My name is Karl Isberg. I live in a place I call Siberia With a View.

Siberia With a View is located near the Continental Divide, in the southern San Juan Mountains, in Colorado.

At 8,000 feet above sea level.

There’s not a lot of oxygen up here.

That explains a lot.

I have been here 34 years, an exile removed from the city of my birth, as well as from the many things that likely would have killed me long ago.

I worked here for more than 25 years as a newspaper reporter, a columnist, an editor, and editorial writer. I am also an artist —a painter — and I’ve been at this nearly 50 years.

Siberia With a View is barren, a cultural wasteland. This is a good thing since a place like Siberia With a View provides a writer and artist with an environment conducive to creative activity — with solitude and quiet, a base from which to strike forth and travel, and a perch from which, thanks to satellite television and the Internet, to observe the thrashings of our species, worldwide.

I write about what I see, what I hear, what I think, and what I eat.


And send me what you make, tell me what you think; let’s share, let’s link.

After all, any place can be Siberia With a View, and each of us, in our way, is in exile.

7 Responses to About

  1. bill Musson says:

    nice to see more of your paintings!……i seem to be happiest myself in isolation…….the best place for me is probably a dry western gulch, in summer time, flat on my back…..

  2. Val Valentine says:

    Karl, I am enjoying your diary. Glad you are writing.

    Fromage is one of the great pleasures of my life; the real French kind from un-pasteurized cows. Also, their Beurre is as yellow as a dandelion and sweet as ______ you fill in the blank.
    When I travel in France in 2012 my Norman host gave me a book to read about France’s 278(?) regional cheeses. I think I tried 42 in 58 days.
    The best (most memorable) I discovered at an ouvert marche in Béziers. It was sheep cheese, I think, and pricey. I should have known when the woman in front of me paid with a credit card. With my thumb and forefinger I showed I wanted about two fingers in a wedge. He cut it as a block and at 37.00 euro per kilo it was too expensive and beyond. I argued, tros grande, tros shar. After a few minutes of debate, and at a lingual disadvantage, I was ready to show him a different finger and walk away. He cut a quarter off and said 27-euro. I pulled out a 20-e note and he accepted.

    That block of the best fromage I ever tasted lasted three days in my un-refrigerated pannier and I shared it with my son when he arrived on Bastille Day.
    Thanks for kindling a memory. I am looking forward to seeing your art.

  3. Karen Isberg says:

    and what a view it is….

  4. Mark says:

    Did you know Mark Kincaid?…. he was my father

    • karl says:

      I knew Mark in passing, superficially. He was close to my friend Mick Durbin, and we crossed paths briefly. Where is he now? Is he alive?

  5. Linda Durham says:

    How did your “Siberia With A View” land in my view?! I clicked on your blog page because I recently returned from a month-long trip on the Trans-Siberian Railway…I thought we might be fellow travelers in the worlds of Lake Baikal, Krasnoyarsk and Vladivostok…Instead, perhaps we travel similar thought roads. I enjoy your writer’s voice!

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