Case Study: Virginia Creeper Trail

One of 47 bridges and trestles on the Creeper Trail.

The Monticello Connectivity Practicum team studied a number of regional trail projects to find out what works and what we can learn from them. This past weekend, I was able to visit one of the best of them and experience it first-hand. After reading hundreds of reports and gushing reviews I had high expectations for the Virginia Creeper Trail. It exceeded them.

The Creeper follows an old railroad right-of-way through the mountains and valleys of Southwest Virginia. Meredith and I rented bikes for the day and one-way shuttle service in Abingdon ($26 each) and rode the full 37 mostly-downhill miles back from White Top. It felt epic but attainable for someone who is active but not a cycling specialist. Shorter routes are available. The entire first half is a very easy ride and barely requires pedaling. As a result, we saw all body types, kids and seniors. The beauty is breath-taking and I was thrilled to see so many people out enjoying it. Because most people ride the same direction, there was little conflict even on a peak-usage Saturday afternoon.

The right-of-way is a three-way partnership between the United States Forest Service, the Town of Damascus and the City of Abingdon. Much of the trail is on Forest Service land, but more than half of it is on private land, passing alongside (and through) villages, farms and woodlands. Trespass is not an issue: the trail design keeps you on it and there’s really no reason to leave except to patronize the businesses it passes.

Glad I Photographed Those Old Houses!

Accomack, VA 2011. This was a controlled burn, which is now illegal. [more photos]

Please permit a quick detour from Monticello Road to the Virginia Eastern Shore.

Many readers know about my other project—Succession—in which I photograph human spaces being reclaimed by nature. I’ve taken many pictures along US 13 in Accomack County, an area rich in abandoned buildings and farmsteads.

Something strange and bad is happening over there.

A string of arsons (more than 70 since November) have targeted abandoned buildings and have been done in a highly sophisticated manner, studiously avoiding both detection and human (or animal!) injury. Naturally, speculation about the arsonist(s)—and it’s almost certainly a team—and their motives, is rampant.

People seem to think that it must be some group of trouble-makers, anarchists, revenge-seekers or pychos and fear is taking hold. That’s a natural response to fire.

I haven’t heard anyone ask an obvious question though: who benefits by eliminating traces of old family farms? Most arson cases are related to insurance fraud but for that to be the case here would require an entire community-wide conspiracy, which though fascinating from a sociological perspective, would be highly unlikely. Big poultry, which dominates both landscape and economy seems a more likely candidate.

Perhaps it’s the manifestation of dark desperation, like the monster that emerges from the lake in that Police Song.

It’s certainly a sign that something bad is happening in that community’s soul and whatever the motivation, the effect is sad. Many people are afraid and an already-poor county is forced to divert limited resources to try to protect lives and property. Beyond the financial losses (some of which are heartbreaking) it’s a troubling erasure of past lives. Everything changes and if the arsonist hadn’t taken those buildings, Nature most likely would have. But this feels different: vicious in ways we've seen too many times before.

At any rate I’m glad I stopped and documented some of those tumbledown dreams before they were wiped away. Although I have a renewed urgency I’ll certainly be careful about creeping around those places in the future, lest I be collared on suspicion of pyromania!

Photo Gallery with Accomack Pics | More Succession Photos
Good Summary Story (Weird end-times header notwithstanding)

Monticello Road Extended: Ghost Road

Like an appendix, about a mile of historic Monticello Road still exists, cut off by the Interstate, isolated and now disused. An artifact from the past, it looks like it could have an exciting future. Check back soon for a full photo gallery.

Monticello Road was once a primary entrance to Charlottesville but it was truncated when Interstate 64 was built and replaced by nearby Monticello Avenue in the Sixties. What’s left is the quiet neighborhood street it is today.

I’ve always wondered what traces of the old Monticello Road exist on the other side of the Interstate, out into the country. I’ve crawled through culverts and fought through brambles but never found anything definitive.

A lucky break came when I called Chris Gensic, trails coordinator for Charlottesville for assistance with the cellphone audio tour [more on that soon]. He had an answer and was willing to show me. He also has a plan.

Old Monticello Road crossed Moore’s Creek at its present terminus (bridge abutments still visible), followed the creek for a short ways, then wound through the hills up to the current site of Michie Tavern (it was originally located in Earlysville) then joined VA-53, the current route up to Monticello. In between still exists about a mile of ghost road, completely abandoned and covered with leaves but largely intact. A kick in the leaves reveals a solid yellow line.

