The rage expressed by some of the female faces, tongues extended, foreheads contorted, is still unacceptable by many who may unconsciously expect or hope to be soothed or lulled by art. One of the notes left for the artist by a visitor expresses dismay at the rage and calls it “preachy” rather than the visceral scream we all know, even if it is a deeply submerged knowledge, as we make our way through a violent, sexist culture.
The Blessing Of Rain
A brief dash of rain last Thursday, hardly more than a few drops, reminds me of how badly we need the moisture here in the southwest, described by some as being likely the most hard-hit by climate change.
My Privy
Yes, indeed, I have a privy.
Distinction
It doesn’t matter where the airports are in the U.S.-other countries are different-or how large or how small because since nine eleven (I spell it out to make its strangeness visible), we are all under the rule of fear.
Books That Changed My Life
I have special respect for teachers because I finally had to admit, a few years ago, that I can’t do it… at least not directly.
“Doc”
I’ve lived in the mountains outside of Santa Fe for a couple of decades now, and for nearly that entire time, I’ve been picking up Doc when I see him hitching a ride along the road to town. Doc is not your typical homeless man, if there is such a thing.
Ten Favorites: The Fire Next Time
Ten Favorites: A Town Made For Women
When people ask me why I moved to Santa Fe twenty years ago, I answer according to my mood: the mountains, the sky, the light—all familiar answers that most of us offer, particularly if we are artists for whom such attributes are especially important.
It Takes Years
It take years, decades, even, for me to begin to know a place, and usually that’s just when I’m packing to leave. It’s easy to confuse the blindness that can come with familiarity with boredom; it’s easy to confuse the geographical solution—moving somewhere new, to escape old problems—as the true solution it never is. My eye, grown blind to one set of trees and shadows, soon grows blind to the next set.
The Caravan for Peace
Sometimes it takes a green man to wake up comfortable people in the United States. The green man, Arturo, came to Santa Fe this past weekend as one of 110 citizens of the latin states, mainly from Mexico who are traveling across the country in two large buses labeled “Caravanas Para la Paz.”