Moon House, the Desert, and My Brother
Grief is a strange teacher. It deepens love, reshapes time, and reveals beauty.
Adam came Thursday to capture progress at Moon House. I was exhausted, buried in dust and debris, unsure if I could step away with so much undone. But on Friday I left for the desert which is where I’m writing you all from.
For those who don’t know, my baby brother and best friend, Christopher Riess, died July 7, 2021, in Austin, Texas during the pandemic. He had recently moved from Winnipeg to Austin to build a career in the healing arts, and was healthier and stronger than he’d been in years of battling addiction. His birthday was October 23, mine October 30. When he was alive, I loved our birthday week — his on the cusp of Libra/Scorpio, mine on Hallow’s Eve. The first year he passed, I came to Joshua Tree to celebrate him and our new relationship with him being on the other side. Four years later, it has become a ritual.
To anyone who’s lost a soul mate — the one who made you laugh, who mirrored your thoughts so closely you couldn’t imagine life without them — you know: the love never leaves your bones. It deepens. Without my brother here in the flesh, I feel his spirit in everything. That’s why the desert calls me — under its vast sky, its knowledge of death and harsh conditions, its burning sun and infinite possibilities born from nothingness. My grief feels at home.
It’s become difficult to stay in my body amidst the chaos of our current renovation: dust, delays, endless questions, false urgency, shocking costs, priorities unraveling. Door handles cannot matter this much — and yet somehow, they do.
But out here in the desert, I see more clearly: this exterior reconstruction is also an interior one — an expression of soul and self. A need for protective walls around a sweeter, softer, stranger, more abundant existence. By this stage of life, most of us have faced many deaths, but our culture holds little reverence for the active integration of what loss gives us: the strength, beauty, uniqueness, and wisdom that rise from these destabilizing heartbreaks. Instead, we are often left with confusion, anxiety, and overwhelm. The world makes less sense.
Last night I read an essay by Mary Frances O’Connor that helped me breathe:
“Grieving requires the difficult task of throwing out the map we used to navigate our lives together and transforming our relationship with the person who has died. Grieving, or learning to live a meaningful life without them, is ultimately a type of learning… and may give us the patience to let this remarkable process unfold.”
I realize the lessons of building this home echo what I learned while in the thick of building my acting career — letting go of glitter and embracing the love of blood, sweat, tears, and the dignity of pushing forward through rejection and boundaries being crossed and reset. The pursuit of meaning, through it all. And now, those lessons are even more deeply root into family, a production company, community, and home — without Uncle Chris in the flesh, but with everything he left me: music, laughter, style, friendship, and unconditional love. He cared deeply for everyone who touched his heart, and though he was an artistic genius, he never cared for fame or ambition.
In this photo Adam Petrishin took — our in-house BTS photographer and videographer at Cheshire Moon, and my dear friend — you can see it all: my exhaustion, but also the light at the end of the tunnel and the memories already taking shape. The tiles, chosen and placed with my friend, our designer and collaborator Amber Lestrange. The French doors, crafted by Woodworking Masters, a family business whose work carries history and integrity. Just outside, a new deck built by two young men I’ve grown to love — their strength and spirit now living in the wood and cobblestone. And month after month, the dedication of our crew at Superior Home Remodeling, pouring their life force into this house, keeping me laughing, reminding me to stay grateful in the midst of chaos.
I don’t know if this renovation is a distraction from my artist’s hunger or the foundation of it. But I chose this. After completing my first film, In Her Name — a story of family, art, and addiction that I made before realizing how closely it would mirror my own life — I felt called to reclaim our home. We filmed much of it here, and beginning this renovation felt like turning the page into a new chapter.
Now, four months over schedule, it feels like an eternity — especially with Alice in school and Kevin and I both working from home. But here in the desert, I remember: it’s not about urgency. Not about presentation. Not about forcing it to fit neatly into the story of my life or career. It’s simply another creative process — my life as art. It’s about awareness, memory, human connection, and choosing what matters most.
Sending love — from my new floor, and from this desert sky.
What’s Next at Cheshire Moon Productions 🌙
As the year winds down, we’re feeling deeply proud of all that’s blossomed from our CMP family.
Our Moon House series and brand collaborations — spearheaded by our in-house Brand Partnerships & Social Media Strategist, Kelsey Landsdowne — are coming together beautifully. Check out our most recent collaboration, a continuation of two partnerships with local businesses Reclaimed Woodsource and Woodworking Masters who have found that they love working together and are up for creating some important accent pieces in Moon House. Stay tuned for upcoming features with more truly inspiring partners: Studio Luddite, Corsten Lights, Revival Rugs and Arte Walls to name a few.
Scene House is thriving on the festival circuit: this week our director, Annabella Fazio, represented us at Evolution Mallorca, and on November 8th we’ll be in Los Angeles for Proof Film Festival (tickets are live now — come celebrate with us!).
Our beloved Petits Salons continues to grow into a vibrant creative community. Follow Petits Salons on Instagram for details on our next gathering — screenings will continue through the holiday season.
And please don’t forget to support In Her Name this holiday. Cozy up to stream it online, or order the DVD on Amazon. Every viewing helps us keep sharing stories that matter.
Above all: Keep telling your stories. Keep creating space for freedom of expression — with compassion, with celebration, and with courage. We will be launching our workshop series Every Act is a Creative Act in 2026. Stay tuned.
And if you or someone you love is struggling with addiction, please don’t stay silent. The cure is connection.
Love.
— Sarah Carter & Cheshire Moon Productions —
oxox