Hot Tub Time Machine

When I start a blog, the template asks for a title of the entry. So I came up with " Hot Tub Time Machine" - and I will explain. I lifted the title from a movie by the same name and in no way endorse or condemn its quality. I just thought it fits the thread of a painting project while tapping into contemporary pop culture. It also tickled my smarty-pants funny bone.

I will back up quite a bit, now. I was in my early teens when I first came face to face with the ancestral pueblo culture at Mesa Verde. I became (and continue to be) obsessed with these people. Raised on John Wayne movies and the stereotype of horseback nomadic warriors, I was dumbstruck by these master mason farmers that built enchanting structures within the cliffs. I started reading about them and any other media that popped up. Not just the Mesa Verde people but all the other emanations of this culture that spans many millennia and language groups. They persist into the 21st century, not an easy task for First Peoples on Turtle Island.

One of my early guide book acquisitions mentioned pueblo ruins all along the Ojo Caliente Creek in northern New Mexico. This was a major route for us when we started on continual trips to Santa Fe when we were twenty- something artists. Santa Fe continues to be one of the art meccas for art in the southwest. The highway drops from the highlands of the San Luis Valley and Taos Plateau into the lower and warmer shallow canyons of tributaries to the Rio Chama. Ancestral Tewa settled this zone and lived and died for generations building extensive villages along the creeks and side canyons. The guidebook boasted that some of these towns were the largest in the southwest, even larger than the fabled Great Houses of Chaco Canyon. The reason that they are not readily celebrated is basically a consequence of geology.

The spectacular buildings that are renowned in the southwest, such as Chaco and Mesa Verde, were built of durable shaped sandstone blocks gleaned from within the canyons in which they were built. No such sandstones in the Chama watershed. The sprawling Tewa houses were build of adobe and rounded river boulders. They began to melt as soon as they mere no longer maintained. No wall remnants protruding from sandstone bricklike piles. Only a trained eye can discern the low humps of room blocks where once hundreds lived. Another clue are crater holes from pot hunters. 

When I read that the road we take to Santa Fe actually runs though the plaza of a prehistoric Tewa pueblo, I was floored. Even today I slow down to take in the slumped walls, plaza and kiva depressions. I pay my respects- and express anger that highway engineers plowed through a village that is still alive to its descendants. 

To top this finding, I also noticed another large village located right across the Ojo Caliente Creek from the map in the guidebook. I could see its ancient footprint immediately- sloped mounds in a line making rectangular patterns of room blocks. Also the telltale craters of pot hunters.

Over time I came to discover other melted villages in the Ojo Caliente drainage. This valley was busy in centuries past, hosting many more people than it does now.

So where does the Hot Tub reference in this writing come from?

Right downstream from the aforementioned twin villages is the Ojo Caliente Hot Springs. Now it is a destination resort/spa with many different therapeutic springs. It has become a nexus of upscale patronage- from what used to be called New- Agers, Yuppies and Gringo Wannabees. Like almost all hot springs that fell into disrepair, it was rediscovered by hippies in the 70's and then rapidly gentrified.

It is no surprise that there is an ancient village on the bluff above the springs. In its 300 year occupation it had up to 2000 rooms. I am sure the cousins up and down the Ojo from at least a dozen other villages and surrounding areas popped in whenever they could.

That's a lot of soaks.

The springs figure prominently in the mythology of the Tewa people. I can't seem to find any reference to the condition of the springs when they were first recorded by early Spanish explorers. Were there structures about- or was it a sacred site just honoring the flow of water in various pools? If anyone knows its pre-colonial state I would love to find out.

So that's the Hot Tub part.

The Time Machine part is a painting project. I had done a previous painting of Penasco Blanco in Chaco Canyon. Raised on National Geographic articles that showed artist's renditions of ancient sites rejuvenated and reanimated I decided to do a similar treatment with this large Chacoan Great House.

See this previous blog: http://paidtowander.blogspot.com/2014/02/exploring-past-by-illustrating-in.html

And this one about a ruin in Canyon de Chelley: 

http://paidtowander.blogspot.com/2014/12/the-white-house-refurbished.html 

Driving one day on the way through Ojo and slowing down to take in the pueblo plaza of Howiri and gazing across the river to its twin city, I hatched the idea to rejuvenate this place- at least visually. To go back in time to around 1450 AD when the whole valley was hoppin'. I daresay there were more people living on the Ojo in the 1400's than there are today.

