TUESDAY, AUGUST, 20TH 1985

Going home to cook dinner.  Lee is coming over.  Slightly reluctant.
Mixed emotions on my part.  I really don't want to be doing this.  Lee
is young, 26, black.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST, 21ST 1985

Survived last night. I met Lee at a party Saturday night.  R.G.  and
I.  We also invited my friend Carol and she brought her roommate,
Barbara.  To this party.  It was being given by a young couple, Paul
and Betsy.  They met R.G. at an opening, got interested in his
writing, and invited him to come and document their party, as soon as
we got there, we were the 2nd couple of people to arrive, I felt
incredible amount of tension.  It was almost visible.  I knew
immediately that they wished we hadn't come.  R.G.'s and my letter put
fear in their heart.  These young, free thinking, creative people
turned out to be old, conservative in their life and fearful.  Betsy
reminded me of my mother.  Pursed lips, tight face, closed.  Paul
seemed unhappy to me but this was only based on observation.  I never
spoke to him.  Betsy seems to have her domestic situation under
control.  R.G.  and I personified her fear of the outside coming in to
disrupt her little nest.  T.G. did his best to disrupt as much as
possible.  He and I were the oldest ones there.  People began to
arrive.  R.G. spent much of his time with Carol and Barbara.  I
enjoyed myself, talking to some of the men.  Particularly Lee, tall,
young black man, graduate of Fordham University, adoped, made some
money working his way up at Arista records, P.R.  He liked me, a lot.
He loves to talk, wants to make megabucks.  Left Arista to work in
Realestate,

THURSDAY, AUGUST, 22 1985

Going to Harvard SQ today to pay for my tickets to F.H.  constantly
fluctuating emotions about going.  Yet there is something pushing me
on to go.  Part of it is the desire to keep things moving in my life.
Fear of standing still and going nowhere.  G.H. could be a vehicle.
Connections in Europe.  Are useful.  Plus, I gain experience there
working with them on film, seeing how they integrate performance in
their daily lives.  The reality and the play.  Trying to define which
is which is difficult for everyone.  I have become so attached to the
Role I play, the Femme Fatale, that I cannot give it up for fear of
loosing myself.  My make-up, clothes, hair, all part of the role.  It
has brought me the constant attention from men.  The need for
attention is great.  I'm beginning to learn about using other things.
At F.H. one must use other things, looks don't count for much.  What
one does, what you have to offer is clearly the important thing.
Tuesday night.  Lee comes over, eager full of energy.  I make dinner.
Erika eats with us.  He is immediately taken with her.  "What a doll!"
He charms her with tales of the music business.  Afterward I find she
was not so charmed.  She thought he was a bullshit artist.  He's been
tremendously influenced by his father, puritan work ethic, self made
man.  Lee thinks of himself this way.  He talks about the poor ghetto
blacks with disdain, his politics are pure reaganomics.  No
compassion.  He's obsessed with money.  How to get enough.  At the
moment he is confused.  He says I have him confused.  We had left the
party Saturday night.  He wanted to go out.  For a walk.  We got
involved in a conversation about his past loves and his family life.
He caught himself and said he doest often talk like this and certainly
not with someone he just met.  He kept asking me where I got my
personality from.  As though I picked it up off the street somewhere.
As er walk back to the party he suddenly stops, as if grabbed by some
insight.  "I know!," he says he hopes I'm not offended.  "You have
cancer, don't you?"  I started to laugh.  I tried to convince him I
was not about to die tomorrow.  He felt that I seemed to be living to
the limit, burning my candle at both ends, like a person might do if
they were facing death.  What a strange approach, but I liked it.
Certainly not a run of the mill thing to say.  He has been calling me
at work.  Want to know when we can spend 24 hours together.  Maybe
after a trip to V.D> clinic.  Don't want to take any chances.  Not
with myself in that way, nor R.G.  I'm ambivalent about doing anything
with him anyway.

FRIDAY, AUGUST, 23RD 1985

Got my tickets to Vienna yesterday.  Had a dream last night about
being late to the airport and missing the plane.  My mother was at my
house, frantic but somehow with all the rushing around, we weren't
getting anywhere.  R.G. and I ran again last night.  It feels good.
It energizes me.  I've never felt as connected to anyone as I am to
him.  Got a letter Yesterday!  Still Friday night.  Feast night in the
north end.  I'm out with Bill, we were at a party at Siss's Tucks.
Bill has always felt inferior, awkward when at their house.  He's a
bit paranoid and has a complex that has something to do with his being
a small man, physical small.  We left the party a few hours ago and
came to the north end for the St. Anthony's Feast.  Now I'm sitting
int he car in the parking garage because the parking attendant has
lost the keys.  God knows how we will get home.  A bunch of crazy
pakistanis running this parking garage.  I wish I was running around
Dorchesior in my new nikes.  The party was o.k. everybody trying to
get as drunk as possible in a very short period of time.  I spoke
briefly to a young guy, a student, a work study student at the
institute.  He was complaining about his lack of contact with women.
The possibilities of having more than one relationship were beyond his
comprehension.  I wonder what is happening with Bill and the car keys.
He is so wimpy and unassertive, people walk all over him including me.
He's so easy to take advantage of.  I want to just walk home.  Get out
of this garage and leave.  I called R.G> from a phone in Polcari's
restaurant, wanted to say help because I was thinking of him.  Last
night, George called me.  Haven't heard from him in a long time.

SATURDAY, AUGUST, 24TH 1985

I mentioned a letter a few days ago.  It was from A publisher of
feminist books.  Someone at Pergamon Press had found my journal and
letters interesting and had forwarded them on to this editor.  She
wrote to tell me how perceptive she thought the writing was, she liked
it but her company only dealt with "Academic" type books.  She told me
about a new museum for womens art that is being planned for Washington
D.C. and also suggested some other places to send my writing.  I'm
going to write her again.  I showed the letter to Bill.  He was not
overly enthusiastic.  could've been because he was so depressed about
his car.  Things really got screwed up last night, had to call a
locksmith and he messed up the ignition.  Bill went back to the garage
his morning to see if he could get the car fixed.  He had his son Mark
drive up to the Glouscester to get a spare set of keys.  He left this
morning fairly depressed.  I tried to put this whole event in proper
perspective.  Certainly it aggravation but between the 2 of us, we
should be able to joke about it.  Or else think of taking some serious
action against the idiots who run the parking garage.  Spoke to my
mother yesterday, called her from work.  Her voice was back to her old
way, afterwards I realized it was because my father was right there.
She had to play her role in front of him.  I asked her about coming up
to stay with Erika for 2 weeks while I'm in Vienna.  She didn't say no
and actually seemed to be thinking of the possibilities.  This morning
however, things have changed she told Erika she couldn't possibly
come.  She must do some work for my father.  A flimsy excuse.  She's
always had to do work for my father.  I wonder who is manipulating who
here.  My father has always been extremely hostile towards me.
Perhaps he senses this new intimacy between my mother and myself and
will try to thwart any relationship.

MONDAY, AUGUST, 26TH 1985

Saturday night.  Sitting in Harvard SQ with R.G. Abdula is to meet us
there at 8 p.m.  He has been calling my every day.  I have become a
bit of an obsession to him.  He wanted to see me but did not want me
to bring R.G.  No dice I told him.  It will have to be the 2 of us or
nothing.  We see him coming.  He is usually ebullient, bouncing, full
of energy.  Gestures a lot with his hands.  He looks miserable,
depressed, dark rings under his eyes as though he's been awake for
weeks.  He does not want to leave Cambridge.  He does not want to go
back to Arabia to his 2 wives and 6 kids.  We tell him to stay at
Harvard and bring his family here.  He says it's not possible.
Harvard pays too little and he makes a lot of money in Arabia.  He
leaves on Sunday for Oxford University and then home.  He wants to
take me with him.  He offers himself and money and what ever else I
want.  He wants me to be his 3rd wife.  But he says I'm #1.  The best,
he tries to figure out why R.G> and I are not married.  We're sitting
at a small round table by the rail.  Abdula is not happy with the
seating arrangements.  He suggests I sit in the middle, between him
and R.G.  R.G. says o.k. we switch seats.  Abdula has a hard time
keeping his hands off me.  He'd like to be able to use force to make
me go with him.  R.G. tries to explain how he gives me all the freedom
I want.  That I choose to stay with him by choice.  Abdula ask him
about jealousy.  R.G. says sometimes it's a problem but having the
freedom, both ways is more important.  Abdula knows and doesn't know
at the same time. A whole lifetime brought up in another culture.  He
sees what we have and he can't imagine it would be so.  Abdula seems
tortured.  We are talking for 2-3 hours.  Nicoli, a Ukranian,
divorced, son who lives with him and goes to Erika's high school.  He
sits with us for awhile.  Tells Abdula to draw his sword and do battle
with the enemy within himelf.

THURSDAY, AUGUST, 29TH 1985

Bill and I out at very fancy restaurant last night in Copley Place.
One glass of their "house" wine, $8.50.  I rarely pay that for a whole
bottle.  Get home about 11 p.m.  Big accident across the street from
my house.  Kid on drugs and booze crashes his ban into parked car,
totals the car, hits a tree then ricochets into telephone pole.  Lots
of broken glass, 2 patrol cars, ambulance, tow truck and the entire
neighborhood is milling around in front of my house.  Someone says
it's the most excitement they'd had all summer.  If Bill and I had
come home a few minutes sooner, we may have been the ones to get hit.
Erika leaves today for a short visit with my mom and dad.  Bought her
train tickets yesterday.  First time she's done this trip by herself.
But she's old enough now and seems pretty confident about it.  A
mistake last night by calling my mother.  She was on the attack.  Had
to do with blaming all of Erika's bad traits on the fact that I left
her with her father 5 yrs. ago.  She got in a lot of miscellaneous
digs, how my house is so dismal and depressing with-out any furniture.
I got pissed, lost my cool, started defending myself, then went on a
counter attack, big mistake, wish I hadn't called.  R.G. and I tried
calling his mom in Wyoming 2 nights ago.  Second time in a week we've
called.  No answer.  I was thinking about her and our trip last
summer.  How open she was.  Easy to be with.  I missed her.  R.G. told
me about a situation between himself and his older 1/2 brother.  When
R.G. was 10 this older brother "made use of him."  Fucked him in the
ass.  R.G. hates anything that even hints at anal sex.  This
discussion arose as a result of a dream he had had.  Ron want to see
me tonight.  He wanted to go out last night too but I couldn't.  He
bought 2 paintings from his best friend Don, abstractions, he wants me
to see them.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 30TH 1985

Saw Ron last night.  He is much better.  He's been writing. A story.
Autobiographical.  We agree that it is difficult to do anything that
isn't.  The story may be a novel.  He has grandiose ideas.  He has not
been able to keep at anything for very long.  the current stuff is
very good.  It's convincing.  Spoke to my mother yesterday, she was
better than the night before.  She said my priorities are all mixed
up.  Instead of going to Vienna I should buy a sofa so people would
have a place to sit in my house.  "A sofa is something that lasts" she
says.  "Don't you think experience lasts?"  I say.  " We just think
differently" she says.  The conversation gets more interesting.  Erika
is due to arrive in New London to catch the ferry to Mom's any minute.
Mom is waiting for her call.  We talk about reality and illusion.  She
says she tries to "get through" to my father, but whenever she makes
attempts to get below the surface, he doesn't want to talk about it.
I suggest that the idea of sitting down with a person to suddenly
"communicate" is a difficult task.  It is easier to approach this
problem in a small immediate way.  "When Dad is saying something that
you find difficult to accept, or understand, mention it to him
immediately."  "Why did you say that?"  Ask him.  Stop him in his
tracks.  Make him think about his actions.  Get him to reflect on
himself.  Mom thought this was an excellent idea.  If she knew where
it came from would she think the same.  The phone call ended on a very
positive note.  My mother has the capacity to see things from another
view.  I takes a long time to develop this skill, we tend to fight
against it.  to cling to the "correctness" of our usual way of seeing.
Habits of seeing.  It is very much like when you are trying to teach
someone how to draw.  What they think they see.  They draw stylization
of reality.  rather then what is actually there.  Your eye sees but
often the effect is so strange your mind will not allow you to believe
it.  So the mind dictates and the drawing becomes distorted.  The
problem of seeing "Flat."  One needs to see 3 dimensional in order to
draw which requires knowledge of simultaneous views of the subject
being considered.  It is this that I am learning through R.G. and
friedrichshof.  As it concerns life rather than art.  It is strange
that i have understood this artistic principle for so long and only
now am I beginning to see it as a way of life.  Ron called me at work
5 times today.  I was in meetings and couldn't talk to him till late
this afternoon.  He wants to get together.  He's hungry for physical
contact.  He's at sea.  His final break from Pamela has done it.  R.G.
got a call from Linda today.  An old flame.  She wants to go F.H. with
him again.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER, 4TH 1985

