Dispatch from Vermont Studio Center

view of the kahn studios from my vsc studio at night

11:21pm. 11 degrees Faranheit, windchill of 3 degrees. From inside my writing studio I can hear the wind whooshing and whistling through this valley. The river froze over a few days ago, and I suspect it will stay that way until I leave. I've been here at Vermont Studio Center in Johnson, VT, since January 5, and the river, which I can watch from my studio window, has been a constant companion and fascination. We've had a polar vortex and a thaw and another vortex, and the river has slowed and quickened, melted and hardened, flowed and frosted. This river, called the Gihon, is quite small. I suppose it's not much bigger than some streams, but it's made for an engaging view. I love that it keeps changing. I had no idea I could come to feel so deeply connected to a river. I'm more of an ocean girl, you know, but I've been pleasantly surprised to find myself so enamored of another body of water.

Yellow light spills out of the windows of an artist's studio in a building across the river, making patterns of tree shadow on snow. I can see the smaller branches waving in the wind, and the larger ones start to bow when the wind reaches a whistle pitch. The artist in the studio across the way has painted the walls yellow and filled one wall with a huge red and white paper creature, a serpentine design that reminds me of a Chinese New Year's dragon from here. I watched it take shape over the last few weeks, and now I'm watching it change shape. She must be dismantling or rearranging it. It seems to change at least a little bit every few days, like the river.

After tonight, I have only four more full days here. Before I arrived, a month felt like a long time to be at an artists and writers colony. I wondered if I should have signed up for two weeks instead. Now I'm wishing I had another week or two here. I've written and done good work during this month, but I wish I could do more. Still, I keep reminding myself that the end of this month and the end of this writing residency doesn't mean the end of my writing life. It feels, in many ways, like just the beginning of its next phase.

{p.s. I've been posting lots of photos from my adventures here over on Instagram. You can follow me (thewordcellar) or see my photos online.}

{p.p.s. I haven't made a Big Official Announcement yet, but if you're read this far, I'll let you in on something: Registration for the next session of Write into the Heart of Your Story is open! This 2-week online course will run Feb. 14-28, and it's all about moving your writing beyond "what happened" and into "what matters." And at $29, it's kind of a steal, if I do say so myself!}

Comments

[changesofheart]

Loved reading about your connection with the every-changing river & how this describes the creative process. Living near the sea & walking most days, I am constantly amazed at how different it is each & everyday, how the sea & sky often seem to reflect what’s going on inside me &/or how I am so deeply affected by it. It becomes like a conversation, even a relationship. I’m thinking the creative process is a lot about these sorts of conversations & the relationships we form with what & who are around us. Thanks for sharing...