I have no idea what is happening – it’s like throwing pennies off a bridge. I just can’t get comfortable – it seems like the only thing that connects my life and art together is pain – it’s painful when I put them together – and more painful when I pull them apart. In 2007 I quit straddling the pain, quit my job, and moved to a rural studio in New York State. I work on creative projects, work on my life, and work on the day-to-day necessities of existence. No cell phone, no social media, no networking. But as I work on the books displayed on this author’s page; I feel another kind of pain — the pain of not working on something else: my printmaking and drawing are being neglected, my poetry output is a dripping faucet, and it looks like I’ll be telling NYFA that the Idea Enhancement Project just added another year to its timeline. When I read what I’ve just written; it’s as true as anything I can think of — but then so is the opposite: I need to process everything that happens . . .
September 8, 2021
"What's the record for herbicide drift on a windy day?" and "How far can a toxic gas plume travel?" The Ag Almanac answers these and many other agricultural questions in a refreshingly straightforward way. The statistics section includes such items as a year-by-year government subsidy flow-meter, and a size comparison of the Dead Zone to various states. And the Almanac's long-term weather predictions are based, not on global warming trends, or climate change scenarios, but on a simple-to-understand mix of government influence and career longevity. This book is an indispensable source for measuring our lack of stewardship.