No writing.  No time.  Been with R.G. nearly constantly.  We run about
2 miles 4 or 5 times a week now.  He'll be going to F.H. on the 5th,
tomorrow, I'll be leaving on the 15th.  Erika will be coming home
tomorrow, school on Friday.  Tension over that.  Lying about living in
Newton.  If we get caught again she'll have to go to school elsewhere.
My mother suggested Mastituch High.  She wants a boarding school in
Maine.  Her father will have to pay.  I doubt a chicken farmer can
come up with that kind of money.  I've missed her not being around.
This week, had an interesting time with Ron and Lotti last weekend.
Lotti came over to put notes in computer.  Ron came for a date.  I had
Lotti stay and I inviter her for dinner too make it more interesting
for me, and it was, Ron is writing a novel, his life story, thinly
disguised.  Some of it is not bad.  He tends to be plagued with
Grandiose Esoteric ideas.  He's best when he relates simple childhood
experiences.  He tries too hard for universal ideas.  I think its a
mistake.  One must write or paint from experience.  from the
experience of the actual, the particular thing, deeply felt and
expressed simply, it allows more people access and so you achieve the
"ahai" nomena, people seeing themselves through your experience and in
so doing you strike a universal cord.  It is the same in visual art
and music.  found out about a grant opportunity.  Actually it's a
grant i've applied for several times in painting- but now I'm going to
apply in the category of Non-fiction.  My journal and the letters
between me and mom, got to get the proposal in before I leave for F.H.
Deadline is Oct 1st.  Heard from Abdula a few days ago.  A note on
Oxford U. Stationary, some photo's of me taken in his apartment, his
address and phone in Saudi Arabia.  He thinks my writing is MARVELOUS!
Please send more he says, "Think of me always as your Arabian Prince."
He is so outrageous.  What a joker.  R.G. is in his hyper, pre F.H.
mode.  almost no sleep last night.  The level of intimacy I have with
this man I had thought was impossible.  Sometimes I feel as though I
have crawled inside his skin.  When I catch myself there I'm shocked
an I struggle to escape.  How comforting at times to get in another
skin, so it changes.  Last few phone calls with mom since Erika's been
visiting have been rotten.  She's out to get me with a vengeance.
always on my lack of abilities as an adequate mother.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER, 5TH 1985

7:30 p.m.  R.G.'s place.  Making another film of his departure to F.H.
My heart isn't in it.  After using video, 8mm film is not so
interesting for me anymore.  R.G. is very calm this time.  Mary even
remarked on the improvement, quite dramatic.  He's wearing a pair of
tomato soup colored pants I dyed for him last night.  Plane leaves at
10:25 p.m. to Zurich- then Vienna.  Erika arrived home from her Grams
this afternoon.  Loaded down with new clothes.  First day back to
school tomorrow.  R.G. remarked how we haven't heard from Rise and
Harvard started classes today so she must be here, just avoiding us.
Got a letter from Robin a few days ago.  Reveals almost nothing of
himself.  Want to know if I can visit.  Says he'll call some evening.
can't afford to go down to N.S. before I leave for Vienna, would like
to see him though.  I'll have to tell him I 'm going to Vienna again.
I feel spaced out.  Hardly any sleep past few days.  R.G. and I real
busy.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 7TH 1985

R.G. is gone.  This morning, as I'm making coffee, Chris points to a
headline in the Herald, "New Jet Disaster" 31 die in fiery crash."  He
asks me if I'm afraid to fly.  "No. I'm not a worrier type."  Maybe
I'm just foolhardy.  Evidently this has been the worst year for
aviation related deaths in history.  I guess I'm more concerned about
renting my room to a trustworthy person before I leave for F.H.  Bill
and I and Erika went out last night.  Ate at Lechner's, another very
expensive over rated Boston restaurant.  We discussed how things would
work while I was gone.  Erika resisted certain things.  Sh seemed to
be trying to be as un-cooperative as possible.  Bill remarked on this
himself.  He didn't give up on her though and I hope it all works out.
I'll only be gone 2 weeks.  When he came to pick us up last night, he
brought a big bunch of flowers.  He does this occasionally, in my
experience, I would say that most men are romantics.  O love getting
flowers and gifts in general but it doesn't affect my feelings for the
person giving.  R.G. gives me things everyday, his thought and ideas.
He includes me in his plans.  He sends me article and magazines that
can teach me something, when we are not together, he calls me several
times a day to maintain contact, almost all events of our lives are
shared.  He is gone for a few days.  It leaves space, but life is so
crowded, so packed with people and things that the space is quickly
filled.  What is he doing now?  We were to do our wills together.
Depressed.  Feeling depressed.  I've had 2 black men interested in
renting my room.  2 graduate students.  One at B.U. the other at U.
Mass.  Both very nice I liked them, felt they would be good roomers.
But this is a racist neighborhood.  I called Frank to get his views.
His savin hill neighborhood is similar.  He advised me against it.
"Want to get your house burnt down?"  I know this is probably true.
If I was a risk taker if I carried my 1960's ideal in my heart I would
rent the room to them.  But I'm afraid of the hassles, I'm afraid of
retaliation against Erika.  But all of this is conjecture on my part.
I don't really know what would happen, yet I told them how badly it
made me feel which is a cop out to, meant to make me feel better not
them.  Now I only have 6 more days left to find someone.  I woke up
this morning not wanting to go F.H. thinking about all the things here
I need to take care of.  Early Evening.  I worked all morning on
getting the grant application together.  Will have David type some
stuff for me and deliver it tomorrow, thanks to Lotti's and Sidney's
work on the computer yesterday, when I get better at understanding the
command I'll be able to do it myself.  Wrote cover letter to send
other stuff to publishers this work.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 8TH 1985

Before I go.  Wrote a letter to Robin.  Talked about going to F.H.
told him can't come to visit in N.S. invited him to Vienna with me the
next time I go, if things go well and I'm invited back.  It was hot
today.  A reminder of the summer nearly gone.  Waiting for Erika to
return home from work.  She's kept her summer job for just weekends
during school.  We planned to go running tonight.  She just called
from work.  They've fired someone who was due to relieve her so she'
working later than she thought.  Still may want to run with me later.
I had something snap inside of me today that made me see Erika from a
new perspective.  She has done very well this simmer.  She has been
responsible to a degree I think above most 15 yr. olds.  She got a
job, completely on her own.  She has saved a healthy sum of money and
is now planning on opening her own bank account.  I haven't given her
a cent all summer.  She's earned all her own spending money.  Tho only
thing I paid for was the trip to her grandmothers.  She also took the
train and the ferry by herself, made all the right connections.  She
has always taken care of her clothes, done her own laundry, since she
was 10.  She's beginning to get better about her room, she cleans up
more often.  She's been living with me for a year.  A year of tumult-
changes.  Sh's moved 3 times this year and spent 2 weeks in Europe
with me.  She formed a stable relationship with a sweet, responsible
19 yr old Boy, Fenando.  He's away for his 2nd year at U. Mass amhorst
but he's trying hard to maintain the relationship.  He wants her to
visit him.  He sends her love letters.  She is definitely in control
in this situation and that's not bad.  She likes him, treats him well,
but is not infatuated.  I'm proud of hr.  I wrote her a letter today
telling her how I feel.  The pride sometimes gets lost in the daily
minor antagonisms of living.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER, 11TH 1985

I am having anxiety attacks, diarrhea, headaches, etc.  As the day of
my departure for F.H. gets closer.  Why is it so bad?  Now I know what
R.G. was talking about, the first time ignorance was bliss.  Now, what
lies in store for me?  Will anybody be there to meet me?  Have they
forgotten who I am?  Impossible!  I was so terrific the first time.
But Erika won't be with me.  Everyone will be disappointed.  They will
be expecting her too.  right now, even while writing this, I could
throw-up.  Bill and I are going to the MFA tonight for a meeting of
the Boston Women's caucus pof art.  I'm finding myself involved with
feminist organizations without actually seeking them out. I was
invited to a meeting of this group last year by Amy Lighthill.
They're meeting at the MFA due to her support.  could help me get back
into the swing of things as far as exhibiting my work.  Dropped off
the grant proposal today for non-fiction.  It was odd going there and
not for painting.  Girl at the desk recognized me.  Complimented me on
being early and organized.  If she only knew the spaghetti in my
brain.  Jason Berger stopped by my office yesterday- back from a
summer painting in Portugal.  He brought me a gift.  A shirt from
France.  Got another card today from Abdula, I must write to him.
Mary spoke to R.G. today.  He's alive and at F.H.  He told her he was
going to call me before I left.  That may help my anxiety.  It could
make it worse.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 15TH 1985 BRITISH AIR FLIGHT 274 9 P.M.

Safety film, sort of like a marine corps training film.  Packed plane,
screeching baby directly to my left.  Lotti, Rise, Joe, Bill, Erika,
me at the airport.  things seem to be fine with Erika and Bill.  He
came to my house early brought a suitcase.  He'll be staying over.
He's worried Erika might take advantage of him by staying out late,
but after talking about what the guidelines would be they both
relaxed.  We arrived first, went into the sleazy Cloud 9 for a drink.
Place was filled with drunken rugby players on their way to Shannon.
I feel tense.  Can't drink, can't eat, I wonder why I'm going.  At the
moment can't think of a single reason.  Blank, I pull a blank.  Plane
is lifting off runway.  I feel anxious.  Well, we didn't crash at take
off, standing near boarding area, Rise and Joe see us, come over and
hug me.  Just saw them both this afternoon.  Rise waited till the last
minute to come get her stuff.  She's been in town a couple of weeks.
Never called.  Maybe it has something to do with the lure of F.H.  She
asks when R.G. is coming back.  Wants to meet him.  I sensed there was
a desire to renew her contact with him.  Erika and I stroll off to the
bathroom, leaving Joe and Rise talking to Bill.  As Erika and I leave
the Ladies room, we almost walk into Lotti.  She walked right past
Rise and Joe but didn't see them.  She is very nervous.  I give her
the addresses of editors to send her writing to.  Copies of the list
R.G. made for me.  She sits next to me.  Away from Rise and Joe.  She
wants to write something in my note book.  "Bring my AAO vol.  I in
English."  She hands me an envelope addressed to Richard Gardner.
Wonder what it is.  She's so nervous she can't stay.  i boot her over
to say good-by to Joe, Rise and Bill.  She does so, mumbling and
reluctantly.  The air is tense with these folks.  Lotti does some
referring to R.G. so does Rise.  I can fell Bill getting a bit tens
too.  At home, before leaving, I gave him what was left of my free
coupon book for dinners.  Out on the town and suggested he take
Barbara.  I don't think my comment was appreciated.  My mood during
all of this is vague, disconnected from everyone accept Erika.  What
do they think is going on?  I'll be damned if I know.  Called my
mother right before I left.  Have not received an answer to my last
letter.  She was upset by it.  "Why do you have to analyze and dissect
everything?: I tell her to write her feelings down.  Send them to me
instead.  We have difficulties talking on the phone.  It is always the
same.  She hears my voice.  Immediately gets defensive and whiney.
Sometimes after a few minutes of talking things get better, sometimes
not.  Sitting at Hathrow Airport.  Waiting for flight to Vienna.  My
lip is quivering.  Fell detached from my surroundings.  the flight
from Boston to London floated by.  Didn't do anything.  Didn't read,
didn't write, didn't watch the movie.  suddenly the plane just landed
and we were in London.  Lots of men glancing at me.  Can't look back.
They seem millions of miles away.  Stayed awake all night.  Now I'm
seated in the plane to Vienna.  I can't think.  Writing helps.  Very
full plane.  It appeared as though I floated away from everyone in
Boston. I wasn't there to begin with, all airports look like.  Even
the people who work in them look alike.  It is really Monday now.  2
hours to Vienna.  Then what?  I'm afraid to see R.G.  Last Friday at
work I was so self-assured.  Running around.  Lunch with R.W.  Great
timing all day.  Made all my last minute connections.  Met David Caras
W H.SQ. to pick up my slides.  They turned out well in spite of the
rush job.  I was glad the lighting conditions in my studio are
conducive to photographing by natural light.  That's all better for
accurate color.  Low Mulak on this British Air Flight to Vienna.  Just
like in any elevator in Boston.  The grayness is lifting.  Some sun is
seeping through.  My ears just opened up in time for lift off and more
agony.  Bumpy runway.  R.G. was right about the second time around.
Why did I come?  I must be nuts.  At least my lip stopped quivering.
Maybe it was a nerve.  Oh God, we're in the air.  I look down, beyond
the wing.  Incredible turn.  Plane feels like it's on its side.  I
know someone will be at the airport to pick me up.  R.G. called me
twice to make sure I was still coming.  Who will be there?  Will I
recognize them?  Will they recognize me?  More airline food.  Dinner,
followed quickly by breakfast, now lunch.  Wish I was in bed.  Odd
sensation of the plane moving backwards.  I think of Otto's face,
grinning at me.  Makes me shudder.  40 year old newly wed couple from
Rhode Island sat nest to me from Boston to London.  On their
honeymoon.  Married just the night before.  They travel a lot.  He
works for the post office.  Kept repeating himself.  He told me about
the reception 3 times.  I smiled. Nodded, blanked out.  Glad I got
that grant proposal in the artists foundation before I left.  Hardest
part was having to edit out whole pages to conform to the guidelines.
Ideally I would've edited words, sentences, paragraphs; worked on
polishing it up, but the deadline and lack of computer word processing
expertise required the editing of whole pages, or submitting a piece
that looked like a mess.  Today is a Jewish holiday.  Roshashana I
think.  Erika has no school today.  her father called on Sunday
morning.  I was rushing to get last minute things done.  He asked for
her.  Stiff, angry voice.  Wants to know "What's happening?  Why
hasn't she returned my letters or called me?"  I tell him she has
received the letters.  I've see them lying open on the floor of her
room.  I don't know if she reads them.  She doesn't want to discuss
it.  I tell her when her father calls.  There is seldom any reaction.
Nothing.  Evidently she never calls him back.  "What do you think I
should be doing about this situation?"  I ask him.  "Does she think
Maine is Siberia?"  Talks about our "Jet set" life in the big city.  I
cringe.  He doesn't know I'm going to Vienna again.  No need to add
fuel to the fires that are already ravaging his mind.  I feel sorry
for him.  He loves her.  He can't understand she's an opportunist.  I
don't hug her enough.  Sometimes I hug at the wrong times, when I need
it and she doesn't.  He wants to grab her to him.  It is not he right
time.  Maybe later, maybe never.  My teeth feel furry.  All this
eating and drinking plastic food and my toothbrush is in my luggage
hopefully on its way to Vienna along with me.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER, 17 1985

