WORD PAINTINGS #145 - GUATEMALA 1991 PART V - TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES

                                    Bearers of Light - Easter 1991 -Chichicastenango, Guatemala

 

 (How I Came to New Mexico and learned about Art and Life) - Had been angry with Anthony Bourdain ever since I heard the announcement of his suicide.  What a waste! He had it all.  Truth is he had seen it all and  finally the world he witnessed became too much for him.  Remembering one episode where he visited another forlorn and  war- ravaged country, trying to make sense of the devastation, his weariness was palpable.  After writing about my experiences in Guatemala recently, I  understand why he became too weary.  He saw the world with open eyes. ! It isn't always pretty, is it? 

My blissful ignorance followed me home.to my little nest in Taos. I was clueless! Naively I still believed that my country was that shining city on the hill! Deciding to know the truth of my experience, I bought books - lots and lots of books!  The story of Rigoberta Menchu hit hard. She became an activist for indigenous rights after her entire family was either murdered or disappeared. In 1992 she was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Several years later we met when she lectured here in Taos. She is still one of my heroes - I stand in awe of her courage.. The civil war in Guatemala was called the Silent Holocaust and lasted for over 30 years. Over 200,000 people were either murdered or disappeared.  One of the darkest years of the "war" was 1991!! 

Sadly all my red, white and blue blinders were removed by the books I bought and read. To quote Sr. Diane Ortiz  (The Blindfold's Eyes)...."Maybe I survived simply because I am a U.S citizen.  But because of that very privilege, I have a huge responsibility.  The U.S. Government funded, trained and equipped the Guatemalan death squads - my torturers themselves.  The United States was the Guatemala army's partner in a covert war against a small opposition force -  a war the United Nations would later declare genocidal.  I am answerable for what my country has done and is doing and is likely to do, as the world's only "superpower". I have a responsibility to be vigilant and speak out."  "Don't forget. Even if you can't see the light, it's there."  

Everyone responds to truth in their own way. Truth can break your heart. My first reaction was a kind of numbness as I began to go through my huge pile of books. School of the Americas in the U.S. indeed trained the Guatemalan military.....knowledge hurts!  Denial was my first reaction.  There was a time that I believed that the war in Vietnam was just and our invasion of Iraq was necessary.  I didn't know what I didn't know until my eyes were opened by my Great Adventure! 

Years later I have come to a certain peace knowing that I have absolutely no power to change the world.   In reality I think of all the lives affected by the insanity of war...the inhumanity, the waste of all that once was promising and beautiful.

It took seven years for me to produce my first and only paintings from Guatemala with the full knowledge that I wasn't doing them for the money or prestige.  I had changed and my work changed with me.   Like the Velveteen Rabbit, I started to become real (still have some way to go)! Following Forrest's advice I recalled the honesty I felt from the Wyeth paintings in his exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago in 1967.  Slowly some honesty crept into my work.  Larger canvases - open spaces - peace.

My disenchantment with galleries and the art world grew and I backed away slowly.  Roaming became a habit.  A small lunch, my camera and a spare flannel shirt and I was off to places unknown in my little blue Dodge Dakota pick-up truck. Falling in love with all the small villages on the High Road all over again and seeing them in a new light I recovered my sense of Place.  They are a part of me. One afternoon in Amalia.  a surprise detour on a little dirt road led to open spaces so silent that I heard the sound of bird wings overhead.  I am grounded. My true "home" is in these mountains. So grateful. DC 

WORD PAINTINGS #144 - GUATEMALA 1991 PART IV - INCIDENTS AT COPAN

WORD PAINTINGS #144 (How I came to New Mexico and learned about Life and Art) - GUATEMALA 1991 PART IV - INCIDENTS AT COPAN

5 May 2024 (Llano Quemado, New Mexico) It is a mystery to me why this past Easter Season brought back so many vivid memories of my trip to Guatemala... the magnificent processions, the colorful village life, the ever present sense of danger. This past month I have read most of The Blindfold's Eye by Sister Dianna Ortiz, the Ursuline nun kidnapped from Posada de Belen  in November 1989. The intensity of that trip returned to me as I read the of her courage and resilience. For a time I was back in that cold damp room at La Posada and imagined her presence in that same place.  Have been reluctant to share this last part of my "photo tour".  Am certain that what is happening in Palestine has much to do with my vivid recollections from thirty-three years ago.

