haul out the x-c skis and 'sledges' (as our resident Brit called them) for a final fling in the white stuff. For me, the snow storm was the exclamation mark of my full season inside my private art world. I leave with new direction and focus for the work ahead. For no artist can stay isolated from the world forever or art will lose its purpose. It must be pushed out and set lose in the daily life to truly begin to live.
As my dear friend Robert explains:
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate wilfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree~
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
Indeed, one would do worse. Farewell MacDowell, until we meet again!