Tag Archive - New Hampshire

Obsession & Empathy: Nan Goldin, Michael Chabon, & A Home for Indigent Bohemians

 

Left to Right: Writer Ayelet Waldman, photographer Nan Goldin, and Pulitzer-Prize-Winner Michael Chabon (Photo © Joanna Eldredge Morrissey 2012. All rights reserved)

Two weeks ago, artists and art lovers converged on the quiet town of Peterborough, New Hampshire, for a chance to meet some of the most talented contemporary artists working today. Each August the famed MacDowell Colony opens its doors to the public and gives visitors from around the country an opportunity to tour its 32 studios, historic sites, 450 acres of forest, vegetable gardens, streams, orchards, and fields.

When composer Edward MacDowell and his wife Marian established an artist retreat in the New Hampshire woods in 1907, the idea seemed nothing less than ridiculous. Skeptics were quick to pounce, accusing Mrs. MacDowell of creating “a home for indigent bohemians.” But remarkably, the idea worked. The MacDowell Colony, the oldest artist retreat in the United States, has supported over 6000 writers, filmmakers, composers, visual artists, architects, and performers, and spawned hundreds of other programs based on its model. For two to eight weeks at a time, artists are given a private studio, three meals a day (lunch is delivered in the now-legendary picnic baskets), and quiet time to work on a creative project within a community of artistic peers.

What makes MacDowell’s Medal Day unique is the diverse range of artists, art lovers and supporters who are thrown together for a weekend of socializing, open studios, and conversations about the value and meaning of art—art on a personal level, but also a national one. Medal Day is like a family reunion of sorts, with the usual cast of crazy cousins and wise matriarchs mingling with all of those black sheep (and there are plenty of black sheep).

But regardless of your role in the MacDowell family—whether you’re a colony fellow, a local resident, an out-of-town visitor, a volunteer, a staff member, a friend, a supporter, or in my case, a former staff member turned press—there is always a sense of homecoming when you step onto the Colony property. From the moment that MacDowell fellow and board member Michael Chabon steps up to the microphone, you become hyperaware that in this oasis the value of art is not only assumed, but considered as essential as food, water, or air.

 

Marian MacDowell on the porch of the log cabin she had built for her husband, composer Edward MacDowell. (Photo courtesy The MacDowell Colony)

 

 

Medal Day visitors explore Edward MacDowell’s log cabin, which was the first studio on the property. Marian MacDowell would drop a lunch basket at her husband’s studio door each afternoon, which is how the tradition of MacDowell picnic baskets began. (Photo © Joanna Eldredge Morrissey 2012. All rights reserved)

 

 

“If I look a bit frazzled–,” Michael Chabon explained, “Ted Kosinski beard, suit worn with sneakers, thousand-yard stare alternating with homicidal glint–let’s just say that I have finally found the answer to one of the questions I am most frequently asked, namely, ‘Mr. Chairman, how do you manage to take care of four children, among them two teenagers, all by yourself, when your wife goes away to Africa for two weeks, without losing your admittedly already somewhat tenuous grip on sanity?’ The answer, I am sorry to report, is: ‘You don’t.’” (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

 
During this year’s ceremony, I appreciated Executive Director Cheryl Young’s thoughts on “bohemianism” and the financial struggles of working artists:

Luc [Sante] devotes a chapter to bohemia in New York in Low Life noting it was a state of mind more than a place. Therein he quotes a definition of the term by the author Ada Clare: “The Bohemian is by nature, if not by habit, a cosmopolite, with a general sympathy for the fine arts and for all things above and beyond convention. The Bohemian is not, like the creature of society, a victim of rules and customs… Above all others, the Bohemian must not be narrow-minded.”

She goes on to say that Bohemians do not strive to be poor. They are poor because they have eschewed more stable ways of earning a living to pursue life more freely. Bohemians like Walt Whitman and Stephen Crane were good examples of artists who embraced the idea of creative freedom, who eschewed the mainstream and remained on the fringe even after success.

