Hayward // MacDowell

I don’t know how they get artists to leave at the end of their residencies. Maybe they send in a SWAT team with shovels and scrapers. Heartless German governesses who unstick our grasping fingers from table-edges and door-frames? Unsympathetic tax-collectors who beat us with their briefcases? It’s going to take all that and more to get me out of here. I went for a walk in the woods today (or rather, I lurched toward Colony Hall, on the desperate slightly-rabid quest for morning coffee.) As nocturnal as I normally am, there’s something to be said for sunlight. Also, trees.

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