I have done 3 cleanups since Ric died in 2015 but then I got stuck. Though I was able to move enough stuff out of the way to give Jeff Frost some studio space for his audio-visual endeavors I was left dumbly wandering about each time I went in and saw the state of the rest of the studio. It was part museum of our life together, part memorial to Ric, but mostly storage. I couldn’t imagine how I could sort through it on my own nor could I see how I could ask someone else to. But it happened. Apparently my distress was felt by the universe and the cavalry arrived to release the logjam.

Having Jeff use the place as base camp for his California on Fire project reawakened the satisfaction I feel having a working artist on the premises. It also helped me realize that’s Ric’s vision for having The Number Nine be a temporary haven for artists could really work and it was time to take the next steps. So I was ready for Jeff’s plan to clean up the studio and make it into a truly workable space for artistic endeavors. I can’t get over how fast he got it done. The bare white walls are back and there’s open floor space for reconfiguring as needed. We found a home with encaustic artist Harrison Fraley for boxes of beeswax and encaustic paraphenalia Ric had accumulated and we consolidated all my stuff into a 1/4 of the space on shelves that I can easily manage to cleanup. I feel so much lighter and as though Ric was whispering in Jeff’s ear to kick me into action. Now, I’m ready to move on to the tool shed and then, maybe, my closet! 

This exercise reminded me of how Ric was always reorganizing or moving his studio. It was time he spent taking inventory and evaluating each item based on his present needs.  It was a time he spent making room for new things and ideas to move in. He liked to have empty vessels around the house to remind him that you have empty out in order to be filled. It was also usually a precursor to a big new creative effort. Now its time for me to be emptying and allowing the new to arrive!

I write this while on a family trip to Philipsburg Montana. We are socked into a week of rain which frees us from the burden of great weather that we feel we should be out enjoying. Now we can lounge around and read a book cover to cover, watch movies, listen to podcasts, savor the fragrance of soup simmering, and daydream. Its a time to look from afar to reflect on what has happened and evaluate possibilities for The Number Nine. I see that what was Ric’s vision that I had no idea how to actualize has manifested itself with very little effort on my part. I see it is not Ric’s dream alone anymore and it is already working. I see how each person who has come to stay has brought their own special energy and insights that have enriched the dream. Hopefully, they will be infused with the magic of The Number Nine and take it with them. For me, I’m looking forward to this next part of the path. 

In the spirit of Noah Purifoy, I’ve finished a couple of little installation pieces on the property. The place is developing its own geography and I will soon have to make a map similar to Winnie the Pooh’s woods. The Medicine Wheel and Memorial Wall continue as a work in progress but this late spring brought a meditation on the collapse of a wooden chair left out in the elements, a palm frond fence covering, and an installation using four boxes of camera bodies, lenses, and miscellaneous photography accessories that Ric had collected. He had always said they would be worth a lot of money someday. That has not happened but it’s an excellent sub-title for this piece. I placed all that I could in the stubs of the trimmed fronds on a palm tree and littered the ground below with photography detritus. Ric’s unfinished masks found there way into the assemblage and seem to fit well.

The Whole World is Watching is another sub-title of the piece. This chant from the protestors at the 1968 Chicago Democratic Convention has come to mind frequently in these turbulent political times. Back then, the videotaping of the police violence allowed us all to watch the horror live in a way we had not seen before. Today, we are flooded with images and news reports to an extent beyond our abilities to integrate in a healthy way. The yin and the yang of technology’s possibilities brings the imperative of taking responsibility to find a personally healthy way to guard against excess while still remaining informed and engaged.

These installation pieces are proving to be activities I use to help myself filter the appalling truths of our 21^st century world in an uplifting way. I feel really good about reusing materials that would normally be thrown away. The time I spend creatively thinking helps me view subjects a little more deeply before being blasted by another. The work outside and manipulating objects feels so grounding and healing. It all feels like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle that I’m called to put together. It’s especially satisfying when the seemly useless and valueless things I have reveal some fun new use or become the perfect thing to give someone else at just the right time and space.

Years ago I settled into a chair on the wrap-around porch of an over-the-top Victorian style bed and breakfast in Cape May NJ. When I looked up, the sky blue ceiling of the porch sparked some calming chemicals in my brain. I fell in love with a blue ceiling! In sharing this remarkable response I had with others, I learned it was a southern thing meant to prevent spiders from making webs and mud daubers from building nests based on the theory that they interpret the color as the sky. There’s also the superstition that it keeps ghosts away since it’s the color of water and everyone knows ghosts can’t traverse water. Whatever the reason, there’s the indisputable pleasure of gazing at an artificial sky on a cloudy day.

April and May brought a blue porch ceiling that extended on to the eaves circling The Number Nine. With the crossbeams painted a dark chocolate, I feel a wonderful convergence of heavenly and earthly energetics in a simple coat of paint. I am truly astonished how much it raises my mood catching glimpses out the window or while swimming. Something in my brain is deeply and deliciously tickled and I become a big smile.

By the way, I’ve found some spider webs, no mud daubers, and so far no ghosts.