Not all artists are bohemian, but they all-too-often share the common trait of being poor. For Edward MacDowell, who was employed as a professor and struggled to carve out time to make new work, creating a colony was a brilliant scheme to temporarily free artists from their everyday commitments to work and commerce. The Colony is a kind of sanctioned bohemia, one that works particularly well within a capitalist economy where the state only slimly supports artists. MacDowell provides opportunity for research and development for ideas that may or may not register in the commercial marketplace. And residency programs have proven their worth many times over and are today one of our country’s most copied ideas. In the past twenty years there has been an explosion of these sorts of programs internationally.

 

“Luc [Sante] devotes a chapter to bohemia in New York in Low Life noting it was a state of mind more than a place.”  (Photo: Luc Sante at The MacDowell Colony © Joanna Eldredge Morrissey 2012. All rights reserved)

 

 

Nan Goldin and Michael Chabon (Photo © Joanna Eldredge Morrissey 2012. All rights reserved)

 

The Colony has been awarding the Edward MacDowell Medal, a prestigious lifetime achievement award, for 53 years. Past recipients include visual artists Robert Frank, Edward Hopper, Louise Bourgeois, and Georgia O’Keeffe; composers Leonard Bernstein and Sonny Rollins; architect I.M. Pei; filmmakers Chuck Jones and Stan Brakhage; interdisciplinary artist Merce Cunningham; writers Robert Frost, William Styron, Eudora Welty, and Joan Didion; and playwrights Thornton Wilder and Edward Albee.

Photographer Nan Goldin was the 2012 medal recipient. Goldin is known for her highly personal photographs of friends and lovers coping with AIDS, physical abuse, and addiction. Luc Sante, chairman of this year’s Medalist selection committee, said,“Nan Goldin’s photographs of her life, her friends, and her family—unflinchingly honest, nakedly emotional, sometimes brutal, but most often tender —redefined the autobiographical use of photography and influenced everyone who has come after her.” Sante, who introduced Goldin during the event, described the artist as a “visual diarist” who tries “to freeze time” by capturing her friends at the beach, at parties, in bed. “The moment is the subject,” Sante said. They are “emphatically not snapshots.”

 

Nan Goldin, Nan and Brian in Bed, New York City, 1983. (Image © Nan Goldin courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery)

 

 

Nan Goldin, Picnic at the Esplanade, Boston, 1973. (Image © Nan Goldin courtesy Matthew Marks Gallery)

 

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The Sunday Poem: Donald Hall

 

 

 

The Coffee Cup


The newspaper, the coffee cup, the dog’s
   impatience for his morning walk:
These fibers braid the ordinary mystery.
   After the marriage of lovers
the children came, and the schoolbus
   that stopped to pick up the children,

and the expected death of the retired
   mailman Anthony “Cat” Middleton
who drove the schoolbus for a whole
   schoolyear, a persistence enduring
forever in the soul of Marilyn
   who was six years old that year.

We dug a hole for him. When his widow
   Florence sold the Cape and moved to town
to live near her daughter, the Mayflower
   van was substantial and unearthly.
Neither lymphoma nor a brown-and-white
   cardigan twenty years old

made an exception, not elbows nor
   Chevrolets nor hills cutting blue
shapes on blue sky, not Maple Street
   nor Main, not a pink-striped canopy
on an ice cream store, not grass.
   It was ordinary that on the day

of Cat’s funeral the schoolbus arrived
   driven by a woman called Mrs. Ek,
freckled and thin, wearing a white
   bandana and overalls, with one
eye blue and the other gray. Everything
   is strange; nothing is strange:

yarn, the moon, gray hair in a bun,
   New Hampshire, putting on socks.

 

 

 

About Donald Hall

Considered one of the major American poets of his generation, Donald Hall’s poetry explores the longing for a more bucolic past and reflects the poet’s abiding reverence for nature. Although Hall gained early success with his first collection, Exiles and Marriages (1955), his more recent poetry is generally regarded as the best of his career. Often compared favorably with such writers as James Dickey, Robert Bly, and James Wright, Hall uses simple, direct language to evoke surrealistic imagery. In addition to his poetry, Hall has built a respected body of prose that includes essays, short fiction, plays, and children’s books. Hall, who lives on the New Hampshire farm he visited in summers as a boy, is also noted for the anthologies he has edited and is a popular teacher, speaker, and reader of his own poems.

