Friday, November 9, 2012

SW circuit/Santa Fe

When I was a little girl I thought my Aunt Jenny and Uncle Joe lived a wonderfully worldly life.  They were the first folks I knew who had a tape recorder and they were the first folks I knew who had a magazine subscription.  

One of those subscriptions resulted in  Uncle Joe's copies of "New Mexico" magazine.  When I visited their house I loved looking through the magazines.  Adobes, Indians, tourquoise, and farolitos.  Red soil, grey-green sage and the sky of New Mexico. Just in case you've not yet had a chance to visit - the sky and the land is so beautiful the Santa Fe Opera is one of the few opera companies that perform in an open-air theater.  To be in New Mexico after a thunderstorm is to understand why this is so.  

The magazines connected Uncle Joe with his ancestry and with times past.  For me it was a window to places I might visit.   

And visit I have.  As a child New Mexico was part of the Southwest Pilgrimage that my family made - from Los Angeles to Las Animas.  From California to Colorado.  Almost always including a stop in New Mexico.  

When I breath the air of New Mexico I breath in the dreams of my youth and the vista brings out the memories of my family from deep in my heart.  I am surrounded by a wonderful chaotic recollection that mixes ages, thoughts and times.  Memories from childhood, youth and adulthood dovetailing and producing elaborate recollections of the senses and the heart.

As young elder I add other colors to the memories: the colors seem to roam free in New Mexico.  

Colors found on a comfortably kitschy coach

 or in the patterns on a Chapel in the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi.

Colors that emboldened the potties at the Jackalope Market.

Shoot, even those on the bench outside the Chuck Jones Gallery.