Once upon a time (in late 2022 to be exact) Paul and I decided to move. We've moved a few times actually, but this one felt bigger than the others. The need to change circumstances fell over both of us, blocking out the light like a collapsed circus tent, impossible to crawl out from under.
From this:
To this:
You may be familiar with this phenomenon - hunting a new perspective. If not in your own life, very likey through someone you know. Apparently it can happen at any age, but the chances (according to my anecdotal and 100% non-scientific polling data) accelerate as one becomes nostalgic for the sixth decade of life, standing by helplessly as those memories morph into a gauzey haze of lighthearted ramblings - something that decade never was, and never pretended to be.
Jumping ahead... a year and a half of driving and searching. Hopes up - standards at half mast. I may have appeared to be Goldilocks with a cell phone, but it was clear early on that being overly picky was not going to help. Aided by a global pandemic, young 2020 offered a tough housing market. In the Philadelphia suburbs a big pile of money (not something we possessed) might secure a downpayment on a bundle of charred sticks in the shadow of a nuclear power plant.
After exploring Western Pennsylvania, Maryland, and New York's Adirondack mountains we found the Finger Lake region and were immediately smitten. Space, water, and more space. For studio (me) and workshop (Paul), this area with its proliferation of barns and outbuildings of every discription, would be - as the story goes - just right.
Oh. And we warmly welcomed snow back into our lives. Yes, we missed snow. Here is the building we chose for the studio:
Comments