At last we’ve arrived at our little house on the high plains desert – home while visiting The Lightning Field. A composite of a number of early 20th century homesteader cabins, the house is comfortably spartan and even elegant. It has everything we might need and nothing unnecessary that might clutter the space or the mind. A fridge is stocked with a simple supper and the fixings for an earnest breakfast. A wrought iron bed aligns with the east-facing window, promising bedtime stars and a sunrise for an alarm clock. Oh, and did I mention there is nobody around for miles and miles? In short, it’s perfect: just us and the art.