Born in 1928, Hall grew up in Hamden, Connecticut. The Hall household was marked by a volatile father and a mother who was “steadier, maybe with more access to depths because there was less continual surface,” as Hall explained in an essay for Contemporary Authors Autobiography Series. “To her I owe my fires, to my father my tears. I owe them both for their reading.” By age twelve, Hall had discovered the poet and short story writer Edgar Allan Poe: “I read Poe and my life changed,” he remarked in CAAS. Another strong influence in Hall’s early years was his maternal great-grandfather’s farm in New Hampshire, where he spent many summers. Decades later, he bought the same farm and settled there as a full-time writer and poet.

At a recent reading in Peterborough, New Hampshire, Donald Hall told us that his new book, "The Back Chamber," would be his last book of poems. He explained that his mind doesn't work as it once did. Prose now comes easier to him than poetry. (Photo by Michelle Aldredge, 2011)

Hall attended Philips Exeter Academy and had his first poem published at age sixteen. He was a participant at the prestigious Bread Loaf Writer’s Conference, where he met Robert Frost, that same year. From Exeter, Hall went to Harvard University, attending class alongside Adrienne Rich, Robert Bly, Frank O’Hara, and John Ashbery; he also studied for a year with Archibald MacLeish…

In 1953, Hall also became the poetry editor of the Paris Review, a position he held until 1961. In 1957 he took a position as assistant professor of English at the University of Michigan, where he remained until 1975. While at Michigan, Hall met the young Jane Kenyon. They later married and, when Hall’s grandmother, who owned Eagle Pond Farm, passed away, bought the farm, left teaching, and moved there together. The collections Kicking the Leaves (1978) and The Happy Man (1986) reflect Hall’s happiness at his return to the family farm, a place rich with memories and links to his past. Many of the poems explore and celebrate the continuity between generations. The Happy Man won the Lenore Marshall/Nation Prize. Hall’s next book, The One Day (1988), won the National Book Critics Circle Award.

Donald Hall making me laugh at a reading and book signing sponsored by the Toadstool Bookshop in Peterborough, New Hampshire (Photo by Sheri Fink, 2011)


 

Donald Hall working at his desk in his New Hampshire home near Eagle Pond in 2007 (Photo by Tony Cenicola courtesy The New York Times)

A long poem that meditates on the on-set of old age, The One Day, like much of Hall’s early work, takes shape under formal pressure: composed of 110 stanzas, split over three sections, its final sections are written in blank verse. The critic Frederick Pollack praised the book as possibly “the last masterpiece of American Modernism. Any poet who seeks to surpass this genre should study it; any reader who has lost interest in contemporary poetry should read it.”

Old and New Poems (1990) contains several traditional poems from earlier collections, as well as more innovative verses not previously published. “Baseball,” included in The Museum of Clear Ideas (1993), is the poet’s ode to the great American pastime and is structured around the sequence of a baseball game, with nine stanzas of nine lines each. It remains one of Hall’s best-known poems.

President Obama awards the National Medal of Arts to Donald Hall in 2010 (Photo by Mark Wilson/Getty Images North America)


 

Hall in his home reading beneath art by Marisol and Warhol (Photo by Tony Cenicola courtesy The New York Times)

In 1989, Hall was diagnosed with colon cancer. Though his chances for survival were slim, he eventually went into remission. In 1994, Kenyon was diagnosed with leukemia and died fifteen months later. Kenyon’s death had a profound effect on Hall and he has struggled to document his loss in both his poetry and prose. The poems inWithout: Poems (1998) were written as Kenyon underwent chemotherapy and assembled her final volume, Otherwise: New and Selected Poems (1997). They bluntly address the facts of Kenyon’s death, detailing her physical deterioration and Hall’s own rage and grief.
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Snow: A Holiday Gift from Gwarlingo

 

(Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

 
Last night the snow finally arrived in New Hampshire. Having grown up in Georgia, a white Christmas is still a welcome novelty for me. Back home in Atlanta, businesses and schools close the moment the “S” word is mentioned. There are few snow plows or sand trucks there, and an all-wheel-drive Subaru is as rare as a nun in a bikini.

But here in New Hampshire, the Land of Subarus, we’re used to the white stuff. We pull on our snow boots and hats, and brave the elements.