HONDURAS - COPAN - Our bus stopped at a military checkpoint at the border between Guatemala and Honduras.   It was a small building with an open door and a large desk. Behind the desk was an older man surrounded by three young men with guns. Another young man with an AK47 stood guard at the door. We were instructed to present our papers to the comandante for his approval.

Passports stamped and approved, we stood outside the hut to wait for another bus to take us to the ruins at Copan. Directly in front of me was a young woman in a light summer dress carrying some parcels. The man with the gun stood close beside her and with his gun touched her leg and began to lift her skirt.  Her body stiffened but she continued to look straight ahead. The area was quite crowded and the three of us seemed to morph into a unit - he smirked, she stiffened with palpable fear and I stared in disbelief at the gun rising on her leg. The bus arrived and we were on our merry way to visit the ruins at Copan.

Considering the bloody warfare that took place here so long ago, Copan was incredibly peaceful and serene compared to the noise of Guatemala City.  The pyramid towered over the  smaller structures and stelae.  A very large round ceremonial stone was carved with the images of thirteen kings, homage to the ruling dynasties.  I was standing in the very center of the Forest of Kings! The ruins are stark and overwhelming.   In place for centuries fierce sculpted faces jutted and stared from long stone walls. One of our guides pointed in the direction of the river and said that thousands of farmers and laborers had once lived there. It was easy to imagine the bustle of community needed to support the kings that once ruled Copan.  Farmers, stone carvers, builders, priests, astronomers and scribes...all necessary to keep this once powerful city-state thriving in all its glory! At the Inscription Staircase I floated off again to wander alone.  Separating myself in this way intensified my experience.   

Transported by the stories of the ancient Maya, I wondered what earthly magic conspired to bring me to this place!    Does anyone remember the powerful paintings in National Geographic of the king sitting atop the pyramid looking down on the scene below? If one of the guides announced that they were hiring archaeological helpers, I would have been the first to raise my hand!  Enthralled by the Mysteries yet to be uncovered, hoped that someone would step up, hand me a sun hat, a little shovel, some potent bug spray and told me where to start digging!

Sadly later that afternoon we were again on our way back to Guatemala.  Perhaps the quiet of the day silenced the normal buzz of chatter. The atmosphere on our return was quite subdued.  We were coming to the end of a whirlwind tour of a very mysterious adventure. Heading into a golden sunset, it was a perfect ending to this trip! The rutted dirt road had a gentle rocking effect and a few fellow adventurers had closed their eyes and nodded off.  Suddenly the bus jerked to a screeching stop.  Silhouetted against the sun  and blocking the road stood six men with machine guns.  One man separated from their group.  Our bus driver opened the door and was instructed to collect all our papers which we handed over. He was then sent down the aisle telling each of us to give a "ransom" and we would be released to go on our way.  After giving up a few quetzales, I looked through the window to my right at a steep drop off. Who would miss a busload of sweaty old Americans? Once the "banditos" had their money in hand, they returned our papers.  Definitely an Indiana Jones experience! 

Even though it was the same dark place, protected by men with machine guns, the airport in Guatemala City was strangely welcoming.  I lugged my duffel bag of weavings onto the plane and settled in for the long ride home.  What had just happened?  I slept one night in a cloud forest, listened to howler monkeys and spent one afternoon searching the canopy for quetzal birds....colorful markets, ancient ruins....and Easter Sunday in Chichicastenango!!  Completely ignorant to the truth of my experiences,  I spent the next years learning from many books and films about the brutal "civil" war.  It was seven years before I could do a very limited series of oil paintings.  I understood the tension and fear I felt all throughout the trip. Finally the paintings became a sincere homage to the people of Guatemala. DC

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NOTES: "Copán is thought to have been inhabited as early as 2000 BC, despite the fact that there is sparse evidence to this effect. It was certainly at its peak between 300 AD and 900 AD, when it was the capital of an extensive kingdom in the southernmost Maya area and home to at least 20,000 people. The extensive stelae found at Copán give us a detailed description of the city’s history.

