Pletts: The art of off- or on-season

So here, in glorious springtime in the Rocky Mountains, over the past 45+ years, I’ve heard the phrase “off-season.” According to whom? From the perspective of farmers and wild animals, it’s the “on-season,” a time of life bursting forth. When we copycat and mimic others’ words, no matter how many say something, isn’t it important to pause and think?

In early years, when I had little income (though things haven’t changed much for this working artist), my boyfriend and I would load up his old Scout and head for Canyonlands. We’d be fed up with cold (Winter was longer) and longing for heat. We’d pack a cooler with avocado, cucumbers — lettuce would wilt — and salsa and, when we arrived, put up a hammock between two trees. He would lie there and rest, but I was restless. Being raised on the East Coast, I couldn’t bear the quiet. He was persistent, though, and I had to chill. After only two or three days, I came to relish the peace. I literally felt the desert heat come up into my tired bones — for in those days, I hauled huge laundry sacks of clean sheets upstairs to clean condos after visiting skiers went home.

I remember one day in the desert hearing an odd sound. I gently explored on sand, careful not to tread on succulents that took forever to grow. I searched for the noise and came upon a piece of tinfoil stuck on a branch. When the wind moved it, there was a tinkling sound. Wow, I don’t know if I’ve been in a place that calm since — over 30 years ago.

Recently, I had the pleasure of spending nearly an entire day in my art studio with two longtime residents of our valley: Michael Stranahan and Joanie Klar. Michael is a lifelong potter who moved here to instruct at the Community School, and Joanie is a tireless advocate of environmental protection. It took nearly three hours to recall the true veracity of our lives here and realize that we didn’t drop out in Colorado, but we came to drop in, into our earthly home.

I also don’t understand the phrase “give back.” Why, if one lives in balance, does anyone have to “give back?” Does that mean it’s OK to take more than you give? There are many great songs from the ’70s, and one favorite is Traffic’s “You shouldn’t have took more than you gave.” Are you a giver or taker or both?

I trust that giving back includes cleaning up any mess that’s been made. We’ve seen the online photos of precious whales washed-up dead on beaches, their bellies full of plastic. And yet, shoppers continue to load up plastic bottles of water, wrapped in none other than plastic. Why? Get a water filter, for Heaven’s sake. When will we honor this gracious, giving Earth of ours and stop fouling our own nest? What will it take for humans to want to keep our nest clean? It’s a wonder Mother Earth hasn’t kicked humans off her.

My mother, Janet Garwood, and others spent decades establishing cultural venues — the Snowmass Conference Center, the Red Brick Center, the North Mill Artists Association building, taxes to renovate the Wheeler, the District Theatre — believing that when students and adults had the opportunity to experience art in remote nature, that we’d evolve into better people. But how many actually have?

Sometimes, I imagine being like the Pied Piper of Hamelin who led children out of their town where he was continuously generous, but the townspeople didn’t give a rat’s ass about him. He played the flute while kids followed him, dancing/singing away, and the children were never seen again. I fantasize about putting gigantic legs on said buildings and learning to play the flute — that’s the hardest part for me. I would play beautifully, and the buildings would willingly follow me out of town.

Maybe some gave too much, and because folks didn’t share responsibility for creating these venues, they are taken for granted. But how would one feel if, one morning, you woke up and the buildings had disappeared?

I wonder.

Sarah A. Pletts is the co-founder with Janet Garwood of the Sarah Pletts Dance Theatre, Ltd. The International, a Colorado-based nonprofit since 1984.