My time at VCCA was very short. I was only there for six days, but that was enough. Enough at least to know I needed more time, maybe, but also enough to get a new project started. Just barely.

I spend a lot of time recovering from false starts.
I spent a lot of time writing plot points on note cards and arranging them on my wall.
I spent a lot of time reading, then re-reading, a certain book about screenwriting. None of it made sense until one sunny afternoon I fell asleep on the bed in my studio with the book tucked under my arm. When I woke up everything made sense. I’d like to think I absorbed the text through my arms, into my veins, then pumped it through my heart and mind. These kinds of thoughts occur to you when on a residency, I am told, because you are alone for so many days and hours.

This being alone clears a space in your brain for mysterious stories, ideas, and dreams. Or, maybe it just makes you a little weird, a little too tuned in to your imagination. But I was fine with that – with the all alone, the quiet, the big brown desk and the blank notecards. I was especially ok with the weird and the too tuned in. That was my favorite part.

Was it really just eleven days ago?

Glasses and a favorite pen.

It was a tea-filled time.

Knocking on a fellow fellow’s door is forbidden. But leaving a candy-gram is not – after my osmotic nap with that book, I woke to this tacked up beside my studio door. Perfect timing! 

The view from my studio door.

A friend across the way.

After a certain amount of time spent in solitude, it becomes necessary to take self-portraits to make sure you’re still there. At this point I may have still be undecided about my “here” or “there” – ness.

My most favorite ink.