eyes and thighs and soles and lungs and limbs and making accidents

Erin Gould
September 23, 2018
Rio Grande Headwaters, CO

I often talk about happy accidents when I am making art. But maybe happy accidents are really just a state of receptivity, of embracing potential, of loving the process of improvisation and experimentation and exploration and play. And that is something that doesn't just happen to you, like an accident; being open means being vulnerable and it is genuinely scary to set out with an intention, loose your way, and find something magical that you couldn't see before you started. It is hard, but it brings me so much joy in my life and vibrance in my work.

Land Arts of the American West should really be called The Practice of Creating Happy Accidents and Knowing What to do When you Make Them.

Rocks breathe, too.

Sometimes the wind doesn't want to play, but maybe the American Dipper does.

I pulled a rock from my sole and a willow branch from my eye.

Aspens tremble and have stretch marks like my thighs. 

I am happiest in trees, with strong arms around me, holding the entirety of my weight, dancing me into bliss (noun:

1. supreme happiness; utter joy or contentment:wedded bliss.
2. Theology. the joy of heaven.
3. heaven; paradise:the road to eternal bliss.)