Shed 2010

Once I hired a man with a manitu to lift an unused shed up on a hill. I payed fifty bucks for it. No problem finding me to send the bill, the man said looking at my shaky thing. Unless I´d forget to tie me to the rocks.



Thoreau went with his axe into the woods of Vermont and build a shack at Walden Pond. I bet he had to endure the same sarcastic comments from local residents. His trip was an experiment in personal independence and self-reliance, something that still inspires generations of mostly young people. Every other week Thoreau went home and had his mother wash his clothes.



I had always wanted a shed close to the sea. There is a seductive thought that by reducing your belongings to the minimum you return to something more self defined, to your core. We have a sense we too often live with too many unnecessary attachments. We get the feeling our personae is controlled by social habits and environments. We seem confused by too many opportunities and forget what we are about.



A buddhist monk once said to test your meditation skills you need to sit down at a busy traffic corner. A secluded shed on a hill may bring peace and quiet, but not neccessarily revelations and insight. Silence equals a situation of no disturbances. But to grow and expand you need to have challenges and input. After two weeks my thoughts collided. When I discovered I could catch someones open wireless lan I did not complain.



My shed is a painting. Many evenings I felt the greatest joy to place myself into this absurd design and act myself through it like a hermit saint. My shed is part of an equilibrium. It allows for physical withdrawals. It serves as an eye´s or mind´s rest. It is more a usable installation than an utensil. I have heard some laugh about it fondly. That is nothing against my own deep grin when I bridle the pony stallion to ride up to the hill, quite the lonesome cowgirl, content in the fog of the dawn.