A tribute to Skip: one of a kind artist

I had been living at TOF for a couple months when Skip arrived, out of the blue. His long, mostly grey hair, was in disarray and his face was hidden underneath a long grey beard. He wore old and dirt covered clothes but even from a distance, I could tell he was not a broken homeless man. His eyes were sharp, alert and pearcing. He had a strong sense of purpose that oozed out of his being. When Skip spoke, he placed his words together with careful precision and shot them out like a sniper hiding in the hills. My first glimpse of Skip was quick but I still remember that moment clearly even though it was six years ago. A few days later, Rob S, Andrew M and myself were hanging out in one of Skip's many kivas. This one is called the kitchen kiva. Suddenly, Skip strolls in and sits down. He greets Rob, whom he's known for years, introduces himself to Andrew and myself and immediately infects us with his irreverence, humor and cage free mentality. Before we know it we are tearing up the kiva. It had about 3 tiers to it, was lime bathroom green, circular and had a fire burning in the middle. When I say tearing up the kiva i mean this literally. So we're ripping carpets out of the ground, endless carpets, I have gone beyond shock, amazement and entered permanent awe as this goes on all night. This particular kiva consists of layers of dirt and carpet with a nice paint job on top. Dawn arrived to find us exhausted. The reconditioning of the kitchen kiva had coomenced - spontaneously, without warning. My initiation to the unique, singleminded, prolific and endlessly creative way in which Skip worked his artform continued for the next month. Skip caressed the skin of the earth with his shovel as he dug deeper and deeper. Before long he'd be on another task - constructing a wall of rocks or adjusting the makeshift roof. Next Skip'd be "mining" for rocks and as he'd find one he liked, it'd be tossed near the wall. "Each rock is moved an average of four times before it is home" is something I recall him saying. Next, he's got the garden hose in his hand and he's throwing water over the ground and turning dirt into mud. Skip begins to mix the mud with his hands and pack it into the wall and then he's tending to his fire. It's all a blur of water fire dust and steam like some crazy beautiful dream. I've woken 2000 times since but this dream is still alive. A fire in my heart that can't go out. There's no one like Skip I've ever met, traveling thru time and space like a comet with a tail made of kivas.