A Feature on Visual Diaries
The following is an excerpt from the March 2003 issue of SJ Magazine.
“When I decided to stop teaching (elementary school) and write, I called it scary beautiful – letting go of everything comfortable and beautiful,” notes Halscheid, who currently lives in Haddonfield. “So many things came from that risk that I had not imagined. I promised myself that everything I wanted to do would relate to writing.” Halscheid left teaching in 1993 and embarked on a “primitive way of being.” “What I did felt like what Native Americans would do – entering each day with a lot of openness, opening yourself to get where you need to go,” explains Halscheid, who was inspired by Michelangelo’s artistry. “I knew what I wanted to do. Forgetting the rent was first. Sometimes you struggle and think, “Will I make it?” The risk brings a gift. By losing the material (possessions), I gained a muse for myself that is invaluable for my words.” Halscheid gave up her apartment, sold her antiques, and embarked on a journey. She began developing “poetic eyes that could penetrate outer landscapes and penetrate the inner self.” She discovered that a simple lifestyle enhanced her perception and allowed her to tap into the inspiration she was seeking. Although those around her didn’t understand her decision, Halscheid leaned back and simply let her life “happen.” The title of her second book of poetry – Without Home – says it all. She became a professional house-sitter. “Disruption,” a poem Halscheid wrote during her first year house-sitting in Ocean City, was inspired by a difficult experience. “There was a northeaster (storm) that made Ocean City look like Venice,” she says. “I’d parked my car at the library because that was higher ground. The next morning, my car was filled with water. I scooped the water out and wondered what to do. All that remained in my power was to write about it. “Disruption” was included in a popular anthology called Under a Gull’s Wing and I was paid for it. After a four-year period of house-sitting at a Jersey shore home, Halscheid learned that the owner was planning to turn her vacation cottage into a rental. “After the woman called me and told me of her decision, I started to cry,” Halscheid recalls. “I had done much writing there and had given writing workshops. But, as one door closed, another opened for poetry. In less than an hour, I got a call from an aquaintance backpacking in Spain. He wondered if I’d be able to stay in his log cabin in the pinelands and oversee projects for him…. I was initially upset, but later found that writing in the pine barrens gave me a fresh perspective.” The atmosphere in the pine barrens inspired a number of poems about Halscheid’s late father. “I had a solace, a safe haven to allow me to write of my father – who had brain damage for 30 years,” she says. In the log cabin, a series of father poems came. “I have written to snow and rain because their quietness offers a mood that allows me to penetrate sensitive topics. Because I don’t have TV, stereos and such around me, my senses have become heightened.” Halscheid enjoys the serendipity of her lifestyle, such as the time she was house-sitting near Santa Fe, New Mexico. She was visiting ancient cliff dwellings when two women who were sisters came over and chatted with her. They invited her to Christmas dinner the following day. “Spending time with them was a beautiful experience,” she says. Halscheid, who coordinates poetry programs at Hopkins House, will present “Visual Diaries” a one-woman multi-sensual exhibit of photographs and poems at Hopkins House Gallery. The images portray Halscheid’s journeys to New Zealand, South Africa, Scotland, Russia and Italy. “I was drawn to the elegant calm in Therése’s landscapes,” notes Karen Chigonis, coordinator of program and exhibition at Hopkins House. “Her landscapes are exteriors that led her to the interior journey....” Return to Visual Diaries |
