JANUARY
Recently, as always, I’ve been taking myself on a lot of walks.
In the warmth, I set out for mountains and woods, but winter corrals me in closer. I explore my city, Albany- walking side to street side, & next- drifting endlessly down one-ways. I am lucky to live in an old, busy part of town where there’s always something to see. I must have zig zagged down every Center Square street dozens of times. & I haven’t gotten bored yet! The light in winter is so slanted and dramatic; it frames the buildings differently than when I walked here in summer, or fall, even- the familiarity lends itself to interest as I notice small changes over time.
Lately these walks have been inspired by the archetype of the flaneur, the one who haunts the streets. Myself as a giant ear, letting whatever sound waves wash in. And how comfortably bleak and blank it feels this time of year. Annie Dillard puts it best-
Outside, everything has opened up. Winter clear-cuts and reseeds the easy way. Everywhere paths unclog… When the leaves fall the strip-tease is over; things stand mute and revealed. Everywhere skies extend, vistas deepen, walls become windows, doors open… The mountains’ bones poke through, all shoulder and knob and shin. All that summer conceals, winter reveals. Here are the birds’ nests hid in the hedge, and squirrels’ nests splotched all over the walnuts and elms.
In years past I have pushed back against the blankness that winter brings, tried hard to fill it up. But it always pushes back harder. (My friend said it’s like filling a canvas with color and watching it all get covered back up in white paint.) This year my aim is to work with it; to see what it allows me to that I wouldn’t otherwise. That was the inspiration for this month’s song. I took laps around the frozen over lake in Washington Park before I worked, and slid around on the ice. Let the cold soak into my jacket. It feels better this way, I think. To lean in to this stage of the cycle.
I believe the pandemic has pushed us similarly this year, &pushed us inward. It forced us to clear out what wasn’t necessary.
The woods I walk in often has controlled burns. Last time I walked, they had gotten rid of all my favorite sumac and blueberry bushes. I sulked until I thought about why they do this- for the health of the whole forest. When the forest floor is cleared, it’s a blank slate for what will grow next. And when you remove what no longer serves you, what’s left has room to thrive. This year has taken a lot from me, but this has left me with vast stretches of space alone in my room and in the woods. I’ve filled it with more hiking and meditating and reading than ever before, and made really healthy changes I wouldn’t have otherwise. I am like the trees with burn marks on my trunk, scarred, and healthier for it. I hope we can all continue to do this clearing-out work after the pandemic ends. It’s beautiful to see what grows in the empty spaces.
I’ve been writing poetry again, and this time, trying not to think too hard about it. Just clearing my head and letting the words come out as they do. Here’s a link to some things I’ve written in recent weeks, if you’re interested. (This album about the beat poet Bob Kaufman has been really inspirational for my writing lately. Bob Kaufman’s story is sad and inspiring and important to learn about. He is one of my heroes.)
& now, this month’s exhibit. It’s about another hero of mine. (I have two heroes, I think. Do you have any?)
Marta Becket was an actress, dancer, and painter born in1924. She made herself a career as an artist in her 20s- dancing as a ballerina, exhibiting her paintings in New York City, and eventually touring as a one-woman show.
Once while she was touring in 1967, she got a flat tire in the middle of nowhere, CA. She drove to the nearest town (Death Valley Junction, population <20) for repairs. While she was there, she spotted this old abandoned opera house.
Looking in through a hole in in the wall, Marta felt incredibly drawn to the space.
“As I peered through the tiny hole, I had the distinct feeling that I was looking at the other half of myself. The building seemed to be saying, ‘Take me… Do something with me… I offer you life.’”
She began making arrangements to rent it that same day. A few months later she moved in.
She spent the next couple years renovating the space to suit her purposes. It was super DIY- tin cans made into lights, and hand-sewn curtains. She started teaching ballet and putting on performances there. But the town was Tiny and she didn’t have much of an audience- she often performed to no one. (I think its so cool that she still performed when no audience showed up to see her.)
Once while cleaning the theater, Marta had the idea to paint an audience onto its walls. And she certainly did- she spent the next SIX YEARS painting elaborate murals onto the walls and ceiling.
She performed here for the next 45 years. They were mostly one-woman shows until she formed a relationship with a comedian who began performing with her. People eventually caught on and she gained more of a following over time. She performed there until 2012 when she turned 88 years old. Her successor, Jenna McClintock, learned her repertoire and began performing there to keep Marta’s legacy alive. The hotel is a major tourist attraction in Death Valley now, for the love and creativity and years of life Marta put into it.
Marta Becket died on January 30, 2017. She’s a huge inspiration to Jenna and me and who knows how many others; her ability to trust her intuition & the path she wanted to walk down. And the amount of work she put into her art- not for any certain outcome, not for anyone to see- just because she knew it was what she had to do. I hope to visit the Amargosa opera house someday. & I hope to be like Marta Becket. & I think I am on my way.
Thank you thank you for reading! Enjoy your day, and your February.
***grace
PS. If you are in need of some life this winter, here’s a guide to forcing blooms indoors. You can trick most plants into thinking it’s spring in your house :-)