On Writing + 3 Peaks.
There are a lot of "free time" creative activities I have high hopes for this month. I think with all the information on the internet, and accessibility we all get sucked into spending too much time looking at others work, and not enough time generating our own (in any field). Working with my hands for the last 6 weeks has reminded me of how important the continuous personal work is along side the outside inspiration. And now that I'm not confined to very specific parameters, there are the same three fields I come back to :: writing, drawing and photography. All separate from Interior Architecture, but all related fields that will make any presentation I do for the next two years or the rest of my life inherently better.
Last week while organizing my apartment to leave it for a spell, I came across an notebook where I had been attempting to keep my writing up. Here is an unfinished entry that relates oh so well to yesterday's post ::
The NOLS Three Peaks Ranch in Boulder Wyoming (population 75) might not be every one's idea of a vacation. The bedroom I was given is fondly referred to as "Meth Lab One," and I'm sharing the house with not only three fabulous females and two great dogs, but also an unknown number of furry grey friends we know as mice. Or rodents. The ranch, Home seasonally to 75 horses, a number of staff, and a larger number of dogs, caters to many visitors---instructors, students, passersby, friends, and family. Their average day collectively begins with an 8 am meeting in the cookhouse followed by bringing the horses up from the lower pasture where they've grazed for the night.
My first morning visiting my sister here we walked through the dusty sage riddled fields down to where this palette of ponies calmly enjoys the morning sun. Stirred by our presence, as routine as it is, they begin their saunter up towards the corral. I look around at present company--I'm the only New Yorker + only person without jeans and a pearl snap shirt on. The many colors of the ponies mix and separate, mix and separate, as they catch up with one-another, and some pull ahead. Like creamer slowly being poured into coffee swirling about, their shades of taupe, brown, white, gray, and infinite in betweens pass by. To even attempt to describe their coloring with words would be an insult to their beauty, like the color of a red wine stain on a white tablecloth, or its residue in a glass, no paint chip name or panetone color could ever do them justice. There is Denali and Luke, Aloha, Cola, Ducky, Pepsi. There is Tom, Whip, Red, Gannet, and Andy. Seventy-five in total, I can't name but 3 by face, but they know them all. Their names, their personalities, how they pick their feet up, their homes prior to three peaks.
The Dust rises behind them as they trot through the fragrant sage and into this tiny dirt lot. Never lured by food or false promises, they simply go where their friends are going, and where they were yesterday. The sun strengthens and erases the nighttime chill, felt only minutes ago.