In the eighth century AD, Copán experienced a significant military defeat when its leader, the otherwise glorious Uaxaclajuun Ub’aah K’awiil, was captured and beheaded by the rulers of the city of Quirigua in what is now Guatemala. Copán collapsed relatively suddenly in the early 9th century: it seems that a combination of poor agricultural land, malnutrition and disease meant the population was ravaged.

Copán is often extremely quiet: the border crossing deters many less hardy tourists, and it’s a corner of Honduras that not many visit otherwise. Having the site to yourself is a particular treat – there’s quite a bit of ground to cover, and some of the ruins are still on the edge of the jungle."

"Copan's Hieroglyphic Stairway, is the longest and perhaps the most famous inscription in the Maya area. It was the most significant feature of Outstanding Universal Value cited by UNESCO for designating Copan a World Heritage Site in 1980. It records the dynastic history of the Copan’s 5^th to 8^th century rulers carved on more than 1100 glyph blocks spanning 63 steps. A first shorter version was dedicated to commemorate Ruler 12 and mentions his burial. Additions to that version were dedicated in 756 CE. 

John Lloyd Stephens, an American explorer and railway builder, was born Nov. 28, 1805. In 1839, Stephens went to Central America with artist and architect Frederick Catherwood to investigate rumors of ancient ruins. They went first to Copán, then to Palenque and three dozen more sites. They found ruins in abundance. Catherwood recorded the glyphs and carvings as accurately as if he had a camera. What makes the pair special in the annals of Mesoamerican archaeology is that they recognized almost immediately that the ruins must have been built by native Mesoamericans and not by European invaders, as everyone else seemed to assume. They also realized that since the living Mayas had no such abilities or inclinations, the builders must have lived long ago, and the history of Central America must go back much further than anyone imagined.  

WORD PAINTINGS #142 - GUATEMALA 1991 PART III - CIVIL WAR

WORD PAINTINGS  # 142 (How I Came to New Mexico and learned about Art and Life) - GUATEMALA PART III - CIVIL WAR

The pace of this trip was exhausting.  Prior to heading for the Friday Market in Solola and Lake Atitlan we had spent a night at Posada de Belen.  Damp dark sleeping room - the courtyard where Sister Ortiz had been kidnapped - my first hint that this was far more than a photo trip for paintings.  This was my Awakening to a world reality darker than anything I ever imagined...yet determined to hang onto that hazy state of blissful ignorance.....

THE CHINESE MONEY CHANGER: Anticipating some purchases at the Friday market in Solola, I changed my dollars into quetzals at the bank.  Great excitement as we boarded the bus...included in this leg of our adventure was a boat trip across Lake Atitlan to the small village of Santiago Atitlan.  Upon arriving at our new destination, the bus emptied out to make a stop at the Chinese money changer.  I could see him from the open front door. A small man sitting at a large desk under a bright overhead lamp hunched next to a pile of money. My impression was that of an old Humphrey Bogart movie with Sydney Greenstreet.  The bus driver had parked across the street close to an adobe building.  Sitting at the right window seat next to the wall outside, I prepared for a little much needed quiet time. I had the strange feeling of being watched. When I looked up two men with machine guns pointed at the door across the street were staring at me from the roof of the building above.  The barrels of the guns were long and menacing as were the men's stares. Holy St. Christopher! This trip just got very serious!  Without a glance at the guns pointed directly at them, our group clutched their wallets and purses, reboarded the bus and we were on our way....this was no movie!

FRIDAY MARKET - SOLOLA: Bedazzled by the colors - the "traje" - huipils, loom-woven sashes and headbands - individual works of art. And, oh, the "gente" -the Maya are beautiful people!  Baskets and baskets of tomatoes, onions, peppers - a low hum of conversation as people strolled among the vendoras' baskets and made their purchases.                            

 

SANTIAGO ATITLAN - Time to find the boat launch for the crossing of Lake Atitlan (the place where the rainbow gets its colors). An incredibly beautiful volcanic lake, set 1,500 meters above sea level and reaching a depth of 341 meters - making it the deepest lake in Central America. It's a true marvel that was formed 84,000 years ago due to a volcanic eruption.  According to the boatman, timing was all important to cross the lake, make a brief visit the village across the lake and make the return trip before the winds and the waves whipped up later that afternoon.