So I took the day to scout for the view I wanted and after some surveillance decided to do a piece from the south looking north where I could see both villages on either side of the creek. To do so I would need to scramble to a vantage point that I could see from the road. 

I parked at the hot springs and went up on a well marked trail on the same ridge that hosts the aforementioned village that overlooked the hot springs and headed north away from the ruin.

The trail soon veered off from my planned route to the vista overlook. I was about to head off trail down and across a ravine when two crows landed directly in front of me on a juniper. As if to say "where do you think you're going?"

They were just watching me. I could almost touch the closest one. I pulled out my camera and took some shots of the pair. They still did not take flight. I finally had an intuition and explained my plan to create a painting and my purpose for heading the way I wanted to. Still no movement.

I then decided to ask permission to enter the ravine and promised to be respectful. As soon as I asked one of the pair squawked and flew off, the other waited a few beats and did the same. They both flew across the ravine in the direction I wanted to go. This encounter inspired the painting below.

"Guardians of the Kiva", oil on linen, 16"x20"

There was no kiva in the ravine (that I knew of) but I put it in to convey the sense of sacredness of the area. 

I reached my intended vantage place as the low sun lit up the landscape in dramatic fashion. I could clearly see the remnants of the two villages.

I was able to find archaeological floorplans of the villages and an illustration of one of the towns and used them as reference. The painting is intended to be a recreation of late afternoon in the valley when the twin cities were vibrant with hundreds of Tewa prospering in their lifeway.

"Twin Cities of Ojo Caliente", oil on linen, 12"x16"

Thanks for reading and looking. The Twin Cities painting is still available.

 

   

Evolution of Shelter

" Evolution of Shelter- Oxcart Ranch" oil on linen panel 18x24"

This painting had been sitting in the shallows of my mind for years and years. I hesitate to call it a bucket list painting because I don't like the implications- you know doing something deemed important before you croak. OK - it's the "croak" thing. Not ready nor do I want to.

For decades I have observed this scene while approaching Poncha Pass, one of the exit routes from the San Luis Valley (SLV) of southern Colorado- my home. Like a compass of sacred directions one can leave the SLV in four directions aligned with the cardinal points, each through low to high passes crossing the alpine bulwarks that surrounds us.

Two mountain cordilleras close in at the north end of the SLV to pinch the traveler over into the Sawatch Range and the headwaters of the Arkansas River. The Oxcart Ranch sits below this convergence, advertised by the modest sign next to the highway-  attached to --- an oxcart. There are a smattering of buildings in this ranch complex but I have always been drawn to the log cabin on the ridge above the verdant meadows. 

The cabin seems to be dormant- boarded up windows and doors, faded paint. Sitting next to the cabin is an Airstream trailer, also seemingly uninhabited. Attached to the cabin is a collapsing 2 by 4-construction porch. These structures sit amidst aspens of various sizes, some blue spruce, junipers, chamisa and sagebrush. My thoughts about this scene have always been about the various styles of housing and the delightful and picturesque juxtaposition of these elements, especially when the aspen turn in the fall.

The onset of the Covid Plague facilitated my decision to work up this painting for a couple of reasons.

The plummet in art sales with gallery closures gave me pause about what to paint next. There didn't seem to be a great need to increase my inventory with any speed. I thought about pieces bobbing in the mind shallows and that it might be a good time to fish them out- the oxcart piece being one of them.

The other consideration was that this piece is about housing. With quarantining at home it seemed topical to explore how we have created shelter over the eons. I feel fortunate in that I really like our home and property. We have a modest sized home that is a text book (on what not to do) example of globbed-on architecture. An old abobe core, frame addition with stucco and advanced solar aspect- 40 feet of southern facing glass. The house is on a 1/3 of an acre and with spring-into-summer weather it gave us a lot of time to pay attention to our garden, flower beds, trees, shrubs and a token lawn area in the back accented with a pleasant ramada. I realize many people do not have the same fortune to be sequestered in such pleasant surroundings. 

So with decades of photo references and a detailed sketch I worked up this piece. I chose to open the cabin up and converted the porch into a abobe and stucco structure to further my theme of variety in building materials. I also buffed out the Airstream trailer's weathered metal exterior and made the background mountain range taller and more rugged. 

Other than that- the real thing!

