Anderson Center, Day Twelve

Before I left for the Anderson Center, a client of mine, Jean, stopped into work to wish me well.  Our conversation has stuck close to the front lobes of my brain during this experience, and as I ebb and flow from creating to thinking of my future in creating, I reflect on her words.

She has a calm sensibility, and intellectually Buddhist understanding of life.  As I confided in her my fears of leaving a corporate life for one of a month immersed in writing, she reminded me that the Buddhists live here and now.

"We resist where we are, T.J.," she said, "which prevents us from getting where we're going.  The Universe knows where we're going, we just have to trust it, and once you let go, it's really easy to move on."

But I still do worry, and much of my day is spent in the thoughts and questions needing to be answered regarding where I want to take my life after this experience.  I love working in the corporate world, I love what I do there and I'm good at it.  But I also long to write (and yes, sometimes to paint).  I am an executive, I want to be an artist.

I've yet to decide what road I'll take when I return to Minneapolis and my old life there, but I think a lot about Jean, and her support of me as a fellow person, "What you think and what you feel does matter; you're here for a reason, you move on for a reason, so, move on."

Write on, shine on, (move on),

Thomas.

Anderson Center, Day Eleven.

Completing the first third of my residency at Anderson Center, last night's epiphany was that this time is not just for the production of work, it is also for the networking and education of what it means to live the life of an artist.

Some of the greatest things I'll take away from this month (which--I'll say it now--is changing my life)will be the things I've learned not only about how other artists and writers work, but the things I've gleaned from their research into grants and other residencies.  

I have a notebook filling up of residencies, classes, workshops, grants, awards, MFA programs, and a plethera of other tools into which I will dive again and again as an person who is beginging to seriously toy with the possibility of calling himself: a writer and an artist.

I have two thirds of my life here yet to live, and I cannot wait to live it.

Write on, shine on,

Thomas.

Anderson Center, Day Ten.

Did you know. . .
The Anderson Center is the largest artist community in the Upper Midwest.

The Anderson Center is one of 350 artist communities worldwide.

The Anderson Center is a member of the Alliance of Artist Communities and Res Artis: Worldwide Network of Artist Residencies.

Since 1995, when the Anderson Center opened, over 650 artists, writers, and scholars have participated in the summer residency program.

Anderson Center residents annually visit over 15 schools, civic organizations, senior centers and other arts institutions in the greater Red Wing area.

Since 1995, over 27,000 people--primary school children to senior citizens--have benefited from resident community presentations.

The Anderson Center is one of 20 artist communities in the nation whose buildings are listed on the National Historic Register.

Residents of the Anderson Center have come from 40 different states and more than 30 countries, including Australia, Egypt, Estonia, China, Germany, Denmark, Argentina, Uganda, Norway, Italy, New Zealand, India, Korea, England, Canada, Mexico, Georgia, Russia, Israel, Croatia, Kenya and the Netherlands.

Of course you didn't, that's why I told you!

Write on, shine on,

Thomas.

Anderson Center, Day Nine.

There are many things with wings, and things with many wings at the Anderson Center.  I have never in my life seen so many butterflies: monarchs, swallowtails, and a dozen others I cannot name but are beautiful feeding off the mud puddles like a field of lazy fluttering tissue-paper-hearts every morning.

And then there are the birds.  I have seen everything common to Minnesota, robins, blackbirds, hawks, and sparrows (twice I have even seen the elusive indigo bunting cutting in the cedar trees before me at sunset, and once a "rafter" of seventeen turkey on the Cannon Valley Trail), but I have yet to see an eagle, which supposedly abound in this part of the Cannon Valley and certainly around the bluffs of the Mississippi at Red Wing.  What I have seen--which astounds me--are the American goldfinches, that seem to wait for me to immerge from the pines on my bike, and fly alongside, and break my trail like balls of yellow ribbons unfurling before me.  The hummingbirds are prolific, and take my breath away each time they float before me in the flower gardens.  In Spanish, they are sometimes called picoteeflor, "the flower pickers."  My mother would love it here for their sweet inquisitive exploration of the bee-balm, alone.