I always enjoy those first few snowfalls when the landscape is miraculously transformed. Once the snow is on the ground, I can track every animal who has skirted past my house at night—the deer, the squirrels, the mice, and ermine. And few scenes are as arresting as deep blue shadows stretching over fresh snow on a crisp, clear afternoon. It never ceases to amaze me that I can stand in the middle of the woods on a winter afternoon and actually hear the sound of snow falling.

 

(Photo by Michelle Aldredge)


 
 

Squirrel tracks in the snow (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

 

This holiday I’m grateful not only for the well-timed snowfall, but also for all of the readers like you who have made the first seven months of Gwarlingo such a success. I appreciate your positive feedback, comments, store purchases, and emails of support. 

I hope you have some time to relax and connect with friends or family this holiday. Today, my Christmas gift to you is this short sand animation called Snow by filmmaker Corrie Francis Parks.

 

A still from Corrie Francis Parks' sand animation "Snow." Watch the full film below.

 

 

Corrie Francis Parks at work on a sand animation (Photo courtesy Corrie Francis Parks)

 

Corrie works with sand, paint on glass, cut-outs and hand-drawn mediums. This particular film uses a highly specialized technique called sand animation. Corrie has found new ways to incorporate color into her sand films—a medium that has traditionally been in black and white.

Using sand as a material is challenging and difficult to master. Corrie is one of the few filmmakers who is pushing this medium in new directions. You can learn more about Corrie’s work on her website or follow her on Twitter.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Enjoy the film and best wishes for 2012.

(If you’re reading this in an email, click here to watch the video.)

 

 

Snow from corrie francis parks on Vimeo.

 

 

MacArthur Fellow Anna Schuleit & the Whole Sweep of Trying

 

For the public installation "Bloom" Anna Schuleit and a team of volunteers filled the Massachusetts Mental Health Center with 28,000 blooming flowers and 5,600 square feet of lush, green sod, including corridors, stairwells, offices and even a swimming pool. (Photo by Anna Schuleit courtesy This is Colossal)

 

 

Anna Schuleit's studio is located in a renovated mill building in the historic town of Harrisville, New Hampshire. (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

Welcome to the first installment of “Creative Spaces,” a regular Gwarlingo series that will focus on the creative habits and work spaces of visual artists, writers, musicians, filmmakers, and other talented individuals.

I’m so pleased to kick off the series with an intimate profile of visual artist and MacArthur recipient Anna Schuleit.

Anna graciously agreed to talk with me about her daily work habits, studio space, recent projects, and much more. She also gave me permission to photograph her studio in exceptional detail, granting me access not only to her works in progress, but also to many of her sketches, personal collections, notes, and books.

Such generosity is in keeping with Anna’s personality. She is curious, playful, open-minded, intelligent, and exudes a positive, contagious energy. But forget the stereotypes of flighty creative geniuses (a word that makes most MacArthur fellows squirm). Anna is as deep and introspective as she is energetic and outgoing.

Born in Mainz, Germany, and raised in a family of artists, Anna came to the US at 16 as a high school student. She went on to study painting at RISD and creative writing at Dartmouth.

 

Visual artist Anna Schuleit (Photo by John Solem)

 

 

"Bloom" by Anna Schuleit (Photo courtesy Anna Schuleit)

Anna’s early, large-scale installations included Habeas Corpus (2000), in which she brought the crumbling Northampton State Hospital to life with the music of J.S. Bach, and Bloom (2003), where she filled the Massachusetts Mental Health Center with 28,000 blooming flowers and 5,600 square feet of lush, green sod. In 2007 she created Landlines–a public art project commemorating the centennial anniversary of The MacDowell Colony.

In 2009 Anna’s paintings and drawings were exhibited at the Coleman Burke Gallery in New York City. In 2010 she completed Just a Rumor, a large painting commission at UMass Amherst, as well as a painted set-design for Ivy Baldwin Dance at the Chocolate Factory Theater in New York. Her work has been praised for its “conceptual clarity, compassion, and beauty.”