Along the way, the road passes through a spectacular successionary ecosystem, largely protected from human intrusion by its very cut-off state. So cut off, in fact, that major trespassing (or acquiring owners' permission as we did) is required to go there.

Interstate builders straightened and rerouted Moore’s Creek to its north flank and diked off an oxbow that is still filled with water and that hosts seasonal waterfowl. There’s a rich and varied understory with particularly abundant ironwood beneath a canopy of mature sycamores and oaks. Archeological traces abound. I can’t wait to revisit the place in the Spring.

If Chris gets his way, we will all get to go there soon. He has an ambitious but surprisingly feasible plan to reconnect with the historic right of way by bridging Moore’s Creek and boring a tunnel under I-64, sweeping the leaves off the old roadway and connecting with the Saunders-Monticello trail, yielding a family/tourist-friendly pathway all the way to Monticello.

This will be a boon for residents and visitors alike and will make available a real treasure for all. In the meantime, it’s a neat little tract: hidden and cut off from both place and time.

Edit to add (2/1):

This came from amazing archeologist/naturalist Devin Floyd, who accompanied the walk. So great to walk those woods with people who really knew what they were seeing:

"Peter, you might add spicebush and pawpaw to the understory species list you describe, as they were the dominant woody plants, and important indicators of ecosystem health. You might also add poplar and ash to the overstory descript., as they are the dominant species in the overstory.

The road does pass through a spectacular and varied display of forest succession. There are also remnant trees, echoes of fields and open spaces long ago abandoned (that's what those biggest trees represent).

The People of Monticello Road: Alexander House

The Engine that runs Alexander House: (from left to right) Emma, Misty, Angel, Flame, Raven, Kassia, Sky.

Alexander House is a collectively-owned-and-operated inn and hostel. The kitchen has a world map on the wall, with colored dots each indicating the origin of a set of guests. There’s one in the center of Australia, one in the deepest Congo, and one in the Ural mountains at the heart of the Eurasian landmass. Germany is completely covered and the United States looks like one of those enhanced nighttime satellite images that shows population centers.

This unique business welcomes guests from all over the globe and travelers of many modes and many means. Monticello Road is part of the transnational bikeway and as a result, the bike rack outside often boast several sets of saddle bags. It is possible to rent a room, the entire house or even a berth in the bunkhouse. It is as welcoming to mothers of brides as it is to bikers.

The place is immaculately clean and inviting, the guests quiet and exemplary--an enormous credit to the collective and a reflection of their sensibilities. They’re terrific neighbors and stewards and their visitors bring stories from far-away places.

Charlottesville is surprisingly cosmopolitan for such a small town, with a quaint exterior and a self-conscious sense of geography and history, combined with a not-contradictory yearning to find new ways of doing things. Alexander House displays all of these traits and, sitting as it does at the geographic center of Monticello Road, it is a great place to put our bags down and begin exploring.

---

The People of Monticello Road is a weekly series of profiles that will run through the summer. Monticello Road is a photography and story-telling project about the people and places along a mile-long byway that is simultaneously humble and historic, home to many and a reflection of us all. There will be an exhibition and much more in the Spring of 2012.

Project Description | More Photos: Places | People
Alexander House Info | Bios

Unexpected Singularity

Our friends went for the Full Virginia: from the beach to a mountaintop and--of course--the sweet hill country in between.

We had just said goodbye to some dear friend visitors from New York and to chase away the sadness, I went for a run through the neighborhood and down into the woods. I was met by a feeling I did not expect.

As I rolled through the hills, amidst the yellow storm of pollen; past the banks of iris; along brick sidewalks and faux-brick painted asphalt crosswalks that light up and make cars stop; past farm houses and Belmont Bungaloes, stacks of spare construction materials; hearing country music, rock-and-roll, blues and young couples arguing about sex; smelling wisteria, honeysuckle and barbeque; giving and receiving suggestive glances; in an arena defined by surrounding mountains, old-seeming roads, and walls of poison ivy, I was keenly aware of how singular this place is.

By showing my friends around my favorite places, I quite naturally focused on what's good and what's unique. I had a wonderful time just spending time with them and stay-cationing in a place that's just as great to visit as to live. It was a good reminder of what I love and how well we live.