The video below illustrates the process and condenses a week's worth of painting.

Now with this subject matter attended to it is on to the next project(s). Hint: Land Snorkeling (a term mentioned by landscape painter Clyde Aspevig.)

  

Embracing My Inner Child Artist

My Mom, 91, has been in a nursing home for two years now. We kept her townhouse even though we knew she would not be returning there. We turned it into a family lodging point for my three out-of-town siblings and our kids and grandkids as a place to stay when visiting Mom.
After a while it seemed -extravagant? to keep the place for occasional visits throughout the year, so we decided to put it up for sale. We doled out the estate as best we could, divvying up most items and donating the rest.
My folks were very good at supporting me throughout the years and had bought several paintings which resulted in an ample collection that got disbursed to various family members. There were a couple of artworks that did not get picked during the "lottery" we concocted. They were unclaimed early and crude works by a very young artist- me. So I took them and planned to toss them in with other crappy artwork of mine when I have a Crappy Art Bonfire.
One painting however seemed to beg for attention.
Refrigerator Art
I painted an oil when I was 15 and my folks kept it in the same manner as many parents do, only this piece was not slapped on the refrigerator door with magnets. It hung on the walls of all three of their Alamosa homes miraculously surviving each move (where it could have gotten conveniently overlooked, misplaced). I really never asked what they thought about it and maybe it just faded from everyone's awareness like a an old carpet stain.

The Story of the Painting
In 1967 when I was 15 I signed up for art camp. It was also a music camp sponsored by the six counties of the San Luis Valley called Camp Bristol. They sequestered us valley kids on a dude ranch above the mountain town of Creede. We were housed in large platform tents with a mess hall and bath house. During the course of the week the art kids were taught painting at various locations. We piled into a bus and were taken to places to paint on location- my first plein air experience although the Russian instructor did not call it that. Can't remember his name now. (His assistant I do remember- Nancy Christensen. Her father was Mark Hatfield an excellent graphite artist and teacher at Adams State College who also taught my wife Cynthia when she was doing her graduate work there. Nancy ended up teaching music to our daughter at Polston Elementary in Alamosa. Small world,no?)
One trip took us to Lake City, a cozy town in the midst of the great San Juan Mountains, like Creede. I remember the adventure distinctly. Another kid and I dispersed from the drop-off point to explore possible subject matter in the town for our watercolor kit that we had for that day. We came upon a couple girls our age in a city park and talked them into letting us paint them- as in directly on their skin. Although our preferential painting surface was obvious we settled on painting their arms and shoulders with patterns and symbols, etc.
Being hormonally distracted we lost track of time and got back late to the rendezvous point. The bus had already left so we sat there wondering what to do. Soon the bus returned for us (fake out), we got yelled at and then headed back to the ranch.
The trip to Creede resulted in the painting I am talking about. I found an old two story hotel-looking structure that was all weathered and decrepit posing under the brilliant blue sky of the alpine domain.
I was taught what I call Fat-Brush technique in this art camp where you use larger brushes to paint, even to indicate details. It is very common for beginners to want to paint small and use dinky brushes and our teacher offered only large brushes and canvases.
Other things I learned at art camp:
A rock guitar riff from Jim Lamb whose band played at the camp culmination dance;
A lengthy dirty monologue about the kingdom of Xerxes; and-
It is forbidden to make-out with the daughter of a Mormon bishop behind the mess tent.
My High School Art Teacher
When school was back in, my art teacher wanted me to put in a painting for the local all-high school show, so I showed him my Creede painting. He suggested that I do some alterations and being the student, I followed his suggestions and altered the piece accordingly.
Jake Charlifu was my high school art teacher and a pivotal mentor along my art journey. Mr. Charlifu, "Chief", taught and spurred me into art as a profession not so much in rote technique but more in attitude and mental state. One day he asked me what art was and wanted a response the next day. My brilliant young mind came up with "Anything that comes out of Man." The next day he stared at me through his thick glasses, took a beat and spit onto the floor. " Is that Art?" Still looking for the answer.
Jake was primarily a potter and when I thought about it these many years later I know he was trying to teach me composition and color relation in my painting. But that 15 year old young artist felt mislead, something which I realized I still carried with me as I dusted off the painting decades later.
Restoring the Painting
When I hear about restoring a painting I think of a technician in a lab cleaning an old masterpiece under a magnified lens with exotic solvents. When I took hold of the Creede painting and took a good look at it, I decided to restore it in a different sense. To restore it to the vision when I first painting it.
I remembered the most striking thing for me at the time was the intensity of the pure blue sky on that bright and clear summer day at 9500 feet above sea level. If you have not seen that before it is hard to explain- if you have seen that alpine blue- you know what I am talking about.
Well, my art teacher suggested I mellow out the sky to harmonize it with the brown of the building. I protested that the contrast of the old weathered brown building against the vivid sky was a key feature. I mixed up a wash and muted the sky with dull browns.
He also wanted me to alter the rocks in the left foreground- they looked like potatoes ( he was right about that). There was a low rock wall of river stones that came out from the hotel so I put them in, attempting to show the view from a ground level perspective- it did not come off as such. So I altered them as well- putting in a splotch of white (I thereafter thought it looked like a big bird poop) to break up the potato shape and plopped in a pine tree in front of the rocks to obscure them.
Those alterations complete, I entered it into the show and brought it home afterwards, to hang in that state for the next 52 years.
Back to the Future
When I drug the orphan painting up to my studio and leaned it against the wall, I decided that even if it ended up in the Crappy Art Bonfire it should be in a restored state- restored back to my 15-year-old vision. It could then transition into ash with dignity? honor? I know, weird.
I could still see some of the pure blue of the original along the margins and matched that in a light overlay- a cobalt-ultramarine mix. I then scraped and sanded out the pine tree that I had plopped in front of the rocks. I could distinctly tell from the paint and brush application that this was an angry little tree.
I blended the transition of the restored to the original trying to match the technique of the young artist. In a sense I was forging a work based on the evident execution- a peculiar time warping. This was me but then again not. Certainly my "mature" brain did not recall the exact thought process from a half century ago.
So what did I think of the painting now? It was certainly not the work of some prodigal genius. It was high school art. But now it felt somehow lighter, relieved. An artist friend remarked that she could see semblance of my current technique in the primitive handling of paint. I liked that although the windows were uniform in reality the painting had them slightly different sizes from each other.
But, as seems to be true with all my creations, I am still too close to be truly objective. Perhaps in another 50 years?
Finally restored or reverted, the piece was now ready for ...... what? A new home or a match?