Anna has been a visiting artist and lecturer at MIT, Brown, Smith, RISD, The New School, Bowdoin, and other institutions. Residency programs have been an important cornerstone to her artistic development. She has been a fellow at The Blue Mountain Center, The MacDowell Colony, Bogliasco, Yaddo, and the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Studies at Harvard, among others. In 2006 Anna was awarded the prestigious MacArthur Fellowship.

(Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

The following interview and photo shoot took place in the early spring of 2011 in the small, rural town of Harrisville, New Hampshire, where Anna’s studio is currently located. On the morning I arrived at the studio, Anna’s dog Finnegan was relaxing on the couch and Steve Reich’s “Music for 18 Musicians” was playing on the stereo. When I commented on this musical choice, Anna explained that she begins every work day in the studio by listening to Steve Reich’s “Drumming“ and “Music for 18 Musicians.”

 

Michelle Aldredge: Anna, what is your typical routine? Do you have any rituals that are important to your creative work?

Anna Schuleit: When I wake up in the morning I first go outside with my dog to check on the weather and the overall feel of the day. That’s the very first thing, going outside. Then a walk or run in the woods, then breakfast. And then off to the studio for the rest of the day.

Once there, I usually continue working on what I was doing the night before–a series of works, never just a single piece. If I stay long enough in the studio, just stay with the work even if it doesn’t feel great or seem satisfying or directional or conclusive, if I just stay to tend and garden, then my mind gradually yields control to the more automatic labor of painting, and with that comes a sweet spot in the process further down, a worn groove, a sense of ease.

"If I stay long enough in the studio, just stay with the work even if it doesn't feel great or seem satisfying or directional or conclusive, if I just stay to tend and garden, then my mind gradually yields control to the more automatic labor of painting, and with that comes a sweet spot in the process further down, a worn groove, a sense of ease." (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

That’s a bit elusive and hard to describe, and it doesn’t really depend on any rituals other than, well…presence. Just staying with it allows it to open up. The same is true for any creative task, no?

I listen to music while I work, usually abstract things. But I also enjoy the quiet, sounds from elsewhere–birds. I eat simple meals, more lunch than dinner, and I read the news when I can, or make phone calls, or run quick errands, but usually I’m in the studio for long stretches of sameness: mixing paint, looking at paintings, drawing, looking more, painting, mixing more paint, drinking some tea, looking more. And so on. Just maintaining a presence. And I do enjoy this more than I can adequately express.

By the time I leave the studio at night I often feel deeply connected to my work, and I have to tear myself away like a kid from a playground. The process feeds itself, somehow, and I get to be a part of it, which is the best and simplest, and most tumbling and humbling feeling I know.

"By the time I leave the studio at night I often feel deeply connected to my work, and I have to tear myself away like a kid from a playground." (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

What do you do when you hit a roadblock or get stuck on a certain piece?

For the past six years I’ve been working in series: multiple panels of drawings and paintings that help prevent the formation of serious roadblocks by creating a multitude of views of the same thing. That means there are multiple options spread out across more than a single pictorial plane, side-by-side, which means repetition, which in turn, means a built-in possibility for continuation.

I try to keep going at the speed each particular piece seems to require naturally, some slow, some fast. Slow for me means more than a month, and I actually have several works in that category right now, large paintings on linen. They just seem to need more time to remain “open” while I keep them around, keep looking without specific expectations other than to stay engaged.

"Ultimately, this is what I repeat most often to myself: avoid tip-toeing around, Anna. Stay. Go deeper. DON'T LEAVE." (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

When I do get stuck and nothing moves forward for several days I will take a snapshot of the painting and enlarge it at a copy shop onto a large piece of paper, which I bring back to the studio with me. I cut the copy apart, paint on top of it, and use it as an impermanent collage. It gets me back into the work through a back-door and lets me see the colors and the composition differently, which can be crucial to getting unstuck again. But that kind of roadblock is ultimately part of the piece like all the rest, a sort of necessary detour.

"The different parts of the studio help me to keep moving, like stations along a road." (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

I love the combination of intense creative energy and controlled order in your studio. Can you explain how your studio is organized?

My studio is one large space subdivided into several parts: paintings on the walls, drawings and prints on tables in the middle, paints and inks and dry media and other tools in-between, and books and papers on the fringes. The different parts of the studio help me to keep moving, like stations along a road.