As I cruised back to my happy little house, seat of my happy life, the echoes of my friends laughter were waiting of course but there was something else: a refreshing contentment, as if waking from a good nights sleep on a bright, clear morning.

Richmond Rocks

Who says art is not affordable? It's good to see Richmond's tobacco infrastructure being repurposed for the arts.

I hadn’t really explored Richmond very much but my recent trip was a good introduction to the art scene there. There are some cool places

The main thing I realized is that it is a legitimate mid-sized city with all the cultural possibilities and interactions that status brings. Charlottesville, by contrast, is a small city—one that overachieves in a big way—but small nevertheless.

The biggest eye-opener was the Visual Arts Center—a gorgeous facility (better than any university I’ve seen) dedicated to community service through art instruction. It was abuzz with activity—in this case youth getting off the street and into the arts. It’s quite different from McGuffey that’s more about small but intense conversations.

Richmond boasts several first-rate galleries and refreshingly friendly compared to New York. The city is still small enough that everyone seems invested in growing the pie rather than dividing it up. There seems to be limitless studio space--much of it concentrated in the riotous Plant Zero | ArtWorks complex. The former was cool and the latter gave me artigo and made me appreciate McGuffey's curatorial filter.

There is plenty of funk—thrift shops, cafes, bookstores, quirky architecture—everything you would want. I was thinking about it on the drive home but I love where I am. You gotta love places (and people) for what they are and Charlottesville works for me.

It’s cool to know about this other interesting place down the road.

Monticello Road

I will have four full seasons to capture the neighborhood in all its costumes.

Update: The exhibition is scheduled for Spring, 2012

I'm very excited to say that The Bridge Public Art Initiative has agreed to host my Monticello Road exhibition. It's a wonderful opportunity and a tremendous vote of confidence from an institution that's doing some terrific work.

The exhibition will examine the people and places along one of America's most historic byways. Monticello Road is an ancient trail that has been in use since Paleolithic times and, as its name suggests, the principal route to Monticello and points south. At the same time, this is a place where people (myself included) live their daily lives. Any exploration of a place so steeped in history must necessarily mine the past but this project is firmly seated in the present--it's about what is there now.

Due to the inevitable changes that history brings, only about a mile of Monticello Road still exists, which is actually good for my purposes. It will be quite manageable for me to explore its entire length in some depth.

We have not selected a date or scope for the exhibit, so check back for more details. I am quite excited though: this is a project with many possibilities and broad support within the community itself.

It will be alot of fun.

Cabin Fever

Measure my life in dips in the "Pool of Men" and I won't complain.

Every summer, we make at least one pilgrimage to our friend James' cabin on the Maury River in the Goshen Pass, a remote backdoor to the Shenandoah Valley.

The most amazing thing about the place is its spirit, impossible to describe. It's a bask on a rock, a dip in the cool mountain water, a hike under the trees, or an amazing rocks-to-loaves feast where the food appears out of no where and it's incredible. It's blue grass on the porch and a breeze down the valley folds. It's the people who go there and the way your cares stay at bay while you're there.

I have described the experience at length before and will spare the long diatribe, but forgive one last gush: I love it there and I'm very grateful to be able to go.

The Next Thing

To get to this spot, I had to outrun a security guard in a go-cart, wade through a waist-deep sea of vegetation, cross a stream, and squeeze through a barbed-wire fence. A safari within the boundaries of my town.

Before my Scratch show at McGuffey had even ended, people started asking me what I’m doing next. I have a couple of projects in the early stages, and although I can’t yet say what physical form they will take, I can tell you what I’m thinking about and what I’m looking at.

I’m really interested in the process by which Nature reclaims human spaces. I still love trees and vegetation but rather than looking at the landscape from a distance, I’m starting to really focus on the mechanics of that reclamation. The project will be called Succession and will probably be limited to Virginia ecosystems. The vines and brambles interface beautifully with the state’s abundant human history.

I’ve been hiking and exploring, snooping around (often in places where I shouldn’t!), running from security guards and wildlife, and taking many photographs. I’ll shoot thousands of frames and keep a few from each safari until I have about a hundred images that I really like. I’ll spread them out and see what I find in them. Then I’ll know what to do, what kind of art to make.

I’m still making scratch boards from my considerable image bank but I’m also actively cultivating my inspiration. It’s a very physical search that leaves me with cuts and scrapes, bug bites and some beautiful images.