Sometime during the ensuing years since 1967 I was informed that the building was not a hotel- It was a landmark bordello that fell into disrepair after the big mines went bust in the 1890's.
I also knew that the building had been purchased by the Creede Repertory Theater (CRT), was restored (not unlike the painting) and was now boarding actors and theater associates.
I had an errant thought that I could donate the painting to the Theater if they were so inclined.
New Home
During Labor Day weekend I was doing a painting demo at the C.Waters Gallery in Creede where I have been showing and selling my work for many years. I met Brandon Davis from the CRT and as we chatted I blurted out my idea. Brandon thought it would be a great donation. I cautioned him to not commit until I sent him a pic of the painting. Even then- the CRT said they would take it. They were very thoughtful to allow me to present the painting in a little lobby ceremony topped off by a wonderful play performance of "Hazardous Materials" which Cindy and I enjoyed immensely. Thank you CRT.
I am glad that the painting now hangs in the CRT offices.
Somewhere in the time continuum, a 15-year-old fledgling painter is also smiling.

Reprise- 37 Years Later

Once upon a time- way back in 1981- two budding artists had an art show and sale. Centered in and around the town of Crestone, Colorado we featured not only the centuries old log dwellings but the towering Sangre de Cristo mountains that rise immediately to the east of the village. The shot above  is me on the left and Roger Williams on the right in Willow Park critiquing a newly minted plein air painting

Thirty seven years later, we decided to do another show together. Although we had shown together in various shows and ensembles before, this is our second exclusive dual show. It is ongoing until July 31, 2018 at the Copper Moon Gallery in Taos, New Mexico.

Here we are painting on location near Roger's home of 30 years in Santa Fe this year. We are thankful to be still be able to stand at an easel after all these years. 

Events like this give me pause to reflect on how in the youth of my twenties I gave little thought to maturity or how life would unfold. Or which of my relationships would continue into "retirement age." (Painters do not retire- as long as the hand can hold a brush- paint will be laid on canvas.) Roger and I have been friends for decades starting in high school. After we both went to university, we ended up back in Alamosa and we forged a mutual strategy to prosper in the arts and music- a Utopian dream of the post-hippie age. 