As we began our walk through the village, young girls were seated at their hand looms weaving colorful belts. Across the square there was a long building. Many women sat under the portal selling whatever they could - housewares, weavings - in order to support their families.  It was call "Mercado de las Viudas" (the Widow's Market). 

 "ON 2 DECEMBER 1990, the Guatemalan Army opened automatic weapons fire on an unarmed crowd of between 2,000 and 4,000 Tzutujil Mayas from the town of Santiago Atitlan in highland Guatemala, about 100 miles west of the capital. Fourteen people, ranging in age from 10 to 53, were killed; another 21 were wounded." The return trip across the lake was a very sad and choppy ride.  Unforgettable.

TIKAL AND THE CLOUD FOREST -- Our group of  sweaty Americans finally awakened  to  the undercurrent of  danger as the warnings of the trip to Peten became quite serious -  some abductions and robberies along the highway.  Concerned about their safety several surrounded our very patient bus driver asking him questions he would not or could not answer.  It was obvious their questions caused him fear. He had good reason to be afraid in case there were "orejas" or "ears" listening to him. There could be consequences. 

Tikal is a complex of Mayan ruins deep in the rainforests of northern Guatemala. Historians believe that the more than 3,000 structures on the site are the remains of a Mayan city called Yax Mutal, which was the capital of one of the most powerful kingdoms of the ancient empire.  It is believed that people lived at Tikal as far back as 1000 B.C. Archeologists have found evidence of agricultural activity at the site dating to that time, as well as remnants of ceramics dating to 700 B.C.  Guided by their religious rituals, the Maya made significant advances in mathematics and astronomy, including the use of the zero and the development of complex calendar systems.

The ruins were quiet that day - not many tourists. We climbed up through stairs to a high platform that overlooked the plaza and many standing monuments. Too crowded for me. Again I broke off from the group to wander, I wanted to feel this place. Did this earth hold its memories - history of great wars, violent ball games?   Eventually I sat on the grass next to one of the memorial stones lining the path to the stairs of the pyramid - alone. Imagining the pageantry - the many kings and queens memorialized in carvings on now rugged walls and many stelae.  Although impressed by the height and grandeur of the building, it was the earth, the ground beneath that vibrated with the lives of the ancient Maya who created this thriving civilization two thousand years ago.

After the tour of the pyramid plaza and the ball court, we were pointed toward a tree-lined entrance that led into the jungle - a cloud forest.  Howler monkeys screeched, toucans squawked, and we were on notice to be aware of the beautiful bird called the quetzal.  A wide path led deeper into the forest and all our eyes were on the canopy, amateur birdwatchers for the day. Although I never saw the mythical quetzal, I knew where it lived and heard the sound of its call.  Myth and magic all in one spectacular day!  

To be continued.... (The Incident at Copan)  

 

WORD PAINTINGS #141 - GUATEMALA 1991 PART II - EASTER SUNDAY IN CHICHICASTENANGO

 

 "A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep".  Remembering that day in 1956 when teachers Ms. Schaefer and Ms. Flynn regaled my Spanish class with colorful stories of their trip to Guatemala. Their excitement about spending Easter Sunday in an exotic-sounding place called Chichicastenango was joyful!!! Chills, goosebumps, their excitement was contagious! I said the strange name to myself over and over  "Chichicastenango"  - it needed to be tucked away - never forgotten.  Thirty-five years of  life passed....children, marriages, divorces, recovery. It was possible that our move from Chicago to the alien planet of Santa Fe, New Mexico, trips to Mexico - my life on the horse ranch in Truchas was as far as I would go. There would be no more surprises.   No time for my Dreams of Distant Places!  The name was almost lost to me until that morning in my Taos studio when I heard it again on the radio ad.  Shivers of anticipation. Nothing was holding me back (except for my agoraphobia). Excitement. Yes indeed, my much younger self jumped for pure joy. 

