She-who-is-on-sabbatical got me thinking about feral artists. Imagine the MacDowell Colony (which I know about only because our sorority was somehow connected to it) only the writers and artists are meandering about the grounds, lapping from little cups of espresso or hand-thrown mugs of herbal tea, their matted hair falling in their eyes as they do cat yoga in the sun.
Of course, Googling "feral art" produces some lovely results, like this. Or this. Or this. And even this.