Maybe I’ll just write every year or two and comment, “wow, two years,” and this blog can stand in for the Christmas cards I don’t send any of you.
The issues here are that most of what I am compelled to talk about these days is at least a little bit (if not a lot) confidential, or it’s something personal that I wouldn’t want strangers to know if they ever discovered my little web life. The likelihood is that they will not ever think to discover this, and if they do — so what? They’ll know that I’ve lived and dated and been happy and disgruntled, that I went to school and went to school again. And most of all they will know that I’ve had a whole lot to say about nothing very important. I get bored reading through it, and I wrote it! Also, I was a lot more interesting, and I’m glad I have some kind of digital proof of that.
I am living in Montana, in a town with rich and sad history, gorgeous buildings, and the real-est people I have ever known — I know that’s not a word, but I don’t know how else to describe it. Some say “salt of the earth,” but I don’t actually know why that term exists. My work is difficult but meaningful and for the most part I don’t regret leaving art and libraries behind (though occasionally I’m exhausted and fantasize about going to a darkened office and looking at art images all day — I know that wasn’t exactly what my job was like before). I live in the most gorgeous apartment I’ve ever had, and also the second cheapest. I hike and go running and read and make friends and cook. It’s pretty good.
View from my back porch
My lovely apartment — that’s right, French doors and two bay windows. I’m in love. And I have unpacked in the eleven months since moving in, but I guess I haven’t taken more pictures.
One of my new town’s quintessential headframes. Underground mines reached as far as a mile beneath the city. Not they’re filled with water (and toxins).
From a camping trip to Cliff and Wade Lakes
I pass this scene when I go running near my house.
Pretty doors on a mine building. There are TONS of interesting buildings here.
An abandoned building.
I finally bought a TV, and was possibly more excited about finding a suitable stand. If anyone finds a vintage Singer treadle, let me know — that’s what I’ll put the DVD player on.
I finally made it to Marfa, Texas. Pictured is part of Donald Judd’s 15 untitled works in concrete, 1980-1984.
More Marfa — actually a few miles away, just outside of Valentine, Texas. Elmgreen and Dragset, Prada Marfa, 2005.