"Good advice is really anything that keeps you afloat via a sense of shared struggle. Good advice is the kind that tugs at your heart a little, since it addresses something you know you need help with, be it focus, authenticity, endurance, fearlessness, etc." (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

Things are in flux though; it’s definitely not overly neat, nor is it too tidy. But it’s not chaos either. It’s a good, medium kind of state with room for dried paint and dust and empty bottles and clothes and traces of use. And there are large, handsome industrial windows overlooking a row of trees. Oh, and lots of lamps and spotlights, since I work at night, too. Working at night makes all the other things that aren’t part of the paintings fall away, adding contrast and saturation and a kind of temporary authority in the composition that the next day supersedes again.

"Now I'm switching over to found shoes and old wheels and pulleys--just ordinary things that are lovely and precious in small, unexpected ways when held and handled." (Photo by Michelle Aldredge)

Are there any objects in your studio that have special meaning to you?

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Welcome to Gwarlingo

 

Michelle Aldredge, Creator of GwarlingoMy name is Michelle Aldredge. I am a writer, photographer, and the creator of Gwarlingo.

Gwarlingo is an online community where artists and curious individuals can follow great visual art, music, film, performance, writing, and design, as well as discuss the rewards and challenges of the creative life. Its aim is to highlight some of the most interesting work being created today–to cut through the noise and clutter of the web so that you don’t have to. Whether you’re an artist yourself, an arts lover, or someone who wants to be more innovative in your job or personal life, I trust you’ll find Gwarlingo a useful and inspiring resource.

Artists of all disciplines and in all stages of their careers struggle to integrate their creative practice into daily life. It is challenging to carve out the necessary time and space to think, question, and create, and often as challenging to find a network of supportive, like-minded peers. I hope Gwarlingo can be such a community.

Gwarlingo aspires to make the arts more intelligible, collaborative, and cross disciplinary–to treat the subject with both intelligence and wit. At Gwarlingo the focus is on quality over quantity, on clarity over clutter, on stories over sound bytes.  At Gwarlingo we believe that asking questions is often as important as finding answers.

Most of my professional life has been dedicated to making the arts more accessible. Since 1999, I’ve worked at The MacDowell Colony, the nation’s oldest artist colony founded in 1907. In addition to working with the artists in residence, one of my many jobs is coordinating MacDowell’s community outreach program, which connects Colony artists with local students, teachers, and audiences. I’ve also worked as a librarian, a docent at The High Museum of Art, a photographer, an English and literacy tutor, and an editorial assistant at an arts magazine. I’m also a working artist myself. I’m a photographer and writer, and I recently finished my first novel Promiseland.

Michelle Aldredge-Creator of GwarlingoI grew up in Atlanta, Georgia, but have called New Hampshire home since 1999. My home studio sits on top of a hill overlooking Mt. Monadnock and the distant Berkshires. Although I miss fried okra, the early southern spring, and restaurants that stay open past 9:00, this quiet, rural life agrees with me. In New Hampshire I can see the stars, go kayaking or snowshoeing, watch bald eagles fish in the lake, and focus on my creative work in silence. I no longer have to worry about traffic jams or rush hour accidents; moose, bear, deer, wild turkey, and frost heaves are the primary road hazards here. Although I live in the country, I’m fortunate enough to be part of a vibrant arts community in New Hampshire, New York City, and Massachusetts. The quiet days are punctuated by regular travel and frequent visits to museums, theaters, readings, arts events, lectures, and open studios.

I hope you’ll join me in the weeks and months ahead as I share some fascinating work, news, artist interviews, excursions, resources, advice, and discussions about the arts and the creative process.

The Gwarlingo Studio in New Hampshire

The View from Gwarlingo

If you’d like to participate, your contributions are always welcome in the “comments” section. You can also follow Gwarlingo on Twitter, Facebook, or subscribe by email or RSS Feed.

Please send suggestions, links, images, ideas, interviews, articles, invitations, event announcements, video clips, questions, press releases, found photos, recordings, and other cool stuff to michelle (at) gwarlingo (dot) com. To send materials by snail mail, please contact me for a mailing address.

Thanks for visiting Gwarlingo. Come back. Come often.