It’s worth it: blood, sweat and toil makes for better art.

Scratch

Two of a Kind (scratch board) Oil pastel on inked mat board, 4"x6" 2010.

I have never been the type of artist to hitch my career to any single set of materials or techniques. For me, art is about a way of seeing and I will employ whichever media come to hand or whatever makes the most sense for the project. That approach will be on display in my new show at McGuffey Art Center, in which I explore and re-explore images of my familiar subjects—tree and sky views—through three different media: dry point prints, scratch boards, and photographs.

Untitled dry point. 2" x 2" on 10" x 10.5" Tiepolo paper. Edition of 6. 2009.

Last autumn a friend of mine who is a master printer suggested that I try my hand at dry point, a very simple and direct engraving process wherein the artist scratches lines on a copper plate with a nail or stylus. I began with the expectation that I would feel constrained by the tool’s sharpness and its seeming irreversibility. The opposite happened: I felt completely liberated and in spite of the deferred gratification inherent in the printing process, it felt free and spontaneous. I worked with her to produce the eight small (2”x2”) prints in the exhibition.

There has always been one big limitation to printmaking for me however: the images are black and white (or with a very finite set of colors). I set out to discover a way to combine the dry point’s linear poetry with the kaleidoscopic spectacle that is my visual experience and my scratch boards are the result. I make them by inking a piece of mat board, coloring the background area with luscious Sennelier oil pastels, then scratching through the pastel with a stylus to reveal the dark board underneath. There will be about twenty small scratch boards (approximately 4”x6”) and a few of them reverse the technique by using dark pastel on a bright board.

My creative approach begins with photography—I carry a camera around like a sketchbook to record the ephemeral and visually stunning moments that fill my life. I wanted the exhibit to include at least a glimpse of that part of the process by showing some of my sources. Something larger started to emerge as I arranged the dozens of small Polaroid-like pictures—a few which have been enlarged to reveal details and hidden surprises. The images carry a strong sense of my particular vision of the world and they each stand on their own merits as creative expressions as well as being part of a cohesive whole. They comprise the third and perhaps strongest leg of the show.


Scottsville, VA 2006.

Though the three sets of pictures employ three distinct techniques, all originate from a single library of images. Indeed, some sources appear in two or all three of the groups. A few of them are tributes to artists whose work I admire. The collected works, all created in the past few months, reveal a vision that is specifically my own. They profit from multiple looks and the strengths of multiple approaches, unencumbered by the parameters of any specific technique.

Scratch is on display from June 1 to June 27, with an opening reception Friday, June 4 5:30 to 7:30. McGuffey Art Center is located at 201 Second Street NW Charlottesville, VA. Hours: Monday through Saturday 10 am – 6 pm, Sunday 1-5.

Wet Paint

San Angelo (scratch board). Oil pastel on inked mat board, 4" x 6" 2010.

When I was first getting started as an artist I planned to donate a sculpture to an auction to benefit the homeless of Washington, DC. Unable to decide which piece to give, I asked one of my mentors for advice. His response: “Give your best piece.” It’s always hard for an artist to give up their work, so the idea of giving away my favorite was a bitter pill to swallow.

He was right though: it’s only a donation if the piece actually sells. So if you wish to benefit a cause, you need to make the sacrifice and anyway the business reasons for making the donation redound the most if you put your absolute best foot forward. The desirable audience that attends the gala is impressed with your strong work and the art shows—and moves—well. Everyone comes away happy.

I took his advice and the piece sold and I gained a new patron as well as good karma and a tax deduction; an example of doing well by doing good.

I have that advice in mind as I prepare for this weekend’s Wet Paint gala to benefit the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts (VCCA). VCCA is one of the nation’s most established artist communities and a beacon for the visual arts in Central Virginia. Like so many other artists, VCCA holds a special place in my heart and I made some of my best work while I was there. Much that I have done since was inspired by that magical place.

I wanted to contribute something worthy that would be a response to my residency there. I am proud of the result and you can see it this Saturday night. Buy a ticket, make a bid. The cause is more than worthy and hopefully you’ll walk away with an important and resonant work of art.

Event Info | VCCA Info | VCCA Blog

The Pond

Baker's Branch is an Eden forty-five miles from my front door.

