Finish Lines Don’t Exist

Shouting out to my family and friends who have watched me take a little dream and make it real.

Driving by that old red barn, sitting next to the pink house on route 9 made us look twice.  Even at closing when the owners never really moved out at all, leaving their toothbrushes, silverware, dishes, and rugs all behind…
The place where every sweat drip, brush stroke, shovel strike was mostly mine. Sacred circles carved in the woods, favorite pets who passed feed the ground, Jake’s silly tree hugs… This is my sanctuary, my heart space.

The Barn has it’s own obvious progression. Taking someone’s sacred, creative, hive and altering it to become yours is a careful situation.  Moving into the carving workshop of famed Harry Shourds, was gentle.  Jamie Prady was my trusted friend who brought his tools and put up ceilings and removed rotted floors, and supported me when my life did a cart wheel.  I too was there when he was told his beloved was sick… In between it’s renovation and life, I worked on my art and taught a class or two.  Now, years later Randy Yarowsky has a mill cut rough cedar like the Amish did 300 years ago, starting it’s outside restoration.  It’s a slow process because it’s expensive, and time consuming.  As the barn’s revitalization takes place, summers are filled with classes, parties, and artists all who make The Barn possible.

My sacred space

My sacred space

Often times I find a surprise in my mailbox, Dad helping me with my bills, or mom giving me pieces of her memories helping me get by.  I recently sent a simple text to my brother for ideas and it was returned was an email full of promise.  Even you “sharing” statuses on Facebook or Twitter, lending me tables or giving me your Mom’s chairs after her passing… Thank you.

I see it from the road, that beautiful red barn, with the stain glassed window, the doors open, the easels up and color filling it’s walls.  I see it… and it’s not finished, love is never finished.

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