Playa signified a new dialectic for me. It was the first residency I have participated in where I was not a solo resident. The question was: how would I react and interact with the other residents (two interdisciplinary artists, a volcanologist, a textile artist, and four literary artists)?

Because of Playa’s landscape it became the most magical residency I have participated in. The campus sits at the edge the Summer Lake playa. To witness and just watch this flat, dry plain come alive each day, first through the morning light and then by the afternoon winds, was incredible. I was struck with wonder. It had become a living organism that I couldn’t disregard or turn away from. At times, it looked like a distant monster, a beast, with a mind of its own. 

As I drove out of Paisley, the town fifteen miles south of Playa on the afternoon of my arrival, I imagined what my first artwork would be. The wind was whipping huge clouds of dust out on the playa. It was boiling. My desire was to get a large American flag, walk out onto the playa and plant it on the flat plane, as a symbol of what our nation is about to go through and what will likely come because of who I believed would become the next president. A person so despicable, I am not even sure one can actually call him a human. Someone whose one lot in life is for himself, without any ability to reflect or ruminate on what he has said or done to others. A person with no ability to have empathy was about to become our president. 

Although my residency had been accepted based on a specific proposed project, I pretty much disregarded what I had submitted. Instead of soaking in the landscapes that sit on playa’s periphery and exploring the variety of ecosystems that are connected to this unique place, I started working. While at Playa, I did not take the time to visit Abert Lake nor climb the volcanic escarpment of its rim. I did not hike the flanks of Winter Ridge or meander along Ana River and its impounded wetlands. Instead, the first morning after I arrived, I walked out onto the playa and became enraptured by it. It told me what I should do, and I listened. 

After checking in and unpacking, I immediately began to work. Two huge cottonwood trees stand between the commons and the playa, their autumn yellow leaves were falling to the ground. I did not hesitate and began collecting leaves. I collected until the cold dusk drove me to my cabin. The collecting would become a priority. 

The next morning, I walked out onto Summer Lake, allowing the sunrise to fill me. While walking, an idea for a second work of art came to me. My desire was to dig a ten-foot diameter hole twelve inches deep and then fill it with cattail down. Yet, getting permission to do this was like pulling teeth. I was surprised by the lack of enthusiasim of the staff. I ignored their petty questions and borrowed a shovel. On a windless early morning on the fifth day, I dug my hole. An hour later I was done. Originally I was going to fill the hole with cattail down, its white softness even with the plane of the textured playa. But the circular pile of clay surrounding the hole was all that was needed. Nothing else needed to be done. Cirque was born.  

Yet, I still collected cattail heads, wanting to see what it would look like full of cattail down. Early the next morning I began filling the hole with down. After an hour, I quit and went to warm up and have breakfast. Then, an approaching storm moved in, the wind blew and it began to rain. The next morning, I went out on the playa to watch the sunrise. The rising light coming through the fog was glorious. The previous day’s wind had blown the down out of the hole. Steam rose from inside the hole. The form mimicked the volcanic punchbowl above and the cirque basin south of the lake. The next day, after returning from a visit to Fort Rock, I reclaimed and filled the hole, leaving it as I had found it.

Two days before leaving Playa, I walked my bike out onto Summer Lake, and before the sun began to rise, I started riding my bike: 365 times around a ninety-foot diameter circle, 283 feet in circumference, 19.5 miles long.  

Summer Lake lies inside an endorheic basin, where water is not allowed to drain out of the system, but accumulates, creating an internal body of water. Only through evaporation are these waters allowed to escape. In an open watershed, the backwaters influence the mainstream, whether it be through social politics, culture, or the environment. But how does an enclosed endorheic system influence and affect the mainstream, the outside? And how will an enclosed watershed impact and inform my future work? These were the questions I had written and submitted that were part of my proposal. The playa had answered.

*During my stay at Playa, I learned and witnessed that it is the dust (by way of the wind) that impacts communities outside this enclosed system.