Passamaquoddy Pavilion

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A decade before making a life at Knoll Farm, I was exploring what life meant at Dickinsons Reach. 

To get there always required a physical journey -- hours upon hours in a car and then on foot, later in a canoe or a skiff-- but also a journey of the mind to meet another human being in their place. For me, that was a journey from wherever I was to a far-off place at the margins of my life. 

For thousands of years the pulse of human life has been felt in this reach, ebbing and flowing, humans arriving, making camps, coming and going, settler culture building things, nature taking them away. 

I’ve come to understand how my relationship to this place is magnified by a sense of longing and of betrayal. The longing is for the touch and the smell of the place itself. I long for her. I fell in love with this place when I first arrived. Now, decades later, when I return (especially when I’m alone) I feel the isolation as grayness, as a woman turning her back on me. 

I wanted to build an open structure without doors, walls or locks to be used by all, and to make the effort to bring people here and to signal to them through sincere invitation that I know that they belong here.

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