I make alters; little compositions arranged from my collections. When the homily needs refreshing, I rotate the congregation, rearrange the pews, move the church. Home is my chapel. I am not "religious" now though I was raised Roman Catholic, attended church, knew the Our Father by heart, attended CCD, and celebrated five of seven sacraments. I confess—my faith lies in the power of nature. I am at home in the woods. I am spiritually alive around trees, in the water, touching moss—this mushroom, spotting the doe. Smells resurrect with each step. I am devoted.
I ponder what it means to leave my sanctuary for the fall 2012, where comforts and the familiar bring me peace. I am nervous, excited, exposed and free. As an artist I collect and arrange and nest and organize. I make. My projects are like stations of the cross; they are stations of my creative life. Which ones do I pack for pilgrimage?
(Painting by Melanie Christon, "Maudslay Field," oil on board.)