[luh-kyoo-nuh] LACUNA

la·cu·na /ləˈkyunə/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[luh-kyoo-nuh] plural -nae, -nas.

1.	a gap or missing part, as in a manuscript, series, or logical argument; hiatus.

2. an ornamental sunken panel in a ceiling or dome [syn: coffer]
3. (Biol.) A small opening; a small depression or cavity; a space, as a vacant space between the cells of plants, or one of the spaces left among the tissues of the lower animals, which serve in place of vessels for the circulation of the body fluids, or the cavity or sac, usually of very small size, in a mucous membrane.

[Origin: 1655–65; <>lacūna ditch, pit, hole, gap, deficiency, akin to lacus vat, lake1. Cf. lagoon]

This is a new word for me, and I am using it to embrace describing my first residency at Goddard. Inspired by albums of photographs and pressed mementos as touchstones of memory, I intended to squeeze the juice from every moment and record it, play-by-play, on this blog. 10 years post-BFA from Cooper Union (79-83), I was 30 years old and realized I had squandered my opportunities while in that time and place. 25 years later, I am determined to be present and engaged with my MFA at Goddard. What I discovered: the journaling and pictorial pace I chose was incongruous with processing my experiences.

Memory has no sense of time. Without any mile markers whizzing by, I can be suddenly immersed in the sultry experience of a hot, humid summer evening; ice cream, cold and velvety melting on my tongue, acrid car exhaust blanketing the asphalt tar. The first night I returned "home" to the Stokes dorm, frustrated because I couldn't record the events of the day, I was suddenly sitting across from my therapist. How's that for a house call?

I once remarked to him that I wanted to tape record our sessions. The many excavations, illuminations, and conjugations would convert to vapors, trailing behind me in the walk to my Jeep. Every physical vibration, from the fishing jingle of keys, to the whir of the seatbelt unspooling, to igniting the engine was suffused with my groping for the threads we had begun to unravel. I wanted to remember every knot, color, twist, and texture. His response: No. I would keep and use what I wanted most.

Goddard's days and evenings were a figure/ground tango of perception. I was solid, variegated, stacked and colorful. The spaces between were chasms: mysterious, dark, and filled with secret organic material. The spaces between were vents: gushing, oozing and erupting.

Rick Benjamin, my faculty advisor, shared his story of tagging the creative process. Viewed through the lens of someone who defaults their process into a rigidly paced schedule of tasks, his method of writing, in the final hours before the deadline, is labeled Procrastination. Focused on being present, engaging with the exploration, absorbing and allowing the experience to develop is a process method he identifies as Simmering. So many sensory delights and possibilities with this word! Thanks, Rick- I'm down with that.