I have returned from teaching at Ghost Ranch in New Mexico, a weeklong workshop titled "Horizon: Apparent Meeting of Earth and Sky." Thestudents write and paint and make two books. We work in the UpperPavilion, which is something like a drafty airplane hangar with windowson all sides looking out at saffron rock and rust colored buttes dustedwith the greens of sage and juniper. There are 22 students from all overthe United States and abroad, and it is a raucous group. I ask them toforego the usual introductions and make up whatever they want about who theyare. Barbara B. summed up the week the last day by saying: "Well it really was agreat week, except for this damn book."

One morning I am sitting in the Dining Hall with several of the studentsbefore class . Hard boiled eggs, granola, cooked plums. Jill B. issitting right across from me, watching a young man go by with a hugetattoo of a spider on his biceps.

"I just don't get it. Imagine having that spider staring back at you allthe time. Or the man in our class at Naropa, Steve, with the naked womanon his arm. Would you want to stare at those tits every time he put hisarm around you?"

Jill proceeds to tell us about a show she went to in San Diego of peoplewho were tattooed over their whole body, standing on pedestals still asstatues in a darkened room, their bodies all lit up, naked andmagnificent. It reminded me of a book I had read, "Shark Stories," offour generations of Hawaiian women. One of the women was married to aJapanese man who was tattooed all over his body and became rich inundisclosed ways, continuously traveling and being unfaithful. He diedof blood poisoning from the tattoos. Sometime after the funeral we goback into his wife's house, and there on the wall is his whole skin,tattoos and all.

"Oh, God!" Andrea from Martha's Vineyard is disgusted and repulsed.Barbara G., who wears a black patch over one eye and introduces herselfas a drug dealer, reassures her that no one would really do such a thing.But Jill, who has not disclosed her identity, tells us aboutthe movie "The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover." The one wherethe husband discovers his wife's lover, cooks him and serves him up. NowAndrea lights up. She likes cooking. We tease her about her change of heart saying, "Skinning is not okay, but throw him in skin and all, and that'sjust fine." The conversation veers off into the possibility of having himstuffed. Well maybe just his penis. Jill says "What would I want with astuffedpenis?" But Andrea nods knowingly saying with a glint in her eye,"well..."

There are some things that have to be mentioned in any recounting of thetime at Ghost Ranch. Barbara B. insisted on offering Happy Hour ather place, "Barbara's Bar and Grill." Chairs in a circle overlooking thecanyon and Kitchen Mesa to the southeast. Chips and salsa in the middleof the circle, white and red wine, vodka tonics. She is telling us abouther time studying voice in Shanghai. But then again, she is also rumoredto be a nun.

Kathy is wearing her t-shirt with scrawled writing that says "Don'tDrink and Draw." Barbara B. says she also does animal imitations, anddemonstrates to us, cawing much like a crow, thus setting the stage forthe upcoming talent show around the campfire. She invites everyone whocan do animal imitations to audition. My performance of "My Boyfriend'sBack" is rejected, everyone missing the deeper meaning of animal sounds.The talent show happens on Thursday, our last night. People sitting onstones around the fire. DeAnne, Robyn and Kathy all do animalperformances: Chicken Laying a Very Large Egg, Gorilla and Deer in theHeadlights. Barbara jumps up to sing Chinese Opera, clutching her chest,exclaiming toward the star filled sky. Deb leaps in spontaneously,becoming the deadpan interpreter. She crosses her arms on her breast forthe last line, translating "She longs for her homeland." The performanceis stunning, Chinese Opera being such a rare thing, and laughter echoingacross the desert. Deb astonishes everyone as she is the one in theclass who has never even taken a road trip by herself before, much less anart class. She is shy and her hands shake. Her middle name is Western.By the end of class she has decided to quit her job, sell her condo andmove down to Ghost Ranch to tend to the lambs. At the end of the weekshe says "I think my whole Myers-Briggs has changed."

I missed a lot of the uproar, being pulled to take my sleeping bag to aremote canyon and sleep under the stars. It is the new moon, and I wantto find my way before dark. I have been to the same place before, whenthe coyote on the ridge was speaking, and the raven croaking and echoingover the canyon. This whole week it has been the dark of the moon, andso the velvet sky is dripping with stars. It is the first night we havebeen able to see the moon, becoming visible above chimney rock, aslender arc at sunset. When I crawl into my sleeping bag there is nosound, just the deep silence of the desert.

Just before dawn the stars begin to fade and the Morning Star, Venus,rises in the east. It is a big, bright jewel above the silhouettedcliff. I am wishing upon this star, falling into this place thinking, ohto be awake in the wee hours when silence is a thick comfort and theMorning Star is glittering above the horizon.

Laurie Doctor/ Summer 2001