There are four artist studios, that are separate from the main building. I had what I decided was the best one, as it was off by itself next to the chickens with a wall of windows for light and a great view.

Tucked into the Blue Ridge Mountains in Amherst, Virginia is the VCCA. I have had two residencies here in my (almost) home state. I remember so clearly the first time I went in 1995. My son was only 2 and I left him with his more than capable father in order to have a week of art-making at this gorgeous mountaintop retreat.

I got to thinking about this simple word pass, its multiple uses and interpretations, and wondered whether it could move into a deeper context than its simplicity suggests.

I had my hands in a fair amount of glue today when it occurred to me for about the millionth time how amazing it is to be able feel things with my fingers. I have always been a toucher, dependent on that tactile sense to give me a better understanding of something. Didn't we all as kids, think it was the height of wonderful to have our hands in some kind of goo? I did. Whether gooey, natural or industrial, texture makes the world interesting and lights up a happy place in my brain when my receptors make contact.

What do people do if they don't create? I am not even trying to be facetious. How do they figure things and make sense of things and let go of things? Art-making has been so fused with my life that in addition to my devotion to the formal aspects of creativity, the process sometimes doubles as friend, lover and therapist. I have always recognized the power of being in the studio. The way I can rely on it as sure as the dawn to carry me to a world of my own making. This assurance is helpful when the 'real' world feels less than friendly or safe.

"Everyone likes birds. What wild creature is more accessible to our eyes and ears, as close to us and everyone in the world, as universal as a bird?"~ David Attenborough

Is there anyone who doesn't adore birds? Despite the regal beauty of the peacock, maybe the mating season squawk of the King of the Birds (thank you, Flannery O'Connor) in the backyard would not be so welcome on a regular basis. Having said that, I used to live in a place where my neighbor's peacocks would occasionally wander onto my property and—squawks and all—I never tired of the surreal vision of looking out my window and seeing them walking about. Even though some birds have calls that may not be so attractive, you'd be hard pressed to find anyone who would denounce a creature so elegant, expressive, and profound.