Yesterday I got up early and harvested the first greens from my garden. I was making sandwiches for my father-in-law and myself. We had a special day ahead.

He owns a share of a large and mostly undeveloped piece of land about 45 minutes from town that is divided up like a pie with a pond in the center. The only permanent structure visible from the pond sits on a communally shared tranche. It is a small but beautifully crafted cabin consisting of a porch and a dry sauna.

The routine is always the same: first we heat up and stretch in the wood-stove-heated sauna, then dip in the chilly (though no longer frigid) pond. Afterward we sit on the porch and enjoy the woods, then repeat the cycle four or five times.

The pond occupies a space in my life akin to the Turkish Baths back in New York. We go there to rest and rejuvenate. We sweat out—and I stretch out—the toxins that slowly accumulate in daily life. The pond’s water and its many subtleties inevitably recall Thoroeau. The open spaces, soft treescapes, and primeval purity couldn’t be more different than the delightful skank of the Turkish Bath grotto.

During one of his visits to New York, I took the old man to the Baths and he fully appreciated its many—and consummately urban—charms. Breathing the fresh air and hearing the natural sounds, we reflected on that other place and how we love both places equally well, but in different ways.

Primavera

Crocus were just the first salvo in Primavera's surprise conquest of my backyard--and my heart!

I confess to a raging crush on Springtime. When Zephyrus blows the pollen around and the three Graces start dancing in my yard, I just want to run out and join their frolicking.

Bulbs are coming up all over the place, some that I planted, some cached and forgotten by squirrels, and many busting out from under the leaves with purely voluntary enthusiasm. I want to roll around among the crocus and the daffodils and lose myself Emily-Dickenson-style in the living hummus and the perfume and the warm sun.

This is the reason I moved to Virginia. I can throw open my window on a March morning and smell Life bursting from the ground. I can see the Earth sending its woody tendrils toward the sky. I can wear the same thing outside and in. Just a few degrees warmer than New York brings this rapture a full month sooner. I definitely wouldn’t roll on the ground there.

Sadly, as I write this, that’s exactly where I’m headed: northbound on the Regional and I’m watching the gorgeous Piedmont roll by—and away. I won’t be able to welcome the Equinox as I had hoped on the porch of a cabin in the woods by a lake. Equinox means something different in the City and my rites will have to wait.

First a short exile and I will be very glad to see my friends. Sprintime has undeniable charms there but throughout the sojourn I will be thinking about the trees in bud and the many green shoots in my garden. Soon I’ll be back and Primavera will be there and although she won’t wait for me, she will welcome me back to her embrace without reservation.

She’s good that way.

The White Tempest

The New York Times description of this weekend's blizzard noted its sharply-defined shoulders. Last entry led with the sundog that announced the storm's coming. Today we see its tail as it roars away to the northeast, leaving Charlottesville cloaked in a thick white blanket.

It is easy to dwell on the hassle created by 20 inches of heavy, wet snow being dumped on our heads in a very short period. It was back-busting just trying to keep up. Many of our friends lost electricity and therefore heat. The sounds I've been hearing on my roof do not set my mind at ease.

I have to say, however, that I am glad about this white tempest in some ways. First of all, it's shockingly beautiful. More on that, and tons of photos, in the next entry. Something about these events brings people together. During this storm and the last, we have really come to know our neighbors quite well, even better than before. Last time around, no one was prepared and we were forced to rely on one another for a few shared shovels and the occasional cup of sugar. Pushing cars and shoveling out the elderly neighbors replaced my usual daily workout.

This time, we were more or less prepared and dealt with the weather more appropriately but the cool thing is that we still seemed to need one another but in a softer, sweeter way. Instead of pushing their marooned Honda Civics through and over snow drifts, we joined with our neighbors in drinking wine or tea, eating yummy treats they made and watching the beautiful storm outside--and speculating about where we would seek refuge if we too lost our heat.

"I think Ivanna has a wood stove. Not sure if she has dry wood. I hope we don't have to burn the furniture!"

Today is bright and beautiful and the lights still turn on. The walk's all shoveled and we're looking forward to a full day of sledding with our fun neighbors. When a 50-meter trudge qualifies as an exhausting workout, it certainly is nice to such great people nearby!

