Gregory Ormson’s O-Rings – this is a place for work shaped by breath, motion, land, and listening. My life moves through many forms: writer, drummer and musician, motorcycle rider, teacher, yogi, but the practice between them is singlular and consistent . . . pay attention.
I am keenly interested in the polarities between inclusion and exclusion; and how a human being learns to belong to time, to landscape, to themselves and to the body’s own knowing.
My life and writing travels between northern lakes and desert roads, between discipline and improvisation, between the quiet labor of the page and the hot energy of the open road. Whether I am teaching, turning a sentence, striking a drum or chord, or riding into long weather, I strive to understand life’s coherence in a difficult and demanding time.
A sad caveat to my usual statement that I have three brothers is now amended: I have two living brothers. Growing up, the sons of Dean and Dorothy Ormson were a terror to one another and their North Menomonie neighborhood. When people saw us coming, they hid the breakables. Later in life, as our parents