It's been ten days at Art Farm.
We've taken long walks around the property, been woken up by mosquitoes, mice, and bats (all at the same time), stared at a new moon night sky, foraged mulberries and black walnuts, liberated a productive garden from a forest of weeds, started working in the studio (a real studio!), found a sauna (and got it working again), swam in a river, and felt the first cool breeze of the season.
We've been attacked by ragweed pollen, eaten alive by insects, dealt with offensive smelling compost, tried to eat wild plums that were definitely not ripe, gone to sleep exhausted from gardening and art-making and socializing and exploring.
We're in the process of laying down our intentions for the next five weeks. Some are predetermined (finish the pieces for Night Walk), while others are open-ended. The resources at Art Farm are immense, but access is not effortless. Things need to be unearthed, dusted off, repaired, greased, or rebuilt. There is no staff on hand to maintain the site, materials, or tools when they are no longer in use—the artists are both residents and caretakers. With that in mind, we plan to extend the garden and build a winter cold frame, to continue mapping the local flora (and documenting its potential uses), and to fire some clay.