1991 - Walking through the plaza of Chichicastenango on Easter Sunday morning!!! Brilliant colors, clouds of incense, firecrackers -wonderful heart-stopping chaos! Christ is risen.   I couldn't breathe! I couldn't hold enough of the experience in my body. Noise, crowds of strangers , I was transported - five feet off the ground - having the most amazing experience of my life!!!!  A dream fulfilled! Following the cobblestone paths wherever they led I had a day full of adventure.Vendors with their bright weavings propped up on poles leaning against the walls of the houses lining the streets.   Some of the huipils still had a sweet smell of smoke - they had been woven on looms next to their home fires.  Food stalls, jewelry, pottery it was the best fiesta - a celebration of Life!  

The Cofradia processed to the Iglesia of Santo Tomas. Solemn. All my young girl Catholicism rushed back to life.  How much of their ancient religion was still there, covered by the pomp of these more modern rituals?  Their strong faces mirrored the sculptures in a museum we visited - in  Tikal and Copan. The Mayan culture that had "disappeared" was living and breathing right before my eyes.  The wonder and the mystery is still there.  Their culture survives in secret places - private rituals - heart prayers.  This might seem heretical to both cultures, but I have an idea that their ancient gods and our not so ancient saints are somehow all connected.  It is quite possible we all pray to the same God.

For most of my adult life I had been asleep to the ways of the world....until  Guatemala! Easter Sunday was only the beginning...... 

WORD PAINTINGS #140 - GUATEMALA 1991 - SEMANA SANTA PART I

BEARERS. OF LIGHT - COFRADIA, IGLESIA DE SANTO TOMAS - 1991

February 1991 - .While painting my Taos studio and listening to Joseph the Starwatcher's astrological forecast  one snowy January morning,  I heard an ad from the Center for Anthropological Studies announcing a group trip through Guatemala.  Having just sold a large canvas at my Santa Fe gallery, I thought "Eureka! my chance to get some good photographs for a new series of paintings!!! Inspired by Clark Hulings paintings of Mexico, this could be my ticket! Enamored by George Carlson's Tarahumara pastels, the fantastic work of Elias Rivera and Ramon Kelley's wonderful Mexican portraits, I was inspired to go to Guatemala.   The joke in all of this is that I am and always have been severely agoraphobic! What was I thinking?   Deciding to put it all on the line, I signed up and put my money down. Away I go!!!!

The tour was sponsored by an archaeologist and his wife from Albuquerque and led by an expert guide from Arizona. I missed the evening orientation because of the two hour night drive from Taos and figured it was no big deal. Thus everything I experienced in Guatemala came as a total surprise!  Our group assembled at the airport. My bags were packed and I was headed into the Great Unknown!  Buen Viajae!!!!

The airport in Guatemala City was dark and very dreary. Two men with machine guns stood at attention as we passed through, their eyes sharply focused on each and every one of us.  The money changer, protected by a bank-teller's type cage, was not at all friendly to a bunch of noisy Americans. Entering our hotel that first night we were again greeted by men with AK47s standing at the entrance.  Shock and Awe - my first clue that this trip for some photos might be quite an intense experience! Hah! What an understatement!  It would be life-changing!  Tremendous street noise from the traffic below my room and slight trepidation of my great adventure kept me awake that whole night.

A blessing ritual by a local shaman in who was celebrating his sobriety.  Circling a small fire, he said quiet  prayers to his ancient gods and poured a bottle of whiskey into the flames.  Six years into my own recovery, I was overwhelmed and gave him a hug.  My group buddies stared in disbelief through the bus windows.  Think I might have been inappropriate.  A long day of visiting sites with huge carved stone Olmec-inspired heads.  Have always felt that these heads in Central America originated from some ancient African culture - early explorers.  A small local "zoo" of four or five emaciated critters gave a first hint that Guatemala was not just an ordinary photo trip! 

Back to Guatemala City and the first market on our tour.  I took my a few photos in this strange place. Beyond excited by the colors I imagined these images filling all the blank canvases in my studio once back in Taos. We were warned that if we gave one child with their hand out, we would be swarmed by many more.  A very young girl came up to me with a small child who definitely looked as though he was dying. She said he was her baby brother and held out her little hand for a quetzal. Because of our strict warning, I refused.  Her desperation still haunts me. I know why families cross the Rio Grande!