It is about 3:30 p.m.  I slept most of the day.  well not just
sleeping.  R.G. and Yvonne met me at the airport in Vienna.  We drove
through Neiusidal am see.  "Do you remember me?"  I ask Yvonne.  He
says "Yes, your paintings I remember."  Everything is so intense for
me.  The faces; as though they were etched in my brain.  F.H.  We
arrive.  It is as though I was here only yesterday.  Has it been 10
months?  Impossible!  R.G. and I are staying in the original guest
house.  Not as elegant as the Lillibau, but all the guest rooms are
taken up by mothers and grandmothers of the group.  The families are
visiting their children here.  It is not as difficult for them as it
was even 5 or 10 years ago.  F.H.  Has become wealthy.  They are
growing by leaps and bounds.  It is the outward signs of a comfortable
"normal" life that allows the parents and grandparents to accept
communal living, in spite of the exceptional aspects of everyone's
"real" life here.  I know how that works.  I know if I had some
furniture in my house in Dorchester, a sofa, some chairs, a dining
room table; my mother would feel better about visiting me, I would
appear more "normal."  R.G. takes me around to visit.  I have not
slept for over 24 hours but I am very excited.  They remembered me.
R.G. is obviously more comfortable this time.  He doesn't hesitate in
going to Otto's room.  We go in, someone is working with a group of
children.  R.G. knocks on Otto's studio door.  Otto and Claudia come
out.  Hugs and squeezes and smiles and "welcome back" for me.  Like I
am an old friend.  I feel wonderful.  I'm wanted.  I give Claudia the
present I brought for her new baby, 'Atilla.'  She opens it
immediately.  I give Otto the big atlas of the U.S.A.  He looks it
over.  then they ask R.G. and me if we want to go running with them.
A new thing on F.H. jogging.  Everyone is doing it.  What a
coincidence.  I'm glad I'm in shape to do it, seeing as how I've been
running on the streets of Dorchester for the past month.  Glad I
brought my "Nikes."  Running around F.H. dirt roads, brick walks,
seeing all the new construction.  Otto has shorts on.  Very odd
muscular legs.  I tease him about seeing his legs for the first time.
He sits next to me as he puts on his running shoes and grabs me and
squeezes my thigh sort of tickling. I giggle.  Then Claudia, Otto,
R.G., Eva and me, go out the door to run.  I meet Eva for the first
time.  I like her immediately.  Later R.G. tells me she said, "Who's
that? Your wife?, Your girlfriend?  She's very lively."  It is amazing
the changes here in 10 months.  A huge new addition to the Lillibau is
almost finished.  An impressive structure, a cross between an old
mexican aclenda and a chinese fortress.  This will be a centralized
kitchen, Bakery and Dining room, plus other things.  The other big new
is all the babies, 8 new babies have been born during the past 10
months.  I'm constantly meeting old friends, with new babies.  Claudia
looks wonderful.  So does Otto.  Both have lost weight and look
physically fit.  One of the sow's has had a new litter of piglets.  7
or 8 I think.  We go to see them during our run around F.H.  There is
a little awkwardness in me in my feelings for R.G.  As though a crust
had formed around me since seeing him last, 10 days or so ago.  Here,
he is different.  We have 2 separate rooms, but he moves our luggage
and stuff to my room and we sleep together in his room.  We go to
dinner in Claudia's family.  Brooke is leading the table with the
older children.  They remembered me and asked for Erika.  Brooke uses
this opportunity to give and English lesson to the children.  Flo,
Zocki, and 5 others ask me questions about Erika, why she didn't come,
what she did this summer.  After dinner they all gather around R.G.
looking at a magazine, Newsweek,.  That I brought with me to show
Vironi.  It was the issue on "A.I.D.S" I must send more 'American
magazines to them.  Also "fortune cookies," chinese "fortune cookies."
We had a discussion about them with Lilli and some of the other
children.  They hadn't heard of hem.  Lots of birthdays coming up in
November.  I'll have to send them a bunch.  Last night.  Finally bed
time. Exhausted but I can't sleep.  R.G. and I fuck.  It's ok.  But
I'm overstimulated, can't seem to relax.  Finally fall asleep.  This
A.M. things are better for me.  I feel his body and it is comfortable
again.  The crust around me has worn off.  We have a good time.  He
leaves me to go off to work on computer stuff.  I plan on getting up
for lunch but wind up falling a sleep till afternoon.  Now I'm sitting
in the breakfast room in the Lillibau.  It has been completely changed
since November. New paintings, a new antique victorian living room or
sitting room has been included.  It is a lovely quiet place to write.
Gitta comes in.  We remember each other from N.Y.C a year ago in
August.  Her English is excellent.  She sits with me.  One of the
visiting grandmothers comes in and makes coffee.  Thank God!  A
caffeine jolt for me.  Gitta tells me part of her life story and
involvement with F.H.  She lives in the Munich Group, about 40 people,
no children.  She explains to me her early experience on F.H.  How
materialistic things have changed, but the emotional contact between
people is the thing that remains constant.  Gitta also tells me about
her work outside the group.  I have a clearer idea now of how things
work as a whole economicly.  How for the satellite groups in Munich
and Amsterdam and Paris, they earn money for their own needs and then
any extra is put in the bank for F.H.  They all see it as an
investment in their future.  F.H. is where the future lies.  It's
where the children go to school.  It's where the children are born.
Gitta tells me the plans are for 10 new babies a year.  Eilos
grandmother and I try to communicate.  She speaks no English. I speak
no German.  It is funny.  I'm sure what we each think we said wasn't
said at all.  But we smiled and laughed a lot.  How long have I been
here?  Days, weeks, hours sucked up into it again.  I have to leave
the ladies drinking coffee.. R.F.  and I planned to go running at 5
p.m.  This time we go alone together.  Longer and faster than the
others.  We have been into it longer than they.  R.G. and I run all
around F.H.  The sun is setting.  There are big explosions that I've
been hearing in the distance.  It is scary.  Turns out it's the
Russian military doing artillery practice in either Hungary of
Czechoslovakia.  Borders of each are close by, very close.  I read
R.G.'s notes.  Almost no reference to home, USA.  Cambridge, his
business or life there accept for the day he called me to see it I was
still coming.  This visit has helped me to understand his fixation on
this place.  How has this happened to me.  How did I, a girl from New
Jersey, wind up in a commune in Austria?  My own almost constant
disillusionment with my life, dissatisfied with nearly everything I
tried; school- more degrees than I need, marriage, motherhood, home
ownership, multiple relationships, always missing something.  What is
it, what's missing?  It is late nearly 11 p.m.  Just finished group
painting.  We started around 8:30 p.m.  Claudia has someone stand up
to model, it's almost irrelevant however.  Hardly anyone actually
looks.  The model is fully clothed.  "Do something in the manner of
Celanne."  Last time I was here Otto said Celanne should be "hung,"
"tarred and feathered."  The Egyptians were in Celanne was out.  Now
Celanne is in.  It's o.k. to admire Celanne.  In order to completely
immerse everyone in the study of a particular thing, artist or style,
everything that came before is put aside.  Focused not distracted.
Claudia is not so talented in the painting department.  But she is an
excellent group leader.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER, 18TH 1985

Had lunch.  today with Theo and the children.  R.G. ate with the
adults.  The came looking for me but I decided to stay where I was.
Theo tells me of the new film project.  it will be about the life of
Richard Gertel?  An artist born the same year as Picasso 1983, but he
hung himself in 1908.  Killed himself over the loss of love of a
woman.  Very few of his works have survived but Theo tells me he was
more wild than soutine.  That's hard to believe.  Soutine was about as
wild as they come.  Ott's paintings have a lot of soutine in them.
There is an exhibition in Vienna now called the Dream and the Reality
which includes some of his works.  I'd like to go see it.  Maybe I can
get someone to come with me and we could take some of the children.
Maybe Brooke.

Sitting in the library in the school house.  Reminds me of the library
in my elementary school in New Jersey, except that there are many more
books on art, more sophisticated books than would ordinarily be kept
in an American school library.  I'm looking at a book on Celanne, in
English and with some of Celanne's letters to his critics. Also
reviews of his work from that time.  He and Pisarro and Monet were
referred to as confetti painters.  One of his portrait paintings were
said to be painted with a trowel and that the subject seemed to have
eczema.  The worst review of my work never even got close to that sort
of vitriolic attack.  I guess I'm just not good enough to arouse such
anger.  The sun is pouring in through the window.  Clear sky.  A
perfect day.  Smells from the bakery wafting in.  I wound up in the
library looking for Brooke.  Didn't find her.  Hard to decide what to
do next.  I should make some phone calls to Vienna.  Maybe make an
appointment to see someone at the gallery near St.  Stephens.  Last
night after dinner, I thought I was too tired to do anything else but
I turned out 5 paintings on paper between 8:30 and 10:30 p.m.  After
that we were invited to Otto's studio where we and several others
watched him paint.  He was very energetic.  He used a wide variety of
methods for smearing the paint around, water sprayer, hands, fingers,
as well as an occasional brush.  Viola brought in the video camera and
made a tape of him while he worked and we watched.  I was a bit
disturbed by the atmosphere.  Everyone seemed to fawn over his every
stroke.  Ooing and aahing, too much, just to much, I wanted to say
something but I didn't.  Perhaps because in the area of painting, no
one knows as much as he.  I mentioned to Berndt who was sitting next
to me, that Otto's methods were like the "automatic writing" of the
surrealists, and some techniques were like Max Ernst, Paul Masson etc.
He was not aware of this.  1:30 a.m.  R.G. is sitting in the chair in
our room writing.  I'm lying on the bed.  We missed eating dinner with
the group because R.G. locked himself in the bathroom and couldn't get
out.  The lock jammed.  Finally after much fenagling, he on the inside
me on the outside, he managed to jiggle the thing open.  After dinner
I decided to stay on for another painting session.  Supposedly it was
to be devoted to understanding the concepts underlying Celanne's
painting; the simplification of the forms, the relationship to
geometry, the balance between the 2 dimensional and 3 dimensional
world.  This is what in very simplistic terms, provides the basis for
understanding his work as I know it.  Brooke comes into the group,
fresh from some recent contact with Otto.  She is speaking German so I
don't understand the words, but it is obvious to me her demonstration
is hollow; empty, meaningless gestures.  She is superficially
imitating Otto without the feeling or the true understanding of form
and space./or 2 dimensional vs. 3 dimensional tension that Otto has
fully internalized and understands so well.  Artistically Brooke is
shallow.  No conviction of her own- the only conviction is Otto's.
Her weakness and his strength.  I called Vienna today.  Spoke to James
R. at gallery Nachst and he gave me his home phone number.  Invited me
to an opening tomorrow.  He also said he'd arrange for the director to
look at my work.  R.G. challenges my attitude in dealing with Brooke.
Says I sounded indignant and self-righteous.  Perhaps.  But Celanne is
close to my heart.  Of any artist, I know him best- at least
conceptually.  He was Pablum for me during 4 yrs. of undergraduate
work at Boston U.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER, 20TH 1985

