Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction
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A Treatise On Fruits & Creatures of Solitude

There is a lot to be said (not out loud) for learning to live alone. Becoming sincerely comfortable with a generally solitary day-to-day is truly a skill that one must work at with diligence. Little did I realize how accustomed I had been to sharing a 1 BR living space with my roommate, hopping on my bike for 10-15 minutes to see any friend not in my immediate vicinity, and grabbing delicious, overpriced dinners at BYOBs within 5 blocks of my bedroom after a long day at work.

I’m learning to spread out in a sprawling, quirky old house. And when I say old, I mean ANCIENT. I mean HISTORICAL. I mean two hundred years old…and not much has changed besides a few lightbulbs. My belongings fit comfortably into…The Kitchen. And there is a room upstairs at the end of an odd hallway, that I am pretty certain is haunted…

It struck me the other day, as I was trying ferociously to drill curtain rods into the walls, that I must work tirelessly at winning over this house. I must inhabit it, and I must follow its rules. We’re in a battle of wits, crotchety House McHouserson and I. I am dying to catch a great sale at Crate & Barrel and be done with it. Mr. McHouserson wants to break my lifestyle of convenience and make me into a New Englander yet. He likes it when I drag old wood out of the basement and use it as a bookshelf. It looks great next to the mottled, settling glass in the windowpanes. He likes my desk that’s an old door jacked up on sawhorses. He does not like my pressboard lingerie chest from New Jersey. In fact, every single article of clothing I own is scattered across the floor.

It’s the house’s fault.

So I’m relishing the “me-time” and what I can produce when left to my own devices. One battle front I am winning, lately, seems to be on the front lines of gardening. I’ve got a little indoor fern, wildflower bouquets from my CSA, potted herbs that are ready to go into the ground, baby squash plants, and my favorite accomplishment in the struggle for life thus far:

A planter of nearly-dying flowers that, with the help of the gardener, I have managed to revive. There IS life here besides me, after all!

A closer look at these strange and wonderful fighting fruits…

This is VERBENA. It shoots up that deep violet bunch of flowers. Here is a bud cluster.

This is DIASCIA, or twinspur, originating in South Africa…

This is LANTANA, a tropical perennial with gorgeous, multi-colored blooms. The aroma is sweet and intoxicating…

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These growing things help to spruce up the place and certainly raise my spirits even higher than the (amazing!) mountain vistas. I have learned more in the past 3 weeks than the past ten years. I’ve had to think things through, hang artwork, set up a kitchen, pot plants and care for a house all by myself for the first time. I am looking for a simple plan for building a picnic table. I think Mr. McHouserson would really be proud of me.