 

The Procession on Good Friday shattered all my illusions about this trip. My head was still in that dreamy slowness of Taos.  Alfombras, colorful carpets of sawdust and flowers lined the streets. Huge crowds lined the cobblestone streets.  Heavy clouds of incense, strange and slow music could be heard in the distance with the heavy regular beat of a drum - a slow and heart stirring dirge.  The crowds parted to make way for the very long and heavy "anda". Eighty to 100 men dressed in purple satin robes and white gloves carried the float on their shoulders supporting a life-sized statue of Christ carrying His cross to Gethsemane. A wagon with the musicians playing the dirge followed behind. Another  much smaller anda followed carried by women in black.  They carried impressive statue of Mary robed in black with a halo of silver stars.  That night many vigils and prayers in the cathedral.  

A long trip from Antigua to Zunil on Holy Saturday.  On the way many chilling stories about kidnappings and disappearances and dire warnings to never travel that road at night - another hint that this might not be a casual photo trip.  I really was clueless!  Cars and busses crowded the town square. Our bus was early and got solidly hemmed in with no escape until the end of the festivities. A brilliant white church in the distance silhouetted by a blue-black stormy sky.  A group of twenty to thirty women in red huipils sat together in front of the church.

Our bus emptied out and I chose to stay behind to photograph from inside the bus. In the distance s a group of women in traditional Mayan dress were in deep conversation - hand-woven huipils - deep purples and blue, magentas and brilliant reds.  With camera lens on zoom I focused on the group. A young girl turned around and saw me, I was caught.  At that moment I truly became an Ugly American!  She glowered menacingly and I motioned that I was putting my camera away.  Chastised and ashamed, I got off the bus and began to wander alone.  A stage was set up in the center of the square for the Passion Play.  Found myself in a little co-op store run by local women to sell their weavings.  Was proudly able to use some broken Spanish and asked the ladies about their work. Their pride in their creativity and their community was a ray of sunshine

 

Soon the sweet smell of incense.... drums, flutes and men in back robes with tall ceremonial hats marched down a steep hill. The high priests of Zunil made their entrance!  Some carried matracas, large window shaped rattles. An eerie combination of noises....the actors assembled on the stage and the villagers played their parts soulfully. We headed back to Antigua before dark.  Was slowly waking to reality - this other world was definitely not the Land of Oz!

 

 

   

A couple of nights at Posada de Belen. Dampness - darkened mood - stories told and passed around about Sister Dianna Ortiz, a young nun from New Mexico who was kidnapped from this very place about 18 months earlier. Her book detailing her capture is told in The Blindfold's Eyes. Reality began to poke through - this was really not what I expected! 

 

As an artist, I am less a participant and more of an observer. I see pictures, details and my senses had been awakened to this place after reading A Forest of Kings: The Untold Story of the Ancient Maya by David Freidel and Linda Shele.  I needed to see the pyramids, those stelae - the trails of the ancient Maya!  I had to stand in those places!  Yes, I got what I wanted and more....much more than ever expected!!  Life changed me in ways I never saw coming!!  This was definitely no ordinary field trip!  TO BE CONTINUED - SEMANA SANTA PART II

 

WORD PAINTINGS #139 - A MAGPIE FUNERAL ON SANTISTEVAN LANE

WORD PAINTINGS #139 (How I Came to New Mexico and Learned about Art and Life) A MAGPIE FUNERAL ON SANTISTEVAN LANE

29 October 2023 (Llano Quemado, New Mexico) - 3AM Friday - Moonshadows on the wall in my bedroom - the Hunter's Moon.  Lifted the shade and the brilliant orb, low on the horizon over Tres Orejas,  shone directly in my line of vision! I said a little thanks and watched it disappear behind the mountains. Big smile all the way back to bed! Lovely!!

"Hunter's Moon (llano Quemado, N.M.

My all-time favorite TV series was, is and always will be Northern Exposure - adventures and misadventures of a tightly connected group of eccentrics in Cicely, Alaska.  The entire 6 seasons are now available on Amazon - with the original music! Am just finishing Season Four, cherishing each episode.  Darren Burrows plays Native American Ed Chigliak.  Earlier this month I was looking for a new movie and found an older and grayer Darren Burrows playing the lead in "A Magpie Funeral". Part of the story is that his father was a birdwatcher, but had never seen a Magpie funeral because it was very rare that humans could witness these beautiful birds crying in grief over one of their own.