The dram and the reality.  The title of a massive exhibition.
Sonderausttelung Des Histoischen museums der stadt wein karlsplatz in
Kunstlerhaus, Karisplatz.  Theo took me there yesterday.  Thurs. a.m.
was a bad morning for me woke-up after a night of making things
difficult for myself.  R.G. refused to participate in my difficulties.
Felt inadequate, stupid, disconnected from everything.  Went to the
office to see about calling Vienna, maybe the radio station.  James R.
wanted me to call him too.  Bea asks me, no tells me, Theo wants me to
go to Vienna with him, he wants to talk to me.  Thinks it will be good
for both of us.  He'll be leaving around 1:30 that afternoon.  I panic
for a moment- "I haven't made any of my connections yet," But then
fuck it, I will get something out of the trip just by going with Theo,
one of the most exciting men around F.H.  He plays the lead role in
most of the films.  He was Van Gogh, last November and also played
Picasso.  There is talk of a new film now on the life of Richard
Gerstl.  A romantic, gothic, soapopera life.  Perfect for a film.
Parady.  Suddenly my mood shifts dramatically.  I start seeing lots of
opportunities in this trip plus I'm pleased Teo wants me to come.  I
get dressed up in city duds.  Theo meets me after lunch.  But before
this during lunch, (I'm eating with the large group of adults, Teo at
the lead table hearing the discussion) someone says there should be an
interpretuer for Cynthia, Theo says no, she must learn German, then he
goes on to tell the story how he learned German in 6 weeks in the
U.S.A. out of neccessity and now he can speak with any american.
Occasionally during lunch he makes asides in English for my sake.  We
walk to the car.  I expect the usual F.H. mini car fro the fleet.  But
he takes me to a beatuiful silver mercedes.  As we get in he tells me
his father recently died and left him this.  He was a middle class
manufacturere of textile goods, cheap, mass produced brassieres among
them.  It is easy for me with Theo.  I relax immediately, sink into
the luxury of the air conditioned, leather surroundings.  It is a hot
sunny day, summer-like.  Theo drives effortlessly.  He tells me of his
youth- (He is only in his early 30's but looks almost 40) how he went
to artschool.  Painting.  His younger sister is now a graphic
designer.  How he was looking for a better way to live, he was only 20
or 21 when he and 3 other people tried to live together.  They weren't
doing too well.  Then he heard about Otto and F.H. and came in 1973.
The other people he was with, left, bu he stayed.  Itell him of my
life, trying ot do everything; career, mother, artist, buying a house,
yet always dissatisfied, almways something missing.  then I came here
and saw what was possible.  How a large group of people could live a
rich, artistic, aesthetic, creative life, and I felt small,
inadequate.  He says it's good.  He felt the same.  He felt like an
outsider.  "How can I fit in here?" knowing he felt the same made me
even more comfortable with him.  As we approach Vienna there is an
industial area that is like New Jeresey.  Oil tanks and grids and
smoke.  We see a plane in a strange place hoovering, looking like it
is floating.  We think is could crash and we try keeping it in our
view as long as possible, but we hearnothing and see nothing.  We
approach the sudban of where I need to go to get schillings.  He says
he'll wait and drive me to the city center, near St Stephan's where
the gallery is.  I brought my slides, just in casw.  We make plans to
meet at 7 p.m. at the contemoporary art museum.  He has invited me to
a vernisage there.  He has errands to make, an appointment with a
journalist who will write and article on a film, something about
Teresa, who has been the director on most of them.  Teresa is not here
on F.H. now.  she's in the hospital.  Had her 2nd child, very
premature, about 5 months.  Her first, Zocki, a girl about 10 or so is
one of my favorite children here.  Theo also has a casw of film to be
developed.  We get downtown and he points out a major exhibition I
must see.  But first a stop at a gallery.  The best in Vienna, he
introduces me to a friend of his who manages the place.  We look at
the art.  Could be any good gallery in NY.C.  Work reminds me of
someone I say a year ago on 57th st.  We talk art, and business.  Theo
introduces me as a big collector from Boston, I play the role.  Then
he has Tim (I wish I could remember the name.)  take out the work of 3
major Viennese artists, who were involved in some way with actionsim
back in the 60's with Otto.  There was nitsch, Brus and Rainer I'm not
sure of the spelling and I must get the first names.  I get a thorough
art history lesson.  There is art work spread all around the gallery.
Theo and I agree asthetically on almost everything.  I am surprised at
this.  I don't hesitate saying what I think.  The most exciting work
was Rainer.  Very enigmatic, energy filled, potnt drawing over a
strange phot image of a piece of sculpture, a christ figure, primitive
black and white.  Turns out, Jed Stebbins, curator of European
paintings, bug honcho at the MFA in Boston, was here a short while ago
and bought 3 for the museum, from this dealer.  The dealer than took
Stebbins and his wife out to F.H. to meet Ott.  Theo and I had been
talking about the Stebbins visit earlier.  Stebbins did not buy Otto's
work, but seemed to like it.  He said "fridrichshor was the most
creative place he had ever seen."  Theo took me to this dealer to do
alittle snooping.  Playing art politics.  He know th game.  He plays
it well.  Otto gets to stay home in the country and paint wile Theo
politics.  Theo is also a master at self promotion.  Dropping
information here and there about his next film.  Talking it up.
Mentioning Richard Gerstel, informing the uninitiated about who this
character iws and why they shouldd be interested in him.  I'm enjoying
myself.  After this we are on the street again it is late, late for
Theo's appointment, bu he says journalists are used to waiting.  He
decideds to take me to "Dream and Reality"___ We walk.  It is hot.
Lots of tourists.  Exciting city. The museum itself has been
transformed for the exhibition.  1/4 of the front has been gold leafed
and monumental female nude from a klimt painting, also in gold leaf,
stares down at us from the roof.  Theo becomes my guide.  It is a
thrilling show.  The entire museum has been transformed to display all
aspects of Viennese life from 1870-1930.  A period full of political
as well as artistic ferment.  The architecture, Loos and Otto Wagner,
Vienna is really still the city of Otto Wagner.  In his architecture
there is both the dream and the reality.  Music, Gustav Mahler, all
the great painters and sculptors seemed to have done portraits of
Mahler, a very handsome man.  Then there is the Vienna of Frued.  The
relationship of Arnold Shonberg and Richard Gerstel will be central to
the next film of F.H.  Theo shows me the Gerstel paintings.  Sorely
the work of a genius gone mad.  A wild, incredible painting by Gerstl
of the Shonberg family done in 1908, is more wild than soutine or
nolde.  Hard to believe it was painted in 1908.  Schonberg also drew
and painted.  His pastels are like Lucas Samaras.  I wonder if Samara
knows this work, Samaras.  A big name in the U.S.  Theo doesn't know
him.  It is exciting seeing this with someone who has a similar
vision.  Theo looks at the time.  It is already after 5.  He must try
to make his appointments.  I decide to skip my gallery visit for the
day and stay in the museum.  We decide to meet at 7 pm.  At the
opening near the Sudban Hof. at 6 I leave the exhibition.  More work
by Kokoshka, Klimts Schiele than I have ever seen.  It is rarely shown
in the U.S.  The sun is golden and getting low in the sky.  Sometimes
all of Vienna seems glided.  There is an outdoor cafe, tuxedoed
waiters, right near a cab stand.  I sit for a few moments to recoup,
have an espresso.  And watch the scene.  On to meet Theo.  Out timing
is perfect.  Crowds at the opening.  He seems to know many people.
Introduces me to the curator at the museum.  Then there is a
delightful woman who does restoration, a lot of it here at F.H.  Other
artists and local critic.  Reminds me of Charlie Gibliano.  The
opening could've been at the I.C.A in Boston.  Similar mix plus the
hungry eyes of men and women "on the make."  The atmosphere of a
sanctuary for the priests of high art.  Work is all intellectual and
cool.  Ideas, mostly boring on an emotional level.  International
group of artists.  No locals.  Naim June Piak, video; Alice Aycock,
and many others whose name I was either only slightly familiar with or
totally unfamiliar.  But the work was all familiar.  I had seen the
ideas before, in NY and Boston.  New artists, but old hat ideas.  One
very funny piece that makes me laugh out loud.  A very distinguished
black man smiles next to me and we stare at each other over this funny
piece.  No one else is laughing.  He speaks Oxford English.  From
London.  On vacation for the first time in Vienna.  There is a mutual
interest.  We talk.  We both must move on, but he holds my hand.  We
wish each other happy times.  Almost every man Theo introduces me to
kisses the top of my hand, I act out a different scene each time.
Theo tells someone I will play Gerstle's lover in the film.  i wish I
could stay and do it.  I wish it were true.  It is getting late almost
8:30: the opening in the gallery St.  Stephan's closes at 9:00, the
critic and some silly woman who has attached herself to him come with
us.  It is still very warm.  We park illegally, narrow streets, Theo
says it's ok.  The mercedes has German plates.  They don't ticket
Germans he says because they bring in money to Austria.  Especially
Germans in mercedes.  The gallery is up several flights in an ancient
stone and marble building.  Part seems to be being restored or torn
down.  The crowd here is a bit more artsy and flamboyant than at the
museum.  Also generally younger.  I see James immediately.  He
recognizes me.  He's very warm and open.  Everyone is smoking, chain
smoking, all the alcohol is gone.  I'm introduced to the director of
the gallery.  I haughty women.  don't particularly like her.  I
mention showing her work.  She says to come tomorrow, but I see the
work they show is totally abstract.  Geometric or color field.  Mostly
boring.  Best geometric abstraction I've seen in years was by Sean
Scully at the MFA in Boston a few weeks ago.  I loose interest in this
place fast.  Theo and I hang out for awhile than go.  Place was hot
and thick with smoke.  On the street.  Theo meets a swigs woman.  An
artist recently moved to Vienna.  She was at F.H. for a day.  I like
her.  She speaks a little English.  Theo wants to show me some typical
Viennese night life, the coffee house.  We try two but both are
packed.  No buildings in Vienna have air conditioning.  We part
company with the swiss and decide to go home.  On the way back we
discuss plans for grant writing.  The Getty foundation.  Exhibitions I
could help organize in Boston contact Stebbins about doing a show on
Austrian artsits.  May be the 4 top Viennese including Otto, Nitsch
and the others.  Rainer too, Bros. also- (2 sketches of naked people)
This is the beginning of an SD someone is modeling.  Otto comes in and
begins to draw.  More people come in and begin to draw.  The video
camera is on Otto's pad.  Everyone can see.  what he is drawing.  Some
people look at the model and draw now someone has Lilli on their lap
and the mike is held to ther mouth.  She is singing, some of the women
have brought their babies.  R.G. is sitting next to me.  He was
attempting to draw.  The room is now filling up.  Lilli is singing
about going to the dentist and getting braces.  Otto talks to Lilli
and encourages her to go on with the description of her experience.
It goes on.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER, 21ST 1985

Saturdays are not as busy here.  A day off, like at home.  It has been
very hot and sunny the past few days.  They were telling me how all
summer it has been cool and rainey now the summer has come late.
Lucky for me.  Wish I could ge swimming but guests are not allowed to
go, health reasons.  They have made a small lake, surrounded it wiht a
low hill and trees.  I'm not sure how they handle the water
purification system in it, or it is spring fed.  Last night after the
S.D. ((It went on to become a palabra, this is an Indian word meaning
open discussion, where several adults who have made some errors in
their work get in the middle and it's like a confessional.)  Otto
makes a game of it.  Some take it very seriously and are suffering
from guilt.  Others know it is just a game.)  Several people meet in
Otto's room.  I don't feel so much anxiety about going freely from
place to place, or using certain rooms as I did the first time.  I was
here, I seem to be welcomed and recognized.  Almost everywhere I go.
S.D>'s are now only on Saturdays and Fridays, in November.  They were
almost every night.  Perhaps when the weather gets bad, cold, people
are more confined, spend more time inddors, and need the release and
contact afforded by the S.D.  We are all sitting around the big table.
R.G. and I are across from Otto.  Theo comes later and sits next to
me.  Someone gets up and makes room fro him.  Herarchy.  Theo is about
most of the others here.  Otto looks at R.G. and asks him "What's
new?"  R.G. is getting clever.  He hardly goes anywhere now without
bringin some magazine article or newspaper story on scientific
dixcovery or a development in economic theory.  He tries very hard to
earn points fro what he knows.  Maybe that's the direction I'm going
in too.  R.G. takes out the article from last Sundays N.Y. times that
he asked me to bring.  Title story "ON the Edge of the Solar System."
A discussion ensues that allows R.G. to dominate by dint of his
greater knowledge in this area.  Otto probes into the concept of being
and nothingness.  What is the edge of the universe and what happens
when we find out.  (While I'm sitting in the breakfast room writing
this, Harti and someone else come in to take away the big sone color
T.V. and VCR.  They are taking it to the next little town near F.H to
show the towns folk a film they made of a festival, something like an
Octover Fest tha tthe towns folk took part in.  This kind of thing is
good politics for F.H.  It helps to make fro better realtionships
between them, takes away some of the fear and mystery that some of the
local peasants have about what goes on here.  Then when something
occurs, like the possibility of the major transeurpoean highway going
right past F.H. and destroying much of the surrounding country side,
F.H. can enlist the support of the people and towns around them to
fight for a mutually beneficial cause.  Back to the S.D.  I fell
comfortable and relaxed just listening and feeling apart of the
discussion with out actually saying much.  I'm learning slowly how to
be more comfortable just being part of a group without always being
the center of attention.  Back in the U.S.A. I have a tendency to
dominate every situation.  Sometimes I've earned that position because
of superior knowledge, like at work at A.I.B.  Sometimes just by being
loud.  Taking a back seat to anyone is terribly difficult for me.
Today at 3 p.m. there will be a general work action.  Every available
person is to help.  A field corn must be harvested and there are a
bunch of ducks to pluck for dinner tomorrow.  I have only seen Andrea
briefly.  I formed an attachment to her in November.  She took Erika
and me under her wing and was like and Indian Guide.  She was very
pregnant at the time.  She now has a beautiful baby, Eshnation, his
father is William, the only black man on F.H.  The baby is large with
fat cheeks.  Andrea's parents are very conservative people.  She told
me in Nov. they did not understand her communal way of life.  Now she
has a baby and it's black.  I'm very curious about the reaction.
Evidently they have been visiting her on F.H. I say her for a moment
the first night I arrived.  She was in bed in her room nursing the
baby.  I gave her the gift I brought.  She intimated things had been
difficult for her, but she looked terrific, we are supposed to get
together tomorrow afternoon.  I don't often think of home when I am
here.  Occasionally I wonder how things are going with Erika and Bill
and hope for the best.  I have also had a fantasy about bringing Robin
here.  I don't think he could survive it.  His inability to involve
himself with others is so strong I think the shock of this place could
be catastrophic.  Yet it could also help save him.  I also think they
would be extremely critical of his sculpture.  It is obviously so
tight and controlled, and stylized, they would see this immediately.
Just finished plucking ducks.  20 ducks grown here on F.H. killed for
tomorrow dinner and a group lucking session helped get a crumby job
done so that it wasn't such a burden for the kitchen help.  I worked
over a tub of hot water plucking out the feathers with William.  He is
from South America, Columbia.  He is a sculptor.  Spoke only English
and Spanish when he came.  Been here 8 years.  The only black.  We
both wonder why more blacks have not come here and stayed.  The life
here is tribal.  I ask about his work, his sculpture.  It is
primitive, he says, like the Venus of Willendorf.  I know this is a
favorite piece of Robins.  Theo comes by when I am plucking ducks.  He
has the art critic/journalist with him that I met in Vienna.  The
journalist didn't recognize me.  No make-up.  No silk dress.  Had on
my Ramones T shirt and jeans.  I told him I have a city face and a
country face.  Theo laughed.  Children's S.D. the art critic who is
visiting F.H. is sitting next to me, drawing.  The writer is drawing
and the artist is writing.  Otto and Brooke are sitting in front, I
think this guy likes me.  After the S.D> he asks me to dance.  It is a
bit wild.  He is a large guy.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER, 22ND 1985