And then, of course, there are the bugs, big nasty things, and little nastier things. (Sean and I even went into Red Wing to watch Vincent Price's 1958 classic The Fly, tonight, but that's a whole other story.)  The mosquitoes have raised the largest army they have in years, and hardly lose a battle.  The very first night here, in a walk through the oak grove before dinner, I was bitten on my ankle by a deerfly.  The swollen, crusty, festering wound (the size of a penny and about that color) has yet to heal.

A.P Anderson was interested in all sorts of flying machines, things that looked like models from da Vinci's sketch books, and they hang around the estate as a reminder that once upon a time, humans were determined to learn the secrets of flight.

This is truly a place of marvel and inspiration.  If only the mosquitoes would buzz off. . .

Write on, shine on,

Thomas.

Anderson Center, Day Eight.

The following is an account of my daily occurrences (on average, as a generalization)while at Anderson Center:

10AM, wake up, yoga, shower, make my bed (I know it's hard for some of you to believe, but I have been devoted to keeping my room clean and tidy my whole stay).

11AM, light breakfast of fruit and coffee, mostly (though Sean seems to always catch me on one of the rare occasions that I am chowing down on Fruit Loops).  Select one of my favorite spots (Tower Room, roof-top garden, living room, third floor attic) and begin my writing day.

1PM, lunch in the kitchen (I usually get to spend a few minutes with visual artist Elle from New York pumping each other up for the rest of our work day).  Back to writing.

3:30PM, long bike ride or run (usually a four mile round-trip run up the Cannon Valley Trail, or a twelve mile round-trip bike ride into Red Wing or Welch).

6PM, back at the center, Eight Minute Abs work out and push-up reps, shower, make-ready for dinner.

6:30PM, a lovely home-cooked meal served on the dining porch by our chef, Amy.  The next two hours are spent enjoying amazing food and quality conversation with my fellow residents until the shadows from the cedar trees stretch long across the lawn.

8:30PM, sometimes a few of us will go out for a "night on the town" a la Red Wing: an evening walk, margaritas at Fiesta Mexicana, a glass of wine at The Port, campy horror movie night at the Sheldon Theatre. . .

10PM, back in my room for another four hours of writing (sometimes while watching an episode of Downton Abbey or Out of Africa on my laptop).

2AM, to bed, to dream, to do it all over again tomorrow. 

There are few who have a better schedule than this.

Write on, shine on,

Thomas.

Anderson Center, Day Seven.

I've come to realize that physical activity is directly linked to creativity and production. In the week since I've been at the Anderson Center I've peddled over one hundred miles on the Cannon Valley and Hay Creek Trails--on foot, I've ran and walked just under thirty (and then there's my daily 8 Minute Abs work out). Today I biked seventeen miles to the secluded village of Cannon Falls for lunch, and then biked seventeen miles back to Anderson to write. (I wish I'd have brought my camera--there were beautiful sights there and along the way--but it looked like rain when I took off this morning.)

I climb the seventy-six steps to the top of the Tower multiple times daily, and when I write from the round room 110 feet in the air, I often take breaks and circle meditatively around and around the Tower's balcony. It's difficult to not traverse the parapet too often as the countryside is so beautiful, the valley stretching distantly east and west from here. The bluffs come in finger like waves far past Red Wing--first barely visible against the hazy sky, then reading a deep grey, dusky blue, smokey green until your eye travels across the fields directly before you and the bluffs glow with verdant brightness and you realize you are creating in the deep green of the tree tops.

Should birds be able to write in human emotions, I can only imagine it would bring me to tears, and like Icarus strap wings to my limbs and leap from the tower in hopes of finding a new form of exercise and creative expression.

Write on, shine on,

Thomas.

Anderson Center, Day Six.

(Aside from the crush I developed for the dry-witted juggler) The best part about today was spending it with amazing artists and new friends. Today three of the New York City residents and I traipsed the five miles into Red Wing for the annual town festival, River City Days. I have to admit that I was disappointed in the festival (especially several of the Red Wing Idol karaoke finalists). But, I'm reminded--even as a Minneapolitan--what makes Middle America a fascinating place. After River City Days, we had an amazing dinner and conversation at the St. James Hotel Port Bar. Then we adventured to Target where we compared stories of the Brooklyn Target to our own home-town stores. Mostly I'm writing this blog in generic diary fashion tonight so that I don't forget it, or at least have a prompt to remember. I think I officially have an addiction to residencies. Where to apply to next?

Write on, shine on,

Thomas.