Note to Citymouse: Just because we love our neighbors and praise the comraderie here, it doesn't mean that it wouldn't be like that in New York. We all know that the City has a special spirit that binds people together. Who knows: we might feel even warmer and fuzzier if we were there. So don't get get all indignant about how New Yorkers all pull together in a crunch: we know that. We're just saying that we like having cool neighbors here, like the ones we had back there. It's the only way to live.
-Countrymouse

Regional 171

I always enjoy pushing the limits of my camera phone. This one shot with at the sun, from a moving train, with the "Lola" filter from CamerBag. Many photographers use their cellphones the way they might have used a poloroid. Now they offer an aesthetic that nods very self-consciously in that direction.

The scene inside the café car on the southbound Amtrak 171 Regional service from New York to Lynchburg was animated and bright. I came in to get a coke and shake the lethargy from my legs and decided to sit and look out the big windows at the enclosing winter landscape. A vivid sundog told of ice crystals high in the atmosphere, vanguard to a immense winter storm.

It was a good situation to push the limits of my cameraphone, as I like to do when I travel. The photographic act opened the floodgates of dialog with the fellow café car passengers. The man at the table with me turned out to be filmmaker Patrick Webb, who like me was returning home from a work stint in the City. The guy behind me with the Ricoh was Sebastijan Jemee, formerly of Charlottesville, now coming down from New York leaden with photographs of his own for a show at the Garage. He had a sidekick who I never formally met.

Conversation swirled from table to table and took on the tempo of a Virginia Reel with the advent of a garrulous bank manager from Roanoke, our unofficial M.C. He introduced himself to everyone in the room with a bright smile, and though I do not remember his name, I could recite his itinerary from memory: Philly to Roanoke via Lynchburg, then back to DC then back to Lynchburg and finally home to Roanoke.

A few other guys in the lounge—and they were all men this time around—nodded or injected the occasional insightful comments but largely kept their cards close to their chests. As we zigged and zagged through the Piedmont and cocktails came out, connections were made, business cards exchanged, and human experiences shared.

Travel can be the act of simply getting from one place to another, a tunnel with an entrance and an exit. The train can be that way too, a bubble rocketing through a straw at a hundred miles an hour. But it is a bubble of oxygen; a social space that encourages interaction. On Amtrak there is a unity between people that is quite special and sometimes the journey can be rewarding time well spent, much more than a necessity for reaching a destination.

Art is a Gift

My mother used to knit hats for the homeless, so I was delighted when I saw that someone is also looking after the cans where they forage and the trees under which they sleep.

UPDATE: Hear about the piece in this NPR report.

My friends Jen and Bill are organizing a series of events and happenings back in New York that explore many aspects of the relationship between art, artist, and society. One big question they are discussing is where art aught to sit on the continuum between gift and commodity. Clearly art can be either or both, but I really love when art is a gift that is freely given. I joined the conversation yesterday and I was very quickly treated to a very fine example.

When I got into the studio this morning, my neighbor Robin asked if I had seen the sleeve on a tree in the nearby park. I had no idea what she meant so I went and investigated. Turns out that someone had knitted or crocheted an arm-warmer for one of the wonderful trees in Lee Park and also a cozy sweater for a nearby trashcan.

None of us could figure out who made them but I'm sure glad they did!

They are scruffily beautiful and possess all kinds of critical merit, such as their commentary on the homeless who spend their days on the nearby benches. They are delightfully absurd and quite unexpected--and "out there" in every sense. They belong to everyone, without even the artist herself coming between the art and the viewer. There is no label, signature, website, artist statement, or gallery to contact.

They sit in a public space where all kinds of people walk, with no velvet rope to pass or white box to penetrate. It will be interesting to see how long they last--Robin says it's been a week so far and everyone I saw seemed to love them.

This is a successful and and unmediated gift, pure and bestowed without reservation, and transformative, like good art should always be. Like many handmade gifts, its greatest virtue is simplicity. If you would like one of your own, go ask your grandmother.

It Starts with Photography

This tree is a strong candidate for my next big drawing. [See full gallery]

When I have a show or accomplish something big like a move or a change of scenery (all of which I've had) I am often beset with a period of artist's block. That's been the case for me during the past week or so. It's a good time to take walks and reflect and not put to much pressure on myself. Inspiration always follows.

This morning I woke up early and took care of my morning chores and a little business before the sun had completely risen and I felt full of life. It was a beautiful and unseasonably warm day following a long, cold and snowy period that will live in collective memory as one of the worst winter storms on record. In short, it was a beautiful day.