R.G. and I are laying on the bed, reading, I'm writing.  Another
beautiful day.  The window is wide open.  Breeze is blowing, pretty
strong - trees waving back and forth outside.  Sunday here is a bit
like Sunday elsewhere.  Quieter.  Less activity.  mostly noises of
playing children.  no workers.  We just got up a short while ago.
Lunch is an hour later on Sundays 1:00 instead of 12:00.  Yesterday
R.G and I ran again.  We run about 2 miles or more a day.  It's
beginning to have a noticeable effect on my body, particular in the
legs.  What will I do when the winter comes?  R.G. is imagining the
scene at the airport when he arrives home.  How many crazies will be
there.  He imagines Lotto, Linda, Liz, Liz will bring Ann and her flea
bitten dog, Bill Rosenfeld will bring Amanda, Jessica will bring all
her boyfriends.  Then it is a question who will remain once the see
who else is there.  He asks me who will be at the airport for me when
I return.  I haven't asked anyone because it will be in the middle of
the afternoon an a workday.  He says he'll be there, if he's in town.
After running yesterday.  Just stepped out of the shower.  Someone is
calling for me outside my window.  "Cyntia, come now, come with us to
the museum."  It is Theo and the critic, Fritz.  I wanted to see the
art collection on F.H.  It is housed in what they call the museum, a
large well lit gallery space is hung very professionally, with a
changing exhibit of Otto's work.  Plus works of other contemporary
Austrians that have been bought, given, or traded over the years.  We
talk about the works.  Some wonderful watercolors by Otto.  Also
interesting work and documentation foro the "Actions" of the 1960's.
The critic says there are no good American artists.  All the best have
been and still are Europeans.  I must agree.  We talk about the other
aspects of the culture, films.  He likes "Madonna". -"Desperately
Seeking Susan was a very good movie, his favorite this year.  Had the
duck for dinner.  Best meal since we've been here.  Sitting in the sun
on a bench outside the Lillibau.  "Red Square."  Theo comes and sits
by me.  He's leaving today for Italy.  Will be gone one week.  He
wants to talk about the project we're working on.  The Getty
Foundation Grant.  he reads some of my writing.  We do a brief outline
of 3 main prospects for F.H as a basis for developing proposals.  Then
he is off, says he'll speak with me before I leave on Monday, next
week.  He returns on Sat.  It's late, maybe 11;30.  R.g. and I having
a late snack in guests breakfast room after tonight S.D. we ran again
today, then R.G.  took me in the sauna.  I've never been in sauna.  I
was reluctant.  A touch of my puritan american background holding me
back, but we were sweaty for running, and he is persuasive without
even trying to be.  We get towels.  Enter on a large room, like an
open locker room in a YWCA.  Take off our clothes and go into the
sauna.  Abby one of the older men on F.H. (43) and a young swiss woman
were already sitting there.  The heat took my breath away.  A slight
moment of panic and desire to escape.  Abby speaks perfect english. we
talk about my discomfort.  He tells me of the same feelings the first
time he took a sauna.  I begin to sweat profusely.  My nipples are
burning.  We have a conversation about American views of nudity vs.
European.  We leave the sauna, jump into the cold shower, dry off,
then go walking naked to the hill over where the horses graze to watch
the sun set.  It is incredibly beautiful.  The air is just right.  We
walk to the back of the stables; there comes Abby and the swiss,
walking naked, eating apples they have just picked for the trees.  The
air is perfect.  I say "There's Adam and Eve."  Abby is an educated
man.  The 4 of us walk back to the sauna with Abby discussing his
views of the expulsion from the garden, of Eden Cain and Abel - the
transition from matriarchy to patriarchy.  Back to the sauna.  We
repeat the sauna, shower, dry off, walk outside, 3 times.  I've never
been so relaxed.  R.G. and I go back to his room.  He shows me
something else he likes to do after a sauna.  I like it too.  I'm
converted.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER, 23RD 1985

This A.M. I am up early.  I have an English class to teach.  Brooke
has set things up for me to come in and take over her class, about 11
and 12 yr. olds from 9:30-10:15.  They are not supposed to speak
German during this time.  My being there alone with them will force
them to use what they know.  The school is well equipped and very
comfortable.  Not unlike the best elementary schools in Newton or
Brookline.  The class goes well we have a good time.  Brooke invites
me back again next Thursday to do a class.  My shoulder is killing me.
Pulled muscle or something.  It has been bothering me off and on since
the day after I came.  I finally go to see Vironi about is.  She puts
me under the heat lamp for 15 min.  Then she puts something like a
mustard plaster on it.  The heat from this thing is intense, but it
brings almost immediate relief.  Almost time for lunch.  Big
discussion about Ike in the middle the evening before.  His character
is analyzed.  His aggressive nature and ensueing problems it causes
him.  How his ego is easily affect by roles external to himself.  They
ask if anyone can relate to this episode.  i talk a bit about myself
and the need to feel I am successful at a job that gives me a title
and an office and a secretary.  That the artist part is internal and
gives me little recognition on the outside.  After lunch R.G points
out the 2 different ways I have expressed myself.  The first 2 times I
spoke I gestured a lot and used body language to try to express
myself.  Like I had to do with the children in class.  The 3rd time I
spoke directly and clearly.  Not self consciously because I was
speaking in English.  Everyone understood me better the 3rd time than
when I complicated things the first 2.  After lunch is the children's
Palabra.  I get involved with 2 delightful kids about 4 yrs. old.
Goggi and Eda.  Goggi sits on my lap.  I finally get the nerve to
speak to Michaelpfister about the information I need to start working
to the grant proposal for F.H.  I always thought he didn't like me.
Turns out he was warm, kind and receptive to my request.  Gave me some
info. and told me to peak to Susan to get the only English version of
what I needed.  Went to see her and she gave it to me.  Suddenly I
become exhausted.  I go back to the room to lay down a bit and wait
for R.G to go running.  Another sunny day.  Things have gotten very
dry and wind blown.  The room is dark and quiet.  Take off my clothes.
Lay down on the bed.  Suddenly, like a giant wave, I'm flooded with
feeling.  A realization that what exists here, exists nowhere else.
The possibility of knowing other human beings in a way that was
impossible for me before is now possible.  I imagine myself living
here and it seems real to me.  I feel like throwing-up and crying at
the same time.  I think of my house and my job and they don't seem
important to me.  What of Erika.  What if I say, let's go to Vienna,
no to F.h. to live.  I know she'll refuse.  I go without her.  Will I
be guilty?  Will I sink into that guilt and use it as an excuse for
everything that goes wrong that follows?  I imagine when I think of
leaving all that I've known is a incredible shock to me.  I hear R.G.
coming down the hall.  He comes in.  "What are you doing?"  I look at
him.  I try to talk.  Instead I cry.  I tell him what thoughts have
come over me.  He knows this thing I am talking about.  He has been
there.  He becomes extremely sensitive.  I can't help myself.  Similar
thing happened to me when I knew I had to leave my husband.  Getting
off a train that was headed nowhere, getting on another going in a
different direction.  Exhilaration just from changing tracks.  It led
me somewhere.  I knew I needed more contact with more people, more
intimate contact than was possible inside my closed, petrified
marriage.  I survived.  I've accomplished some things.  I've proven
some things to myself.  I've become very professional at some things.
I own my own house.  My daughter lives with me.  But, what.  I still
have little real contact with anyone.  Brief moments here and there
with Bill, Robin, Erika, my mother, R.W. but it is fleeting.  There is
some sense of continuity with R.G. but not enough.  Here it is
relentless.  The sense of what is relevant to a productive life,
meaning activity is what occurs here.  You act, you do, you see the
results.  I am panic stricken with this new understanding of myself
and what I am capable of.  R.G. sits on the floor by my side.  "I have
created a monster."  I did not thing myself capable of living with
anyone, let alone over 200 people.  I didn't think I needed or wanted
intimacy.  The only form of intimacy I've known was brief.  R.G. sits
next to me now as I am writing this and says.  "What do you want to do
on our 2nd anniversary?"  Oct. 1st.  It will be 2 years.  Could it be?
We went running at 5.  The sky reflected my mood.  There appeared to
be an approaching thunderstorm in the field to our left.  The rest of
the sky was bright.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER, 24TH 1985

