Chateau D’Orquevaux: One Last Look Back

It has been nearly a month since I left Orquevaux after a three-week residency. I was sad to leave, for a number of reasons, but after a month of perspective, I thought I would spend one last entry as a final reflection of my experience.

A month later, I am still sad it is over. I think it is fair to express that the combination of the gorgeous setting, the energy from my fellow residents, and the time to just create, leads me to conclude that Orquevaux was the most creatively productive experience of my life. I created eight new pieces and edited or revised another ten. It felt almost like I was a millionaire–there was a wonderful staff to cook and clean, and no real responsibilities other than to create. I met some wonderful writers and artists, some of whom I am looking forward to sharing friendship for years to come. In short, the residency was everything I hoped it would be.

It has reinforced something in me I’ve always known: when I am in a residency or on a retreat, I use the creative time well. It has prompted me to look at other retreats (a scriptwriter’s retreat in Tuscany currently has me intrigued.) I know there will be more in my future, and I am really looking forward to seeing what happens at the next one. It’s also excellent timing, because I begin the bi-annual playwright’s binge tomorrow. I will be submitting at least one script to a theatre or contest each day of the month. I always enjoy the binge, and I have placed in and won a number of contests, and my work has been produced as a result of the last several binges. I now have new work to send out, and excited to see how the new pieces are received.

I will end my final reflection with my share of a collaborative piece written at the chateau. Ambrose, one of the writers, proposed a collaboration on the theme “Beauty in the Mundane.” All residents contributed to it. I was a little unsure what to write, but a nice conversation at breakfast with artist-writer Jacob gave me some clarity. I decided to write on my affection for the robins in my yard. Here is the piece:

I live near the Atlantic ocean, which means I have an opportunity to see a number of uncommon birds: ospreys, eagles, sandpipers, egrets and herons. I also see robins.  Just about everyone in the United States has robins in their yard.  They aren’t particularly beautiful, they don’t do much other than bounce through the grass looking for insects upon which to feed.  They don’t have a particularly distinctive call, and there is little mythology about robins–no adventure stories wherein they speak, or guard precious macguffins for the story’s hero.  I see them every day, and I never fail to smile at their presence. They have an ineffable, gentle quality I find irresistible.  They aren’t vicious predators–the rabbits and chipmunks behind my garage are safe in their presence.  They are quiet, they leave virtually no destruction in their wake, and they build careful, almost mathematically engineered nests beneath my eaves.  They remind me that life itself has great beauty, and it doesn’t need to be dramatic to be appreciated.