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A photograph of the scaffolding for a dome shaped tent. The scaffolding is made of wooden rods, secured by nailed-down black material and tightly wrapped red string. This was built in a well-lit room with white walls, wooden floors, and a wooden ceiling. There are blue mats and building materials scattered around the floor, and there’s a 3 step ladder on the floor, in the center of the dome. In the left corner of the room is a doorway with a bright red EXIT sign overhead.
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Tent (post-nomadic) 3

Greg Shelnutt

It just came to me. I had this nascent thought: a tent. I've learned to listen to these thoughts, to trust the "discovery through making" and to seek to ignore the disquieting voices of self doubt that regularly tell me how much I suck an can't go shit, or that all my best work is behind me. Sure, I know this intellectually isn't true (most of the time), but emotionally, it's a real issue. Not just for me, mind you: I reckon it's the human condition. [Look at Natalie Goldberg's "The Trouble with the Editor," from Writing Down the Bones; gospel!

I worked on this piece over the course of one and a half years over the course of the pandemic. It's a quintessentially pandemic piece: during the early stages, while we we in a more strict lockdown, it was a form I could do at home: I had fabric & a sewing machine, and I could work in my living room. I also converted my garage into a welding and woodworking studio.

Too, I listened to a LOT of WXPN (out of Philly) radio and a lot of podcasts, especially Alie Ward's Ologies. Those two things and making art got me through. Actually, as a tenured faculty member, I was hugely fortunate to have a stable income and a very supportive university. I actually got much more time in the studio being out of the office.

These were also processed I could work on with Covid-19. Sewing wasn't too taxing, so I did it through out the several weeks of my illness (with a lot of naps, too, mind you).