I am at the desk in my studio, in a building called the Convent, listening to the sounds of water trickle down through trees. Today it is raining and birds of varied voice call out, presumably, to each other. Yesterday, I lay on the floating dock with Tom and discussed what he believes to be an emphasis on a rhythmic flow in Southern hip-hop, rather than emphasizing a rapper’s flow as a vehicle for lyrical content. Interspersed throughout the conversation, we tried to imitate some of the bird sounds, Tom on his ocarina, myself whistling. The lagoon seemed to be quite resonant.

Yesterday it was not raining. After work in the morning, I reviewed some footage I had shot and ate a warm onion bagel with lox, cream cheese, tomato, red onion, and dill. Lauren and Carmen held a yard-sale on the meadow. I did not buy anything at the yard-sale but I did buy a hot dog from Eric for one dollar. On the hot dog, I put mustard, onions, pickled jalapenos, and a dab of ketchup. Perhaps ironically, I also misplaced my toothpaste yesterday.

When I am here, I usually find myself working maintenance to pay my way through room and board. I work for John and Paulie and we fill pot-holes with gravel, clean up the firepit, and overturn canoes if it looks like it’s going to rain. Yesterday, it did not look like it was going to rain, and indeed it did not. Under Paulie’s direction, Anthony and I each rowed a canoe out to a patch of felled birch on the edge of the wild dunes, consolidated our bodies into one of the boats and filled the other with trees. We tied the nose of the latter to the tail of ours and after some shoving, we were on our way back to the camp side of the lagoon. The birch is going to be a new rack for the life-vests and paddles.

I would estimate that on most days, I drink about four Arnold Palmers. That’s lemonade and iced-tea. I bring them back to my studio and program the drum machine that Mike lent me. I’ve been trying to recreate the signature double-bass pedal work of classic Florida death-metal. My studio did not have a rug so I painted myself one and put it on the floor. I’ve been listening to the Beach Boys a lot.

It is only recently that I have outed myself as a romantic. It’s not an easy thing to admit to yourself or to others unless perhaps you are a wedding-planner and even then, I think it’s probably a little risky. Yesterday at the Crow’s Nest, Sophie and I wondered how long the appropriate length of time to watch the sun set over the dunes was. The Crow’s Nest is a look-out point at the top of a forested dune and from that point, one can see most of the ox-bow shaped lagoon and quite a bit more. The hike took maybe 15 minutes, but it’s hard to tell. We looked out over Lake Michigan and the rolling dunes with their basin ecosystems filled with science-fiction flora and we saw the lagoon and the lake simultaneously and the sky was pink and the water was blue and the sun was hot but the air was mild.

Paintings are static, you can look at one briefly or at length according to your desire or according to museum hours. If the museum closes and you think you have more looking to do, you can come back the next day. Movies, for the most part, are fixed in durational time. Viewed change is delineated by the temporal boundaries of the moving image but you can always hit rewind and then play. Or, maybe, it’s on a loop. When Sophie and I went to the Crow’s Nest, It was at what people who make movies call “The Magic Hour,” when the sun is low enough to turn everything gold and create incredibly crisp silhouettes ringed with orangepinkwhite glare. The sun sets fast during The Magic Hour and you’ve got to get your shooting done quickly if that’s the light you want to capture.

Lately, I’ve been trying to take pictures with my mind. Focus hard enough to capture an image forever, or as long as I can remember. Usually, I can’t remember the image but I remember trying to remember. Yesterday up at the Crow’s Nest I forgot to try. I have been here during the winter. Could I sit at the Crow’s Nest, let Sophie walk back alone, and stare out from that vantage point through the Fall session, through the Winter session? Could I build a tent, have my meals brought to me and become like one of those hermetic sages you always see appearing in New Yorker cartoons? What would my punchline be? Something about Looking? Some Seinfeldian slice-of-life observation for the sitting-and-staring-at-sunsets niche?