2026Troy DeShano
I spent most of January, 2026 at Sawbill Surf Club.
I didn’t have much intended for my time there. I hoped to get out a bit, enjoy the charm of Elberta, pop in on WUWU, and even brought my snowshoes, determined to hike up the dune before my time was through.
But it snowed every day (literally). Not uncommon up north in January, of course. But the sub-zero temps kept it from diminishing at all, so it grew and piled and multiplied. By my second week, I was fully snowed in. It had been six straight days since I’d left the house, and when some errand finally demanded it, my attempts at shoveling the driveway were laughable, the car battery was dead, and the teeniest bit of motivation I had was easily extinguished.
The reality is I was craving solitude. Those barriers just gave me permission to lean even more fully into it.
I still could have worked up the nerve to hike up the dune. But here in my 48th year, I happen to find myself in the worst shape of my life (much worse than I could or should be), and even though I certainly could have persevered (as I’ve done on many similar adventures), my spirit was in a similar state of atrophy with no real capacity for endurance.
The new (yay) sauna became a central, grounding point for my daily routine.
Not only was my time spent sweating it out in the dark extremely meaningful decompression for both my mind and body, the practice of preparing the fire, learning to heat it properly, and planning ahead for the experience became the foundational framework for my day.
My stay was certainly not a vacation. The house is overflowing with positive energy. The natural light bouncing between snow and clouds fills the rooms, illuminating the various decades of the past I observed while moving past wallpaper to wallpaper, traveling back through the 90s, 80s, 70s, and beyond. While other types of isolation might drive one to madness, this provided comfort and inspiration to focus on the creative work at hand. Rather than my own art practice (I’d need a studio / shop to trash for that), my time at Sawbill was dedicated to the creative administrative work that I’m dedicated to for my day job as a steward of the arts. As a single employee of a single nonprofit serving a massive region, the responsibility can sometimes feel heavy. It’s truly delightful work that inspires me to do more each day, but nonetheless, it is a lot. Bottlenecked moments can become overwhelming, with no one to share the burden.
This is where the comfort of the home and practice of sauna became the foundation for my creative investigation and output. Putting the kettle on each morning, focusing on fleshing out programs with coffee, stopping to cook, writing grants (submitted three), starting the fire around 4:00 PM so it would be hot and ready in time for me to take another break from focused meditation on mission.
The run from house to sauna wearing nothing but my boots provided a significant shock to my system, that along with the hour spent in the heat, uncoiled the spinning of my brain and settled my soul for the quiet of evening.
It’s been a challenging time for me personally, which has (among many other things) been prohibitive to finding focus and inspiration in my work, despite my love for it. This new setting, filled with good ghosts, tranquility, nostalgia, and the remnants of other creative souls left behind provided a truly meaningful experience that’s difficult to articulate, but clear when felt.
There’s other things too… the neighborhood deer that pass by at night, the handful of leftover gummies I had from last summer, texts from friends off doing their own creative things… all part of something so simple, but lasting. Sawbill will be a lasting memory for me.
Executive Director of NWMI Arts & Culture Neetwork, and Visual Artist
Visual Artist
TRAVERSE CITY, MII spent most of January, 2026 at Sawbill Surf Club.
I didn’t have much intended for my time there. I hoped to get out a bit, enjoy the charm of Elberta, pop in on WUWU, and even brought my snowshoes, determined to hike up the dune before my time was through.
But it snowed every day (literally). Not uncommon up north in January, of course. But the sub-zero temps kept it from diminishing at all, so it grew and piled and multiplied. By my second week, I was fully snowed in. It had been six straight days since I’d left the house, and when some errand finally demanded it, my attempts at shoveling the driveway were laughable, the car battery was dead, and the teeniest bit of motivation I had was easily extinguished.
The reality is I was craving solitude. Those barriers just gave me permission to lean even more fully into it.
I still could have worked up the nerve to hike up the dune. But here in my 48th year, I happen to find myself in the worst shape of my life (much worse than I could or should be), and even though I certainly could have persevered (as I’ve done on many similar adventures), my spirit was in a similar state of atrophy with no real capacity for endurance.
The new (yay) sauna became a central, grounding point for my daily routine.
Not only was my time spent sweating it out in the dark extremely meaningful decompression for both my mind and body, the practice of preparing the fire, learning to heat it properly, and planning ahead for the experience became the foundational framework for my day.
My stay was certainly not a vacation. The house is overflowing with positive energy. The natural light bouncing between snow and clouds fills the rooms, illuminating the various decades of the past I observed while moving past wallpaper to wallpaper, traveling back through the 90s, 80s, 70s, and beyond. While other types of isolation might drive one to madness, this provided comfort and inspiration to focus on the creative work at hand. Rather than my own art practice (I’d need a studio / shop to trash for that), my time at Sawbill was dedicated to the creative administrative work that I’m dedicated to for my day job as a steward of the arts. As a single employee of a single nonprofit serving a massive region, the responsibility can sometimes feel heavy. It’s truly delightful work that inspires me to do more each day, but nonetheless, it is a lot. Bottlenecked moments can become overwhelming, with no one to share the burden.
This is where the comfort of the home and practice of sauna became the foundation for my creative investigation and output. Putting the kettle on each morning, focusing on fleshing out programs with coffee, stopping to cook, writing grants (submitted three), starting the fire around 4:00 PM so it would be hot and ready in time for me to take another break from focused meditation on mission.
The run from house to sauna wearing nothing but my boots provided a significant shock to my system, that along with the hour spent in the heat, uncoiled the spinning of my brain and settled my soul for the quiet of evening.
It’s been a challenging time for me personally, which has (among many other things) been prohibitive to finding focus and inspiration in my work, despite my love for it. This new setting, filled with good ghosts, tranquility, nostalgia, and the remnants of other creative souls left behind provided a truly meaningful experience that’s difficult to articulate, but clear when felt.
There’s other things too… the neighborhood deer that pass by at night, the handful of leftover gummies I had from last summer, texts from friends off doing their own creative things… all part of something so simple, but lasting. Sawbill will be a lasting memory for me.
Executive Director of NWMI Arts & Culture Neetwork, and Visual Artist