Taos/Santa Fe

Aging is a weird feeling. One’s own limited perspective of time measured against an internal barometer of success, failures, and desires. Which is to say nostalgia underscored by the gnawing realization that you don’t really know much of anything; while simultaneously what is known to you feels like the sum of everything. (Is that the proper use of a semicolon?) You know, like small specks in an infinite universe etc, midlife motorcycle purchases and the like.

Anyway… here’s some notes from a recent trip to Taos & Santa Fe NM.

My wife and I enjoyed bison tacos next to a stream the locals use for drinking water in one of the oldest continuously inhabited residences in the United States. A dog rested it’s jowls on my leg hoping for a small taste. Yes, it’s the dog in the photo below.

That same day I wandered into an art gallery in Taos and inquired about the large photographic print of Dennis Hopper in black and white hanging near the register. The one where he’s clearly high, a 35mm camera anround his neck at a party and looking like he could be Owen Wilson’s dad. My inquiry was more out of curiosity of the photograph itself and less of an intent to purchase. However the sales person soon had a print spread out on the table. I created an exit by asking for a business card to reference after I consider purchasing at a later date. I can’t afford it now… nor will I later. That afternoon at a local book store I bought a book of Edward Hopper paintings.

In Santa Fe there is a Catholic stations of the cross prayer garden populated with sculptures by Gib Singleton. His interpretation of his subjects are exaggerated and seemingly comical and yet incredibly accurate. Akin to how the vulture like Skeksis in Jim Henson’s The Dark Crystal made me feel as a kid. The unnerving feeling that behind the eyes of something grotesque you’re seeing something incredibly accurate about both humanity and yourself. At one of the stations a dejected Jesus sits at the foot a small cross where a shroud with the imprint of his face still hangs. Is the imprinted shroud meant to be the supernatural divinity assigned by people while the actual man sits as a forgotten afterthought? Is it representative of the concession to the myth? Probably not. I grew up religious in a specifically dour flavor of fundamental evangelicalism. Untangling myself from the aftershocks of growing up in the church is likely going to last my whole life. Ironically, this religious sculpture captured a dynamic of unease and contradiction I’ve often held since walking away from the church.

Later we sat at a bar drinking margaritas and eating tacos while eavesdropping on a conversation of three Swiss tourists talking excitedly about the mountain of nachos that was just served to them. If you haven’t already, make witnessing Swiss tourists praising food in their native tongue a high priority on your bucket list. It’s exciting to witness honest joy that’s expressed in languages you don’t understand.

The photographs below are a mix of 35mm film shot on Kodak Tmax 400 pushed one stop and digital shot on the Leica M240.

Blog