Friday, October 30, 2020
Sunday, October 11, 2020
In July of 1987, I delivered a baby girl. She was my first child, another daughter, Teal, came three years later. Now that first baby is having her own baby, due any day, already a few days past his due date. I think back to that day, 33 years ago, and think what a huge seismic shift that baby made to my life. Everything changed and was never the same again. She was born before we had computers, or cell phones, before we had email or social media, before we worried over climate change or politics gone terribly awry. But mostly, she changed the way I saw the world, moving from the center of it, off to the side, where the baby, and later her sister would seat themselves, front and center. I learned from my baby how to be a good parent, because I had to be, and I learned from watching my husband, what a good father was, because I hadn't had that in my life. I learned from those babies what unconditional love meant because I hadn't known that either. I'm not sure what changes being a grandmother will bring for me, but I know that, for my daughter, her new baby will make her life richer and fuller beyond all imagining.
Sunday, September 27, 2020
This past month Deborah Klochko, the director of the Museum of Photograpic Arts(MOPA)in San Diego, did a Zoom interview with me for their series, "Winescapes", a series of interviews with people involved in the world of photography, either as artists, curators, or collectors. It's just under an hour, and it was a delightful interview for me, with Deborah taking me back to the early days of my career up until the present. Her questions were thoughtful, insightful, and fun and we illustrated each time period with images along with pictures of my studio. If you have the time, grab a snack and a drink and settle in and give it a watch. And if you have more time and love photography, there are 8 more interviews to give you a better understanding of the contemporary world of photography.
Monday, August 31, 2020
Candela Gallery is going to go ahead with my show with them, Primitive Visions, and there will be a real opening, although, of course, I won't be there(they plan on publishing a small catalog of work in the show as a way to reach out to people). We got our work back from the Hospital a few weeks ago, and Etherton Gallery has extended our exhibit into the fall--TBA. So things are limping along, but in a brave, who knows what the heck is going to happen sort of way. One the one hand I feel badly, but on the other, I know that this is just the price we are all having to pay for the strange calamity that has befallen the world--and of course knowing that it could have been so much worse.
Wednesday, August 12, 2020
It's a harsh, contentious, post covid world. I've been called a bigot and a racist by strangers for seemingly non bigot and non racist events. I've gotten into strange tussles with close friends, which all seem to spring from some sort of twisted covid related issue. When I'm out in public, I'm always looking for the "Karen" in the crowd, the person wearing their mask around their chin, or not wearing one at all. When I see that person, I'm outraged(although I never say anything). And that doesn't come anywhere near approaching what is happening on a national level. Most of us, our screens in front of us, watch in horror as we see people attack each other and burn and loot buildings, while deadly shootings seem to be the order of the day. These cottontail rabbits, that I see on a daily basis, seemingly so harmless and gentle, but, like us, there's most probably trouble brewing under those big eyes and that fluffy fur.
Sunday, July 26, 2020
Sunday, July 12, 2020
Monday, June 29, 2020
Sunday, June 14, 2020
Saturday, May 23, 2020
Thursday, April 23, 2020
Tuesday, April 14, 2020
Sunday, March 29, 2020
I have memories of always owning and riding horses, having traded my bottle(when I was four)for a pair of cowgirl boots so I could take riding lessons. We owned horses throughout my childhood, and I always had a special horse that was mine, progressing to better horses as I got older. I rode mostly bareback, treating my horses much as other kids did their bicycles, and having those horses in my life is probably what most helped me arrive at adulthood (more or less) in one piece,. However, when I started riding again, now a much older person, I was shocked to find that, although I still had all that muscle memory, things were different. When I went to get on, the horses' back seemed miles away, and the ground seemed just as far once I did manage to get up. Where I could once throw my leg over a bareback horse and spring on, I now stood futilely by his side, tossing my leg up only to slam into his side with it, again and again. A ride meant that I would be sore for days after, and I found that I was nervous being around the horses on the ground--they just seemed so big and unpredictable.
But now, I'm finding that once again, being around horses is helping me get through the stress and worry of this tough time of Covid19. It's very hard to think about all the things that are going wrong when you might find yourself being dragged through the dirt, or being stepped on, or run away with. So, in many ways I find I'm back to my 14 year old self, escaping the world through the wonderful portal of being with a horse. The ride is a little different now, but I'm getting the two things I most need--a different focus and a connection to something that isn't dark and scary.
Sunday, March 15, 2020
the wolf is at the/(one's) door
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Thursday, February 13, 2020
We live in a germy world, surrounded by viruses and bacteria, not to mention environmental pollutants and toxins. It almost seems a miracle to me that we do as well as we do, and having just gone through the deaths of my parents at or near the age of 90, who didn't die of any illness, but of just of being old, I have to think that we either dodge those zinging particles of illness and death or we don't. Either way, we just keep on keeping on, and hoping for the best.
Wednesday, January 29, 2020
But not to be. On my arrival I noticed a slight drippy nose, then a cough, then of course, the start of a cold. It lasted a few days, then turned into a sinusitis. After spending a small fortune on humidifiers, herbs, and nose sprays, at the end of the second week I began to feel better. But again, not to be. To my great dismay, I realized, after a day spent with a dry, hacking cough and muscle aches and joint pains, that I had started up with the flu. For the next few days I wobbled around campus feeling sorry for myself, finished up with my class, packed, and headed home(which meant a 9 hour drive including a snow covered 10,000 foot pass). Still sick, back home in New Mexico, I marvel that there was ever a time when I felt well, and wonder that I could have been so cavalier about feeling good.
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
In 2000, after the Gore/Bush fiasco, when we waited for the Florida votes to be recounted, I thought things had hit a new low. Everyone was anxious and unhappy as we waited for the results of the vote to come in. I remember walking around for several weeks with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach Now, at the end of 2019, I look back almost nostalgically--what a sweet and innocent time it was. A few votes gone astray, a president I didn't much like, but, what the heck, in comparison, now it seems like a chapter right our of Leave it to Beaver-"Not to worry. We'll get it all worked out Beav!"
Currently, all seems terrible, horrible, awful: the climate, the shootings in schools, houses of worship or anywhere people gather, the huge schism between left and right, the courts, the enormous discrepancy between the haves and the have-nots, the persistent racism--all the tough issues we thought could be taken care of are now hopelessly lost in a quagmire of anger and hatred. As we roll forward into 2020 I can only hope that, as the poet Robert Bly liked to say, we have to go deep into our ashes-the misery, the hurt and the anger-before we can rise up and see the world in a different way, and that, hopefully, we are at or near the bottom of those ashes. But I think that’s Pollyanna of me. I think we have further down to go, much further, before we can start back up.