Thirty years ago I rented a house on Santistevan Lane in Taos.  My art studio was in a the front of the house in a well-insulated converted garage. Through the warm months I would open the door to the sunny days and especially to hear the birds singing in my neighbor's apple tree. The workers at the end of our road had the bad habit of coming and  going at great speed. One of them hit and killed a magpie and it lay sad and alone  in the gutter near Mr. Romero's red fence.  There was a small bush next to the fence.  Went out and picked up the lifeless bird and laid him to rest under the chamisa. Soon witnessed a gathering of about ten magpies wailing and keening in the street as they hopped around their dead friend. Their grief was palpable. The sad ritual lasted for a few days until one day there was silence - their period of mourning was over.

Needless to say part of me changed forever after feeling the grief from this flock of mourners. Serious thoughts about life and death - my own mortality - when and how.  Most of all this crossing over from my human version of grief to witnessing the deep sorrow of birds!  If this was a rare experience, it was beyond magical. DC

  

WORD PAINTINGS #138 - METAMORPHOSIS

WORD PAINTINGS #138  (How I Came to New Mexico and Learned about Art and Life)- METAMORPHOSIS .....

 

"Nietzsche was the one who did the job for me. At a certain moment in his life,the idea came to him of what he called 'the love of your fate.' Whatever your fate is, whatever the hell happens, you say, 'This is what I need.' It may look like a wreck, but go at it as though it were an opportunity, a challenge. If you bring love to that moment--not discouragement--you will find the strength is there. Any disaster you can survive is an improvement in your character, your stature, and your life. What a privilege! This is when the spontaneity of your own nature will have a chance to flow.
Then, when looking back at your life, you will see that the moments which seemed to be great failures followed by wreckage were the incidents that shaped the life you have now. You’ll see that this is really true. Nothing can happen to you that is not positive. Even though it looks and feels at the moment like a negative crisis, it is not. The crisis throws you back, and when you are required to exhibit strength, it comes." ~Joseph Campbell 

 

17 September 2023 (Llano Quemado, New Mexico) - FIRST SNOW IN TRUCHAS

 

WORD PAINTINGS #138 (How I Came to New Mexico and learned about Art and Life) - Metamorphosis

 

29 September (Llano Quemado, N.M.) Full moon tonight - stirrings - almost time to begin my winter work.... hibernation....sanctuary.  Weatherman forecasts rain for several days - we need it. Some early snow on the mountains - Taos, Truchas, Red River.  A string of quiet days. 

 

Taos Pueblo will be open for San Geronimo Feast Day tomorrow - Runners to sacred Blue Lake - dances - the shift in energy is palpable.  Remembering the days when I first experienced the dances. What a thrill to feel the ground pulse with the drums and to see Corn Mother emerge leading her group of dancers!  Enchantment.

 

One September an unforgettable Feast Day at Acoma.  I climbed the ancient stone stairs up to the top of the mesa.  Met a wonderful pueblo Grandmother who taught me about the clans and the tablitas worn by the women dancers.  It was the day a new Governor of the Pueblo took office - and the some of the men dressed as emissaries from countries all over the world paid homage to the honoree.  They were funny - great joy and much laughter! A wonderful bowl of chile at one of the private homes.

Awe - amazement - life changing.....my heart opened.

 

Remembering my 44th birthday at the little cottage on the horse ranch in Truchas with friends and family.  That was the true beginning of my life in the mountains.  When I blew out the candles on my cake, my wish (hope) was to live another 44 years.  It seemed so ridiculous to plan so far ahead, but I had people to meet and things to do.  Well, I am four short years from that time now - and the best of my story is that I still have people to meet and paintings to paint.

 

Time to begin my winter work - still have several large canvases I want to complete.  They will be a challenge - am much slower now than I was at 44!  So much mystery to a blank canvas sitting on an easel in front of me.  Another empty-handed leap - so curious to see what happens....

 

 "Any disaster you can survive is an improvement in your character, your stature, and your life. What a privilege!"  My heart is so full of everything all the disasters and the miracles large and small!  Loving my Fate that brought me to this moment 84 Septembers ago! What a wonderful time to be alive in this place! Grateful!

Footnote: "Some things are better left to chance - I might have missed the pain, but I'd have missed the dance" - Garth Brooks