Last night, after dinner.  Sitting in the guest room writing with R.G.
Gaerts grandmother comes in.  White fluffy hair.  Lots of energy you
can imagine that she was quite something in her youth.  She is now 75.
With the help of R.G.'s german we have a good time with her.  I had
wanted to go to Claudia's speaking class after dinner, but the time
got away from us.  Gaert comes in.  Tall, dark, attractive.  He has
always interested me.  One of the one I've had the clearest memory of
from last Nov.  We talk of life, his and his grandmothers.  How she
wanted to be something, other than a wife but never got the chance.
Gaert was married 9 years, lived with his wife for 7.  Went to art
school became a graphic designer.  Has been living on F.H. 2 yrs. and
3 months.  He wrote everyday when he first came here.  Now he plays
music, 4 instruments.  He also won a prize for his painting on F.H.  I
ask to see his work.  One of his jobs on F.H. is working in the museum
with Theo.  -Also stretching Otto's canvas'.  He uses the finest
Belgium linen which they buy in quantity and use Renaissance
techniques for sizing the canvas, Rabbit skin glue, and white lead.  I
know this method.  I was taught it in school.  The restorers told them
it was the only tried and true technique.  Gaert suggests I ask Otto
for some canvas to take home because I can't get any and if it is
Available it is so expensive.  Gaert says he will show me his
painting's.  Right now I hear loud explosions.  Military maneuvers 16
kilometers away.  R.G. and I go out for a late walk.  It is dark.
completely still.  We stand in the silence feeling the night around
us.  Today, the children's palabra was very exciting.  How Otto uses
affection, sympathy, comedy, and strength to discipline the children -
but the discipline come from with-in them.  He does not impose
external controls on them to fight against.  Some how they come to
their own realizations.  It was like magic.  He had me laughing and
crying within months.  The emotions of the children were high.  I
allowed myself to get swept away by them.  Walking up the hill to the
museum and storage area.  Gaert comes up behind me.  R.G. coming down
the hill.  We chat a bit.  R.G.  and I make our usual date to run at 5
p.m.  Gaert and I go on to the restoration and storage area downstairs
foro the museum.  He is very relaxed.  It is easy to talk to him.  His
english is pretty good.  He is very modest and self effacing.  He says
he is here to learn.  He has put the tensions from his life aside.  We
talk about the difficulties in ridding one's self of ego.  If you to
learn new things the ego must be put aside.  He tells me of his 9 yr.
marriage.  How he loved her (his wife) but it was not enough.  She was
a strong woman, small in stature but domineering.  He became more
aware, more self-aware.  He told her she must wake-up.  She also went
back to school but it was too late, too late for them.  No children.
For 2 years he lived alone.  Then he came to F.H.  He asked how old I
was.  i told him.  He said it's a good age.  Not too late to begin
again.  But there are problems in beginning again.  You trade old
problems for new problems.  I have had many more intimate but casual
conversations with a wide circle of people this time.  Much more
contact with children.  Especially Zocki, Flo, Yvonne, and Benni.  A
lot of it has to do with playing games with language.  Today R.G. made
negative comments about the possibility of me living here.  That they
are not taking any new people in the group.  the fear of Aids-
paranoia- about it.  What is important to me is the feeling I get from
my contact with people here.  That they like me.  Even those that i
have had uneasy feelings about from a distance- those feelings
disappear once some contact is made.  Like plucking chickens.  Tonight
R.G.'s last evening here.  I have felt more at ease with him, here,
than I did the first time.  The 1st time I was so intent on making a
good impression, an outward show of myself, that I was quite
insensitive in many other ways.  Now it is 10 p.m.  The people in the
Claudia family have been sitting around, at tables with architect Jean
Baptisie developing designs and ideas for the new house.  I am
hesitant to participate because I don't know if my ideas would be
welcome because I am a guest, an outsider.  I am encouraged to
participate by someone from the Amsterdam group who is on vacation
here.  I suggest that it should be in the shape of a pregnant woman.
Claudia says good- make that your concept.  I do a drawing.  All
curved walls to encourage the flow of activity.  There is an
interior-exterior concept.  Interior spaces foro public access,
private rooms on the exterior walls, because of the curve of the
entire building inward there would be an interior court yard formed
around a small lake for children to play in.  The building, because of
it's relationship to Lillibau, would have to face east and west.  This
could cause problems with natural light.  I have my west wall all
windows and least 2 stories high.  It would slope down to one story on
the east side.  Most everyone seems to have problems beginning.  No
one is an architect except, Jean Baptiste.  I finish quickly I'm
excited by my idea.  I raise my hand to be recognized.  Claudia says
in German,"And what dirty underwear to you want to expose to us now?"
It is some sort of joke, I think, because I'm always saying what I'm
thinking.  I think it is a test to see how I will react.  I stand up
and hold up my drawing.  As I explain my concepts the fellow from
Amsterdam interprets for the group as I speak.  I finish.  Claudia
says very good!  Excellent.  She turns to Jean Baptiste and says "Will
you use her concept?"  He mumbles something about how I must make a
model to see how it works.  Everyone putters around a bit more.
Claudia is committed to a concept of randomness, and accident.  She
wants to take the ideas that Otto is working on in his paintings and
carry it into architecture.  i think this is a mistake.  Who knows
where it will go next.  An idea may come up that will change
everything.  After this session the group breaks up.  I felt a little
out of place.  I should of hung around maybe to see Otto.  I know
that's where R.G. probably is but it is his last night here and I
didn't want to intrude, but now that I'm back in my room, by myself
and it is almost midnight I'm very sorry I didn't stay at the
Lillibau.  I'm imagining the interesting conversation going on with
whoever happens to be there.  I'm imagining a special good- be
surprise party that no one told me about.  I'm felling left out and
it's my own fault.  Why do I hesitate?  I have washed out some
underwear and socks in the sink.  I've hung them on the chairs around
the room.  Tomorrow I've got to call Vienna and make contact with
Eugen Freund and the new woman in charge of programming at the Blue
Danube radio station.  The may not want to use me again, especially
since my contact person is no longer working there.  Only a few more
days left and I feel like I haven't accomplished anything.  I still
must read that material on F.H. so I can have the proposal ready to
show Theo when he returns.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER, 25TH 1985

Last night I went outside for a short walk.  It was a magical night.
The moon was orange and half full.  it kept getting enveloped by thick
gobs of clouds.  But the glow of it came through.  The night was alive
with sounds.  A fat, round animal, with a pointy snout, I think it was
a porcupine or a possum; rooting in the grass.  Pheasants were
everywhere earlier in the evening.  When R.G. and I run it is always a
good time to see pheasants in the corn.  as I stood on the hill a
strange awareness of my own existence came over me, as though I were
really alive in the world.  Two large jack rabbits came out from no
where and dashed in front of me.  I startled and saw R.G. walking up
the hill from Otto's.  He seemed calm and soft.  Nothing special
happened.  A few people talking late, about art.  Ce'lanne is out.
The renaissance is in.  The other night I had my first erotic dream
involving one of the men here.  Carl H.  He works mostly outdoors with
the gardens, landscaping.  There was a shoe repair shop.  I was
working there with Robin, it was also something of a boutique.  Robin
had to go out and left me there working.  Carl comes in.  I see him
vividly, he is very tall, R.G. and I tease him about being a cowboy
(He wears a wide brimmed stray Stetson-like hat.)  In my dream he puts
his hands on me, we begin to get involved but I hear Robin coming
back.  There is a scurrying about to cover up what was going on.  It's
been a few days since the dream.  I have forgotten the details.  It is
now almost 7 p.m. I'm standing by Otto's outer hall.  R.G. is inside
saying good-by.  I'm looking out the window, over the fields, the
sprayers are on, colors of early fall, cabbages, corn, sunflowers, a
red brown turned over field and beyond a purple haze of flowers, some
sort of clover.  The scene makes my painting fingers itch.  I see Van
Gogh ducking the spray, brushes in hand.

8:30 p.m.  Rode to the train station with R.G., Dominic and Gaert
driving.  R.G. was a little at loose ends the last 2 hours before
leaving.  I took his picture with Otto with his polaroid camera just
before we rush off to the train.  He seems, R.G. seems, a bit
disconcerted.  Otto has asked him to stay and offered him some sort of
job.  It's the strongest plea yet from Otto.  R.G.  is affected by it.
I would be too.  A sign that your work is appreciated that you are
loved and wanted.  R.G. and I are kissing and hugging good-by at the
train.  Gaert says "Enough of that Richard."  Some joking back and
forth about what I'll be doing while he's gone.  Unfortunately not
much in that area given the hygiene rules.  R.G. says he'll check on
Erika for me and will probably stay at the house.  He asks if I want
him to call me when he gets back, only if there is trouble that I
should know about, if thighs are o.k. don't bother.  Gaert and I stand
on the platform a moment.  We see them on the train, on their way to
Zurich.  Dominic to take his final dental exams (He's been a doctor,
M.D. for years but F.H. wanted a good dentist they could trust so
offered to pay for 3 years of dental school.)  On the way back Gaert
tells me about the radio station at F.H.  how they only play blues and
jazz in spite of an extensive record collection.  The reason for this
is Yvonne.  His tastes are narrow and he has control of the
programming.  I'm surprised at this situation.  Why don't you speak
up?  I ask Gaert.  You could be listening to classical, Avant Guard,
and rock and roll music too.  He knows the situation is not good but
is reluctant to tell me why it stays this way.  Some reason or
internal politics that I don't understand.  Back at F.H.  Missed
dinner.  I scrounge around, get a sandwich and some tomatoes from the
kitchen in the Claudia family.  Go to the guest room to eat, but it is
occupied by a woman who lives here and her parents.  For a moment I
feel lost, not knowing where to go next, suddenly feeling the sinking
realization that I am on my own now.  No R.G. to consult or to be a
buffer, a foil for me.  I sit by myself in the kitchen for guest use.
Writing always helps.  After eating I have this desire to slink off to
my room and hide, maybe go to bed early.  But I know this would be the
worst thing for me to do in this situation.  Felling isolated and then
exacerbate the problem by falling into it.  I decide to see if any
thing is happening in the family tonight.  I run into Christoph in the
hall.  A young simple country boy R.G. and I made our first contact
with that afternoon.  I remark on how dressed up he looks.  He speaks
no English, trus some French but it turns out there is a drawing
session with Claudia in the S.D. studio.  I go with him.  I still have
the polaroid camera from R.G. earlier.  I offer to take Christoph's
picture while he pretends to play the big set of drums.  Presto!  Out
comes Christoph.  We watch his picture appear. He's faxcinated.  I
give it to him and it seems I now have a friend for life.  Meanwhile
there is a model.  Some people have begun drawing.  There's is also a
dramatic speaking lesson being given siultaneaously.  A poem by Goethe
has been the assignment for that.  It's a class I missed.  It's in
German and I wouldn't stand a chance.  The drawing goes on.  I do a
couple of nice one's but my usual approach.  Then in comes Claudia and
we begin on some complicated abstract ideas.  They approach teaching
art and aesthetic cocepts from a view completely the opposite of mine.
I struggle with trying the new methods I don't understand.  The fellow
from the Amsterdam group does his best to interpret for me.  He's
having difficulty too, but he does a diagram and I begin to
understand.  finally, the session ends, Claudia is showing some
examples of the comcept during the last critique.  the light dawns,
like a crack over my head.  My resistance to new ideas, to new ways of
doing things, particularly in art where I tend to be a know-it- all
has prevented me from seeing a validity in what was being done here.
The key words came earlier when I was balking and playing confused.
it came freom my friend from Amsterdam.  TRY IT!  It is now past
midnight.  Time for bed.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER, 26TH 1985

R.G. must be eating breakfast now in Zurich.  In a few hours he will
be home.  I thought of Erika and Bill yesterday when R.G.  said he
intended to stay at the house regardless of the situation at the
airport.  I think it could've been a good experience for both of them,
then again, it could'be been a disaster.  Today there has been a
dramatic change in the weather.  We have gone from summer to fall
overnight.  The quality of the air and light is different.  The sun is
thin and watery, the air is 20 degrees cooler.  This a.m. I was up
early to work in Brooke's 3rd grade class teaching English.  They had
a test today and didn't do too well.  Yvonne, the oldest, got an A, 3
others got B's.  I took their pictures with R.G.'s polaroid as a
reward for their grades.  I enjoy working in the school.  The kids
here are extremely resposive, creative, and wide awake.  so much of
life here now has focused on the children.  The future of F.H as in
any society rests on the quality of the children.  can this life
style, the direction, the energy, the creativity be maintained when
Otto is gone?  Surely it won't be quite the same but nothing stays the
same for long here anyway.  Mothers and children, babies, caring in
the best way possible for both.  A pregnant woman has a special place
here.  It is a way of becoming privileged.  At lunch the other day
Claudia asked several of the men if they had feelings of jealousy
towards the pregnant women. Some men admitted it, with enthusiasm.  it
was done as a sort of joke, but also recognizing an aspect of reality.
There is bound to be some resentment when there is such a special
treatment given to some and not to others.  When I think of the
harshness, the crudeness of the American way of life, it makes me want
to cry.  What we do to our children, what I have done to Erika, what
my parents did to me and so on and so on.  the pressures of American
life, the focus on individual achievement without any support or
structure, the dog eat dog, survival of the fittest mentality how it
eats away at the quality of peoples relationships.  Yesterday as R.G.
and I were walking down the road he said he felt like he was about to
return to a museum or a morgue, thinking of who may be waiting for
him, Lotti, Liz, Linda, Anne, Mary at work etc.  I said "A wax
museum."  People stuck inside themselves, isolated, unable to relate
to each other.  Not that we are much different, but being here has
given us a perspective that few people have had.  I feel myself
changing.  This trip has affected my internal self unlike the first
trip where I only skimmed the surface.  What to do with the rest of my
life?  How to continue to move to develop?  This is the most
challenging place on earth within my experience.  I am not good enough
yet to survive here.  I feel it, this place, tugging at and I have not
even left it yet.  It is 11 a.m.  Came back to my room to get a book I
was working with.  I'd wanted to go to the library to find more
material on Contemporary Austrian Art but it was closed.  As I walk
down the hallway I see Gertrude in the room where the children had the
set-up for the Picasso film.  I haven't seen her at all this time and
wondered where she was.  When I was here in Nov. she was in charge of
costumes and props for the Van Gogh film and I saw her nearly
everyday, she said she'd been sick and spent most of last week in bed,
but now she is feeling better.  She was debating what to do with the
room we were standing in, surrounded by photo's and copies of
Picasso's done by the children.  I told her I had free time and could
help her.  She seemed to appreciate my offer and said she'd let me
know when.  She also mentioned that she'd heard I'd been working in
the school with Brooke.  That's a surprise.  I wonder who told her?
Am I important enough to be a topic of conversation?  Brooke asked me
to come to class again on Monday, before I leave.  Maybe I'm doing
o.k.  Lunch.  Talk about changing the children's attitude towards
school.  Evidently the teachers have not been presenting things in a
way that makes learning as interesting at it could be.  some
discussion about what to do when a particular child seems persecuted.
How when anything is distributed, whether it is a book or an apple on
child always thinks hers is the smallest of the worst one.  There are
many suggestions about what to do.  The best one gets a lot of
response from the other adults in the group.  Children's palabra.  I'm
sitting at the big table waiting for it to begin.  Otto comes in with
some kids.  Everyone else is milling around.  He comes up behind me
and starts spanking me and grabbing at me, playing with me.  I turn
red and purple, I put my hands up to my face, my head down on the
table.  He says to me, so the group can hear (Brooke translates) "How
is it without free sexuality?"  I look up at him, "Lousy."  (Brooke
translates) but it is unnecessary.  Everyone knows what I mean.  They
clap, I look around, people are smiling at me.  Attention from Otto
brings attention from everyone.  Discussion of what went on in school
that morning.  Good and bad points are made.  Then the room is
darkened and the big T.V. is turned on.  We all watch a film, a recent
documentary about South Africa, and how white man's influence has
affected the black man's attitude about himself.  Also about gold.
Then it is over.  It was in German, but I got the basic idea.  Otto
meets in his inner studio with the older children who are in training
to be group leaders.  Otto plays a recording of a song and poem he
made while accompanying himself on the piano.  Everyone has a good
time with it.  As I leave the room so the lesson can begin, Otto comes
over and pats me on the shoulder again.  He is giving me lots of
attention because he instinctively knows it may be difficult for me
here without R.G.  he is a sensitive man.  If he treats me this way so
will the others.  He wants to provide an opportunity for me to be
accepted here.  On the floor of his studio were about 1/2 dozen new
water colors.  I see the ideas we were working with last night come to
fruition.  One of them was superb.  As I go down the stairs I meet the
new photographer from Paris. I forget his name.  I have the camera in
my bag.  I quickly ask if I can take his picture.  He asks why.
"Because you are always taking pictures of other people but no one
takes any of you."  He smiles, poses by the window, out it pops, we
watch it develop.  He asks for it, I give it to him.  Then he wants to
take one of me and says he will try to develop it before I leave.
Sitting in "Red Squares" writing.  Andrea comes over to me, "Why are
you always writing?"  "It helps me to understand what is going on.
There have been so many changes inside of me since I have arrived this
time, (and I give her some examples, like at the drawing session last
night.)  That I must record them so I don't loose them."  She asks if
I see any changes in them, in F.H. there are 2 levels here.  On one
level things don't change, the open emotional quality of life.  How
things are done in the material aspect of their lives is always
changing, continual flux, movement, flexibility of an intellectual
sort based upon emotional security.  I wander up to see if the library
is open to work on the grant.  Instead I go over to the area where the
textile designing is done, really it is painting on clothe by children
and Otto and anyone else who wants to try.  There is a special method
and specially developed dyes with very intense colors.  Ulricka asks
if I'd like to try it.  O.k. - sounds good to me, she goes to ask the
guy (I don't know his name) who is in charge of this operation on F.H.
He looks at me, makes a sour face, like he is annoyed.  Ulricka tells
me not to worry!  She gets out a bag of freshly laundered, used
clothing that is painted and turned back to the flea market to be
recycled.  I pick a pale yellow jacket, lay it on the ground where the
painting is done an proceed to make an Otto style, clown face on the
back, something up the arm and another face on a pocket.  The guy who
is the boss comes over to look.  He says "It's good, o.k."  Phew!
This is fun.  I go on and do a pair of white pants: I put birds on one
side a cat on the other.  I write the word cat over the birds and bird
over the cat.  The kids got the joke.  Then I took a pink t shirt and
quickly did a dancing nude.  I would never have been able to draw like
this, so freely and spontaneously a year ago.  The boss asks me when I
am leaving F.H., he will try to have the jacket I painted ready for me
then.  There is some sort of process it must go through to fix the
dye.  I have worked at this for 1 1/2 hrs.  Clouds come over, it
begins to get cool.  I decide to go running.  While I run thoughts of
living here plague me.  Everyday the fields change color.  Now winter
wheat has been planted and is just coming up.  I think of all the
scenarios I can imagine to bring Erika here.  What will I do if she
won't come?  Eating dinner with the children.  Basically the sam kids
I have in class and a few more, 8 all together.  I feel like they are
my family, Flo, Benni, Zocki, Yvonne, Valerie, etc. and Brooke.
Brooke and I have both gotten more relaxed with each other, after
dinner the kids cluster around me, chattering, we talk about current
styles, break dancing is long gone, punk is on its way out, pierced
ears, hair music, Micheal Jackson is dead and so on.  There is an S.D.
tonight.  I'm back in my room writing this after it's all over.  An
amazing musical performance.  The fellow from the Amsterdam group is a
musical genius.  He comes to F.H. every 2 weeks to give musical
instruction to kids and adults.  tonight begins with a musical history
of hahler and Schonberg.  There are some very difficult abstract
concepts being covered that go over my head.  The difference in
approach, mood, how their music changed over a period of time, then
Otto has different people play the piano in one style or the other but
including the Goethe poem everyone has been practicing for the
dramatic reading.