Instead of riding my bike to the studio as I usually would, I decided to walk there and take my time, really looking around and taking pictures.

It was a fruitful walk, both in terms of photography and inspiration. I love the place we live and the pedestrian culture is a big part of why we moved here. There is alot of interest to look at, much to photograph.

My camera keeps me grounded in the visual experience and that is where I get my fuel as an artist. One or two of the images I captured may become works of art but most are simply expressions of joy to be alive and visually alert.

View 24 photos from my morning walk.

Feeling the Welcome Vibe

My New Members exhibition at The McGuffey Art Center is beginning well. Many friends turned out for the opening with plenty of well wishes. We've already been reviewed in the Hook and the C-ville Weekly. The Hook review was especially great in fact, a few people have asked me when I met them for the first time, "I enjoyed seeing your work in the paper"

So that's wonderful. The opening started with the president of our association (Judy McLeod) welcoming me and placing a name tag on my chest; it felt like a medal. The evening ended with a band of clowns invading the exhibit and bringing all the mirth you would expect.

I feel like I fit right in.

The exhibit runs through January 31.

McGuffey

Better put some curtains on those big windows...

I couldn’t be happier with my new studio. The possibility of space in McGuffey was a big factor in our decision to move to Charlottesville and I have to say that so far it has definitely met my expectations.

The studio itself is really good and conducive for working. High ceilings, big windows, lots of light, nice floors, easy logistics with an elevator that doesn’t demand bribes…what more could anyone want? Outside of my own little studio, there are plenty of great resources such as a gallery, a classroom, and a little library. The place is spacious, relaxed, and dignified and in a great location, right in the heart of town and a short bike ride or walk from where I live.

Impressive as the facility may be, the community there might be even better. I’ve been in some great studio buildings, been part of artist co-ops, and artist residency programs and McGuffey combines much of those situations. It’s some impressive company and an environment where people really seem to be looking out for one another. It’s a pretty social place; I think the open-door requirement all but assures that it will be that way. Yet we do not need to have our doors open all the time and we can—and do—close them when we really need to concentrate.

My raging studio-crush on McGuffey does not take anything away from the Tree House or anywhere I was before, nor do the other communities suffer in comparison to this one. We’ll simply say that I’m happy where I am and that I’m very glad that I applied and grateful that I was accepted.

Getting to know the neighbors

Not our house but one nearby. I love the harmony in the neighborhood between landscape and architecture.

I was talking to a fellow Brooklyn transplant this evening as we were hanging the holiday show at the McGuffey Arts Center. We were comparing notes about why we each left New York and why we picked Charlottesville.

“People always tell me that it must be hard to adjust to life in Charlottesville,” she told me. “I’ve actually found it very easy.”

I think a very big reason is because people here are so welcoming and are very gracious with their hospitality and glad to make lasting connections. They see value in meeting new people and are confident in opening their circle to new people.

There’s a social stinginess in the New York art scene that is quite unpleasant, where people look at each other as resources to be tapped—or potential exploiters to be guarded against. It’s curious to find that attitude in a place where most everyone is an outsider, and outcast or an immigrant.

But that’s precisely the problem: New York is a city of 7 million people who are hungry for something. It is a basic fact of living in New York that you are constantly meeting new people and bombarded with their points of view—wanted or unwanted—and you cannot open yourself to everyone.

The crush of humanity there requires a strategic approach to social networking but there is a razor-thin line between caution and calculus. And insecure, calculating people are so tiresome! It’s too Latin (as in ancient Rome) for me.

This past weekend, we received several spontaneous invitations to cocktails, to coffee, to playdate from various neighbors we hardly knew. These were interesting people too: a writer, a designer, an architect, an economist. Busy people with a lot going on, but somehow able to make time to welcome a new family to the block.

Don’t get me wrong: we have many wonderful generous friends in New York, who are full of grace and whom I admire greatly. Of course you can carve a wonderful life out there, but it will assuredly be a lot of work. We left because basic tenants of a good life are unnecessarily difficult (or expensive) in New York, and they’re mostly easier here

So when people ask me if I’m finding it difficult to adjust to life in Charlottesville, my answer is always the same, though never simple. I’m happy to be here and I miss my friends back there. But almost everything is easier here, even for a new arrival.