So, Sasquatch, I’d like to start by asking: what did you expect coming into this experience? You’d been here once before, but what were your initial thoughts before starting this residency?
Thanks, TW—thanks for the opportunity here. Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was getting into. I came here a year and a half ago, mostly to check out the land and consider buying a small parcel nearby as a lower-stakes getaway, maybe something connected with the [Cabin Network](https://cabin.city/). I loved the area instantly—it reminded me of growing up in Bend, Oregon, but with an extra level of isolation and raw beauty. I came this time partly for that love of the place, partly for the chance to work with you again. Truthfully, I didn’t even read the project’s website. I just knew it would be worth it, and I was right.
What’s surprised me most is how personal this experience has been. I’ve tried to contribute—fixing things around the house, bringing my bass along to jam, and identifying anything that could be improved here. But really, this residency has been more about internal exploration, finding a kind of freedom and clarity that I’ve needed. Being off-grid, you’re forced to rethink basic things like power, water, and waste, which shakes up your routines. I even fasted for the first three days, went meatless, cut out alcohol, and unplugged from any digital content beyond reading books. It gave me a mental reset I didn’t know I needed. And, side note: if you come here, don’t work while you’re here.
Why’s that?
Working interrupts the real gift of this place, which is the space—space from your usual life, the routine grind, and even the economy in a sense. You plan your consumption, and then you’re just here. The nearest town is a significant distance away, so you’re not constantly in a cycle of consumption. This setup gave me time and quiet to confront some ingrained habits I couldn’t shake back home. And through that, I realized I want to bring more meaningful contributions to the Web3 space, beyond administrative roles. I want to get into design thinking in ways that aren’t dependent on coding or art skills. I’ve wrestled with feeling “useless” in that realm for a long time, and this space finally allowed those ideas to take shape.
You initially planned to stay for one week, but you extended it to two. Do you feel that was enough? And how important do you think it is to arrive with a specific project in mind, or is it better to let the experience shape itself?
I wouldn’t change a thing about my time here, because it met me where I was—feeling pretty lost, honestly. I have a clearer sense of direction now. That said, if I came back, or if someone with a clearer focus came, having a specific project could be beneficial. I’d recommend two to three weeks, without any online work, and with a creative goal in mind, like recording an album or producing an art piece. My time here was largely introspective, but next time, I’d aim to channel this experience into something tangible to share. This place isn’t just about personal growth; it’s an incubator for creation, and I think that potential could be harnessed more deliberately.
Let’s talk about the actual site. I had mixed feelings about inviting people here because the landscape can feel hostile at first—thorny plants, fierce creatures that aren’t shy about making their presence known, and relentless wind. But, on the flip side, this wildness offers a kind of immersive learning environment. And then there’s the earthship itself—minimalist and a bit brutalist, with more 90-degree angles than you might expect. Some people find it modern and comfortable, others say it’s a half-step up from camping. What’s your experience been like with the physical space and the environment? And what might we need to adjust to make this site a safe, fulfilling experience for others?
I wouldn’t change much about the house or the landscape.
The environment forces you to think about things you usually ignore, like resource consumption, and that’s part of the mental shift here.
One thing that would be helpful, though, is a way to monitor water usage. You can see the battery and track power usage, but with water, it’s harder to gauge. I’ve been trying to conserve, but it would help to have a better sense of the actual supply. Other than that, I think the constraints here are what make it powerful. I’ve found it comfortable, even grounding, especially the semi-subterranean design—best sleep I’ve had in ages. As for the outdoors, I haven’t encountered much wildlife, though I probably should’ve worn more than just sandals. It’s all part of the immersion, really.
I’d like to shift a bit and discuss the future of this place and how Web3 might factor into it. One motivation for this project is decentralizing the stewardship of this land. We both work in the DAO space and have been involved in developing systems for decentralized governance. I’m passionate about integrating these tools in the physical world—to create a community bound by mutual support, ecological awareness, and knowledge-sharing, instead of relying on traditional top-down systems. This place feels like an ideal experiment for that. So, I’d love to get your thoughts on how Web3 might integrate with a residency site like this. Are there specific paths or ideas you’d suggest?
Yeah, I remember that quote you shared with me from [your painting teacher](https://www.garthgreenan.com/artists/franklin-williams): “All you need is space, time, silence, and solitude.” That’s what this place gives, and I think that should be the central mission here. In my view, it shouldn’t turn into a big group experience or a Web3 summer camp. It should stay intimate—a few people or a small group with different perspectives, each time—and let the value grow from that setup.
The real value of this place is the internal journey it enables. I think of it as a space that nurtures ideas, creativity, and self-reflection, and if Web3 could support that framework while keeping it community-driven, it would be ideal.
Maybe there could be circles of engagement: a core community of people who help uphold the space’s ideals and steward its growth, and an outer circle that supports and benefits from the art, ideas, and projects that emerge here. In essence, keeping the ethos alive while also making it accessible and sustainable.
One last question. In Web3, there’s this ongoing conversation about impact and how to measure it. How do you think we could gauge the impact or value of time spent here? I imagine there’s no single answer, and different people would experience this place differently. But I wonder if you could speak to how this time and space affected you—and how you think it might impact others.
I think the impact is inherently personal and hard to quantify, but that’s what makes it powerful. For me, the time here has given me clarity and mental space. I expect my friends and family to notice a shift in me, and that shift, in turn, might influence those around me. This space is like a garden, not a factory—it cultivates ideas and creativity, which can ripple outward. Tracking the influence of art or ideas born here would be fascinating, though.
It’s early in the experiment, so it’s hard to know the long-term impact. But this is fertile ground for creativity, and who knows what could come from future residencies. This place could be the starting point for projects that tackle big issues or spark new movements. That potential alone is impact enough.