THINGS TO DO WHEN I GET HOME

I.  Work on Grant II.  Make phone calls to Stebbins and Lighthill
about Austrian
      Artists Exhibition.  or Viennese actionists III.  Call MFA film
department: Re. showing Van Gogh and Picasso
      Gerstel film coming up IV.  Childrens art at the art institute.

BEFORE LEAVING

Paper on F.H. by Aike. - Work with Brooke - for Getty Foundat.

Look at Catalogues of actionists in Otto's room

March 24th - Eshmaton B.Day

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER, 27TH 1985

Postcards to R.W.
             R.S
             B.K.
             Erika
             Sissy and Tuck
             George Fina
             Deb and Mel
             David
             Abdula
             Charles G.

(Picture of 1/2 a naked person)

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER, 26TH 1985

Otto gets up and does a very unique piano, recitation piece.  Someone
else who did a fantastic performance was the photographer (Alberto).
I came away from the evening feeling like an idiot.  I can't sing a
note and I can't play an instrument.  I decide to take piano lessons
when I get home, maybe trade drawing lessons to someone who can teach
me piano.  Before S.D. started some people were drawing from the
model.  I was one of the.  Otto walks in and looks at my drawing as
says "like from the academy" - He meant it was an academic drawing.
It was.  Not very expressive- but very structured.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER, 27TH 1985

Busy all day working on a basic structure to make the requirements of
the grant proposal clear so that it will be accessible to the people
here who may be working on it.  Actually I worked for a few hours this
afternoon, turned out 8 pages of notes which I hope will be clear.
Made one copy for Brooke and one for Theo.  At dinner tonight with the
children, Brooke asks me why I must go home so soon.  I explain the
situation with the plane tickets.  The children ask me if Richard has
died, (I'm wearing all black clothes) I say yes, and hang my head, "Of
old age."  They laugh.  Dinner has turned into one of the most
relaxed, fun times of the day.  The big news at lunch is that Claudia
will no longer head the Claudia family.  Evidently there was a
competitive thing between the families that was not healthy.  Claudia
being the top

(2 naked people)

woman was seen to have the top family.  This however was not true in
reality, only in the perceptions of certain family members.  In order
to make things more democratic, Otto made Claudia a communicator
between all the families to end the competition.  Based upon overall
reaction, everyone seemed pleased.  Before lunch I spent sometime with
Gaert's grandmother, Emi (Oma Emi) She took me to her room. She makes
efforts to speak English and I German.  She turns Frank Sinatra on the
radio.  She says I should come back at Christmas with my friend
Richard.  This is the beginning of another S.D. Lilli is speaking in
the microphone.  It is black spot night for the adults.  ULF asks if I
want a translation.  I tell him no.  Tonight I want to see how much I
can understand on my own.  There are problems between the architect,
Jean Baptiste, and the people he has working with him, about 7 or 8
all together in the front of the room explaining their individual
points of view.  Baptiste has a very pompous look on his face.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER, 27TH 1985

(3 naked people)

A lot of tension between these people.  There is much at stake in the
design of the new building.  Great expense and it must work to suit
the needs of everyone.  After the evening I had a feeling that things
were still unresolved.  Otto took these people back to his room for
further talk.  It was the first time I was not included.  Private
family matters.

(4 naked people)

(2 naked people)

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER, 28TH 1985

During the night, about 12:30, some people, a couple, a man and a
woman, came in to the room next to mine.  Room # 2.  The woman had a
bit of a childish, whiney voice.  I thought it might be Ulricke, the
woman who has a child here but is not part of the group.  The woman
R.G. fucked with when they were both guests.  Perhaps she wanted to
avoid contact with R.G. because of this other man she brought with
her.  their relationship was intimate, no doubt about it given the
sounds that went on for about 1/2 an hour.  The man however left
shortly after the big bang.  In the morning she was gone too, and the
room looked as though no one had used it during the day today Ulricke
was nowhere in sight.  A mysterious happening.  During the children's
palabra today Otto asks if I'm understandin what is being talked
about.  "A little bit."  He feigns anger and orders someone to
translate for me, but then he says it's good if I don't understand,
than I won't be able to take his ideas home to America and become
famous. I hang on after palabra to speak to Brooke about the grant.  I
give her a copy of what I wrote yesterday.  She reads over the page I
wrote about F.H.  She felt it was excellent and that they couldn't hve
written it any better themselves.  We talk a bit more about her work
here.  She's haveing a hard time finding people good enough to take
her place in the school teaching English and Art.  She says I could do
it.  "But I don't speak German."  "I'm not so sure that's so
necessary," she says.  But she says "You should go home steal all of
Otto's ideas and paint, paint, paint."  I tell her I must learn how to
think first.  That is the difficult part.  You cannot paint anything
unless you know how to think.  This is what you can learn on F.H. Went
to the office to see about getting to the airport on Monday.  My ride
to Vienna has already been arranged.  They know when my plane leaves,
and who will be driving me, Kurt Bernd.  Theo came back from Italy
tonight.  Passed him on my way to dinner.  He had a crowd around him,
he stopped to show me some examples of New Gunter Brus drawings that
he traded (I've been misspelling Bruce for Brus.)  He was rushing
somewhere so we couldn't talk.  Claudia came by with her baby Attilla
when the children and I were cleaning up after dinner, I had the
polaroid camera with me and took 2 pictures.  The kids love the
polaroid.  I feel so integrated with the family.  I am accepted almost
everywhere I go, there is a quality of intimacy developing that just
wasn't there the first visit.  Perhaps it also has something to do
with being on my own here without R.G.  People see me more directly-
AHA!  I'm an independent person.  I thank him for the chance to do
things that way, Otto's son and some of his friends have come to
tonight S.D.  They look like Harvard Square 1969.  They think they are
so avant-garde.  5 lost souls, empty eyes, like they landed on the
moon.  The S.D. evening was fantastic.  All the kids, from the very
youngest, up to Yaez (superbo clarinet) and violin.  Some were
standouts like Angel, about 10 years old, a voice already like a
cabaret singer, and Adam, a devil in school, but great on a set of
drums he made himself.  Otto's son and his friends were trying hard to
be cool and sophisticated they have pretensions of being musicians.
Otto asked them if they wanted to perform in front of the group.  They
declined.  After the evening there was the usual mob outside Otto's
door.  Otto took in some of the kids who were the best performers that
night.  He said good night to the others and shut the door.  I was
about to go back to my room.  there were still about 1/2 doz. people
milling around hoping to get in.  Virginia opens the door and said
Otto called for me to come with the children.  Great!  Now I don't
have to spend the night alone and I get some interesting conversation.
I walk into the main meeting room in Otto's art.  The only ones their
are his son and his son's friends.  I ask if andy of them speak
English.  At least 2 answer yes.  I tell them they look like U.S.A
1969.  No one in the state looks like them anymore.  They are very
insecure.  I take out the polaroid and offer to take their picture.
They crowd together eagerly.  I tell them that when I go back to
America I will tell everyone they are the newest rock group from
Europe.  Otto walks in while all this is going on.  It is the first
time I've seen Otto look a bit unhappy and uncomfortable.  The kids
come in, and Theo, Otmar, Virginia, Claudia, Claudia Bernd.  Everyone
is milling around, awkwardly, wondering what to do with the
Neanderthals.  Finally Otto says good night to son a friends and gets
Thomas (the biggest man on F.H.) to escort them up to the guest house.
Everyone else sits down, relieved.  I let out a laugh.  Otto turns to
me, smiles, shrugs and asks me why I laughed.  I say how they are
trying to be so avant-garde, but in this environment they look like
primitives.  This begins a conversation about them, Otto says he made
them an offer to try living on F.H. but they couldn't do it.  Someone
else says "We will dress them in suits and make salesmen out of them."
Talk of negative cultural influences, Mick Jaeger, drugs, rock video.
Someone brings in ice cream they ask what flavor I want.  I tell them
anything will do.  Otto tells me to have chocolate, it's the best.
Everyone is getting more relaxed.  Theo comes over and asks to see the
stuff I wrote for the Getty foundation.  He takes it and puts it away
to read later.  Too soon it is time to go.  Otto gives me a big bear
hug and holds me in his arms for awhile.  I mention I am a bit nervous
about being the only one at the guest house with "the boys".  He tells
me not to worry, but at the same time to watch out that they don't set
fire to anything.  I get back to my room and they are all in a room at
the far end of the hall, playing lousy guitar music, "California
Dreaming" and also trying to should like Bob Dylan, really awful
stuff.  I figure I'll suffer with it till midnight, then I'll request
they quit.  Suddenly all is quiet.  I hear s small ruckus outside.  I
run out to see what's happening, but too late, they are out of sight.
I have visions of them going on a rampage, burning the stables and
killing all the animals.  I walk down the road a bit, moon is bright,
no sign of them.  what to do?  Well, it's Otto's kid, this is Otto's
kingdom, better call Otto.  Claudia answers.  I tell her what
happened.  She thanks me for calling and says they will go and look
for them.  She asks if I will stay by the phone and they will call me
back.  Thomas shows up at my room a few minutes later with Harti.  One
kid is in his room sleeping.  The rest of them are out somewhere in
the night.  About an hour later they all show up.  I told them it's
enough noise, time for bed.  One's either drunk or so drugged out he
can hardly stand up.  It seems as though each of them spends hours in
the shower, which surprises me since they look so filthy.  I have
trouble sleeping, tonight is when the clocks are set back one hour.
Otto reminded everyone before we left his room.  I am imagining myself
talking to Otto abut living here.  I try all sorts of approaches.
Sometimes he says yes, sometimes no.  I imagine bringing Erika, I
imagine it being impossible for her here.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER, 29TH 1985

I think she would be wounded permanently if I come here.  She has the
choice of living with her father in Maine, with my parents on Long
Island, coming to Vienna, or staying with R.G. in my house.  (This was
mainly his idea.)  While I give him much credit for thinking up
interesting ideas, his responsibility of a real level, his ability to
earn enough money to pay his bills is not good.  In money matters he
has never been directly irresponsible to me.  However I know there are
other situations where he has been quite irresponsible.  It's a moot
point if I don't come here.  Sunday is sunny, warm, and windy.  Not a
single day of rain for 2 weeks.  I played some crazy game of dodge
ball with about 15 kids this morning.  Just began to get the idea
about the rules when it was over.  The 5 sleazy punks walk by us
twice.  They stand out here in a horrible grotesque way, like a
cancer.  I wonder why they are still here.  My shoulder and neck has
started to bother me again.  Looks like it must be more from emotional
tension than anything else.  I must try to see Vironi before I leave.
It is now after 3 p.m. I meet the punks when I am on my way to take a
picture of the new building.  They want me to take another picture of
them but I tell them I don't have enough film.  I ask when they are
leaving.  "Now!"  Good, I say to myself.  I am waiting for a drawing
class to start.  The fellow who runs the textile production studio
walks by and tells me my jacket is ready.  Six women are sitting
opposite me working on some internal household matter.  I painted for
awhile this afternoon, than went for my last run at 5:30 the sun was
setting, jet streams turned crimson across a blue/green sky.  It gets
chilly as soon as the sun sinks.  The dried, sand colored corn catches
the most amazing light as the sun dips below the horizon.  The muscles
in my legs get stronger every time.  6:00.  Sky is nearly dark.  I
decide to try to sauna again.  2 guys are already inside.  They both
have worked with R.G.  We talk a bit.  They asked how I have enjoyed
my stay.  I tell them in a ---.

Vienna airport.  Bumped into 2 old ladies from California in the
ladies room.  Flight is delayed one hour.  Bad weather somewhere but
you'd never know it sitting here, same hot dry sun we've seen every
day.  My writing was interrupted yesterday.  I had been sitting in the
guest room, after dinner, waiting for another painting session to
begin, when Theo came in with a visiting American woman.  He said they
had been looking for me all day.  Her name is Christine something or
other.  Turns out she's from U. Cal. Bekeley working on her doctoral
thesis.  Her subject in an event that occurred in London, 1966 called
DIAS (Destruction in art symposium).  Evidently she feels this one
enent was a watershed event that influenced the future direction of
culture and art.  She is an art historian, about 35 yrs. old,
attractive, married.  She is very loud, laughs a lot, probably louder
and more demonstrative than I was when I first came.  Maybe it has
something to do with being an educated American woman.  Anyway, Otto
Moehl was one of the key artists involved in DIA's.  This woman has
been doing research on this subject for 5 years, flying all over
Europe, interviewing the original artist/participants.  Theo asks me
if I want to see the VanGough film.  I've never seen the entire thing,
only the segments they were filming when I was there in Nov.  Theo
plugs the video tape and we watch the film on the big screen cony.
(I've just looked up in time to see an Arab Sheik, dressed and veiled
in black walking behind him.  First time I've thought of Abdula since
he left the U.S.A.)  Christine makes many comments about how famous
Theo would be as an actor if this film were released in America.  At
last they have announced flight 601 - Vienna to London will be
loading.  Flight is about 2/3rds full, 6 across, smells a little like
the inside of an amtrack train.  The film is excellent, even though
they cut the entire funeral scene, which is the part I was in.  Theo
mentions that some T.V. station in Austria is interested in it.  Part
of our plan for a grant includes showing F.H. films in U.S.A. in
conjunction with the Viennese actionist exhibition.  The film runs
about 1/2 hrs.  Theo leaves Khristine and I alone for about 45 min.
He was the one who was doing the lecture for the painting class I was
going to go to, but I've decided my current, more intimate situation
is more interesting.  After the film the 3 of us go down to the
archives.  It is on the basement level of the Lillibau a room lined
with floor to ceiling white storage units.  Sleek and modern.  Jo who
works on all the archival material has already laid out the stuff
relating from DIA's.  Some original papers that Kristine gets very
excited about, evidently very rare.  She pours over minute details to
events as only an historian can.  (At last we are airbourne no
problems with my ears so far.)  The photo's interest me more, articles
on the event appeared in some international magazines like Time and
Life.  We are down there for an hour. Judith knocks and comes in to
see if we are ready to visit Otto.  Khristine must finish the taped
interview she started with Otto that afternoon.  It is already after
11 p.m. in Otto's studio.  Table laid out with about 12 glasses of
wine and a microphone.  We sit around for a bit talking with Virginia.
(One of 3 American women on F.H.)  She tells of her life before living
in the group.  How shy and nervous about making contact with people,
she could barley speak, and now she can't keep quiet.  Kristine turns
to Brooke (another American) who just entered and asks her about the
F.H. school, the German educational system, and educational
philosophy.  Brooke tells her the school

Flight #275- 4:30 to Boston

is accredited by the state and it is actually run quite formally.
Otto comes in with some people, Claudia, Violane, 2 men I know but
forget their names, there is much good natured joking back and forth
between Otto and Kristine over the importance or the imagined
importance of DIAS.  Yoko Ono was there.  Otto tells this wrd story
about himself and Yoko and John Lennon, but Kristine knows it is all a
joke.  Yoko didn't even know John Lennon at this point.  The interview
was engaging.  Otto is his usual dramatic, funny, serious, amazing
self, hard to describe.  Kristine mentions how much she liked the Van
Gogh film.  Otto says Picasso is better.  No sooner said than done.  A
few people hustle around the tape appears, lights out and we watch the
Picasso film.  In all the feature length films made on F.H. there
appear a wide variety of European artists, critics, dealers,
journalists, most of whom are well known, who take various roles in
the films.  In these 2, Van Gogh and Picasso, Theo and Judith have
starring roles.  (Captain now announces we are over Munich, I'll have
only 20-25 minutes to catch my flight to Boston, I hope I don't have
any repeat of the fiasco of my last return flight) Picasso film is
definitely a more cohesive film.  Better acting.  Van Gogh was wild,
crazy.  Always on the edge of getting completely out of hand.  It is
now after 1 a.m.  Christine leaves.  She flies to London at 6 a.m.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER, 30TH 1985

Otto rubs my shoulders as he passes behind me.  I turn and tell him I
leave tomorrow also.  "No, no" he says.  Then he asks who would like
to go visit America?  Everyone raises their hands.  I tell him he can
stay at my house.  He looks at me and smiles.  Says gently, "I can't
leave here now, there is too much work to do."  He goes on to talk
about how good Richard and I are; good human beings.  "If I'm so good,
when can I move in?"  He looks serious.  "You can live in the
Amsterdam group, it is better for you there because they must all
speak English at work."  (Antoine, the musical genius, composer lives
in the Amsterdam group.  He translated for me most of the time on F.H.
this trip.)  "Think about it," he says.  It is so late and I am so
tired, what he said really didn't sink in.  He gives me another big
hug, everyone gathers around to shake my hand.  Claudia (who has been
drawing in her sketch book all evening, (I watched.  She was sitting
next to me; between me and Otto) reaches out a warm hand and says come
back soon.  Theo, Kristine & I walk back to the guest house.  Another
unbelievable race, right out of the movies.  This is beginning to form
a pattern.  The flight from Vienna to London was 1 hour late due to
morning fog.  Plane landed in London at 4:15.  My flight to Boston was
leaving from a terminal at the other end of Heathrow airport.  I spoke
to the captain while we were in the air over Frankfort about my
problem.  "We'll so what we can."  he says.  They move me to a seat at
the head of the plane so I can be first off.  I ask about my luggage -
they will do their best.  They radio ahead for special ground
transport to speed me to my flight.  I'm standing by the exit, turns
out they are exiting by the middle doors.  Stewardess, pushes me to
the head of the line.  We stand at the open door to the aircraft.  I'm
fairly calm considering I may miss my flight and then what, I don't
know.  As we watch the ramp maneuver up to the open door, the gears
jam and the ramp is stuck about 2 feet in the air, away from aircraft
door.  I don't believe it.  Now I start to sweat.  I'll jump across, I
joke with the stewardess.  She doesn't laugh.  I see a fellow in a
flight uniform on the ground with a sign hastily hand written "Lady to
Boston."  Finally the stairs meet the plane.  I dash down the steps.
(Ramp) The flight attendant grabs my arm and practically carries me to
a car.  "What about my luggage?"  "We'll make a pass for it but we
can't wait, it's either you or your luggage to Boston first."  We zoom
over to the conveyor belt where the first few pieces of baggage are
coming down.  I don't believe it.  Here come my bags- first ones off
the plane and together.  He jumps out of the car, grabs the bags,
throws them in the back seat and then a wild, careening ride through
every alley way in the airport, 2 regular shuttle buses almost hit us
as we sweep across an open runway, suddenly we're at the cargo
entrance of the flight to Boston - they called ahead and got clearance
from security for my luggage so it could be loaded on the plane.  Last
2 pieces of baggage.  But! There's still me.  I have to go though
security and boarding area - back in the car.  Slam to a halt by a
gate.  Attendant grabs my arm - running up 2 flights of stairs, down a
corridor- boarding area- not even out of breath, thanks to running 2
miles a day, not like I was when I almost collapsed running though La
Guardai Airport to catch my flight to Boston last Nov.  I had an
assigned seat but they gave it to someone else.  Luckily there's a few
seats left.  They also called ahead for 2 security personnel to frisk
me- quick body search and then on the plane.  Last one on the plane.
Flight attendant laughs as I make a gesture that says "Phew!"  "We
were waiting for you."  He says my new seat is better than the one
originally assigned.  There's an empty seat next to me to spread out
in.  No one will believe this scenario if they read my last one, I
think to myself.  In the air- I just ate and drank on the other
flight, but here come the obligatory meal.  Plastic food.  I haven't
bought any presents for any one.  I planned on having time to hang
around the airport in London for and hour or 2 between flights and get
something for Erika.  Obviously things didn't work out that way.  To
be that way.  I fantasize about them taking their first trip to
Europe.  To visit me and Erika like I said, a fantasy.  I shower,
start to pack first time in almost 2 weeks I put on make- up- mascara
etc.  Do I look younger or older, with or without?  I have a book to
return to Micheal Phister, I said I'd stop by the school to say good
by to Brooke's class.  It is running late, stockings, heels, black
dress.  Walking down the hill to the office, people stop and say with
real disappointment in their voices, "your not leaving?"  "When do you
come back to visit us?  I say to a few, maybe soon.  At the school,
drop off some catalogues from the art institute at the library.
Brooke's class is gone somewhere, I run into someone I know (can't
recall his name).  One of the best musicians on F.H. a Jazz
Specialist.  I tell him I'm leaving.  He invites me into the music
room where he teaches.  It is quite, intimate.  I tell him what Otto
said last night.  Immediate acceptance from him we talk about life
here, feeling and philsophes, immediate understanding, and
communication.  He said it is rare anyone gets into the group any
longer.  The size and structure of things have stabilized.  Since they
are getting so famous in Europe and they are doing so well
economically, may people want to come and join them.  Most of the core
people have lived together for over 10 years.  The last people who
were let in came 3 years ago.  I feel privileged and immediately
paranoid.  Will Otto change his mind will it be a mistake?  I doubt
it.  I must go, a warm smile from him he holds my hand and then
good-by- back to the LilliBau to pick up my house shoes.  (Adopted
from Japanese custom, inside and outside shoes for cleanliness sake.)
More people on the way, disappointment in my leaving them, "When will
you come back?"  I have an urge to speak to Otto about a few more
things about Erika, but there is no time, I must leave in 10 min.
Aike on the staircase, looks down at me and in his melodramatic was
says "A Ha!  Tell me you are not leaving, mysterious woman in black,
you should always wear black, it is like magic with your white skin.
"This is about the 5th time today I have fallen in love with someone,
and Aike is a most unlikely person for me, an intellectual.  Aloof.
Cool.  Distant.  Good-by, Good-by.  Bendd Kurt will be driving me to
Vienna.  He get's a car, goes back to my room to pick up my bags.  Me
to the office to turn in my key.  Conversation with Heide about maybe
coming back to stay.  On the road to Vienna.  Bendt tells me his
story.  He's been married 15- 16 yrs.  Still married.  Wife is in
Berlin in the group.  They tried different experiences in group
living, but they all were too insecure and would dissolve after a year
or 2 because of jealousy and lack of commitment.  He said they started
out a very normal, middle class, working couple, but as things went on
they either had to change their life style or break-up.  His sister