We combined marketing fine art with live performance- both of us being musicians,  thinking that we could cobble together successes from both venues. We made wonderful music, playing contemporary tunes in local lounges with bass player and vocalist Robbie Painter. When the music clicks and the harmonies are pure- there is nothing like it.

The two man show in Crestone was part of that strategy as well. I think it's safe to say that our art styles, media and methods were still being formed- and continue forming as I write.

Over the decades we have evolved as artists- and human beings. As we have checked in with each other over the years I am grateful that we both approach our art with grace, intent for higher purpose and a sincere spirituality that imbues our creations. 

If you get a chance to see our show of over two dozen paintings you will witness the culmination of over 80 years of painting- and living- experience! 

Montgomery- Williams Two Man Show

Walking the Talk, Promoting Conservation of Wild Country

In the summer of 1972, I finally hiked six miles into Wheeler Geological Area. On the Rio Grande National Forest map it showed up as only a single section of designated land - 640 acres that had – well – geological significance.

I had noticed it on the map before and was intrigued being already obsessed with “weird rocks” since childhood. The few photographs that I had seen of the area paled in comparison when I arrived at the volcanic ash formations nestled right below the timberline late in that summer afternoon.

Massive volcanic activity starting 30 million years ago built what we now call the San Juan Mountains of southern Colorado. The eruptions continued for millions of years creating vast lava and ash flows that accumulated thousands of feet of  layered volcanics.

The lavas and ashes were no sooner laid than water, wind and ice began to tear them down. The glaciers came and went and came again in several cycles. There, below the cap of lava flows at 12,000 feet above sea level, the buried ash and lava flows were exhumed, sculpted into fantastical shapes and configurations.

Such formations are peppered throughout the San Juan Mountains, but these at the head of one canyon approaching timberline are unusually spectacular- they look like the ruins of some mystical city when viewed from the meadows below.

I had never seen anything like it. To me it was also a prize that only those who really made the effort to get into this remote area could see and experience. It afforded an intimacy undiluted by masses of looky-loos that one runs into when visiting easy-to- get-to roadside attractions.

I fell in love.

When I returned from my first trip to Wheeler Geological Area, I was enthralled with this stupendous place. I wondered how such a jewel had not been sansationalized in some way.

Its uniqueness had been recognized for quite some time.

The first mention of the area was from a government survey crew in 1859 who named the place after General George Wheeler, the man in charge of the survey program- pretty sure he never saw it. Who knows what the Ute Indians thought of the place or what their name for it was - I would love to find out.

Its prowess as a spectacular site was cemented when it was declared a National Monument by President Teddy Roosevelt in 1903- pretty sure he never saw it either.

In the 1950's the monument was turned over to the National Forest Service because its remoteness was a real obstacle for the Park Service. In a way, it probably helped to veil the area somewhat- took it off the radar for a while.

But then the Forest Service started to eye the ancient spruce stands that surrounded the open parklands below the former monument. To sell the idea of pushing roads into the area for logging they decided to use access to Wheeler as the excuse.

Ironically, this plan was set to go into motion five years before my initial visit. The Forest Service had funding cuts that curtailed the plans. The plans were still on the books when I learned about them as I investigated the status of the land in question. I was infuriated about an agency that I thought should cherish such a pristine setting rather than promote its development! How could they do such a thing?

I have since ventured into Wheeler from just about every direction whether scaling over alpine passes or following exuberant creeks up into the highlands. On one occasion I came in on the only four- wheel drive access and arrived at  the conclusion that it was quicker, shorter and easier on the kidneys walking in rather than enduring this treacherous route by vehicle.

After witnessing this wilderness gem in its remoteness, the proposal to engineer a full- fledged road that would accommodate logging trucks, and therefore passenger cars, was abhorrent to me. Many of us have seen heavily used picnic and camping areas where the shrubs are festooned with paper plates and pampers while chipmunks scamper off with pilfered chicken wings.

I did not want to see this happen to Wheeler.

By my objection to recreational "progress", I entered into the world of public- resources conflict. Unlike private lands, the National Forests are governed by rules and regulations which have been forged over the years and that have resulted in a mishmash of variable and sometimes conflicting goals for lands held in the public domain.

I soon found that there were many players with vested interests in resources such as lumber, minerals, forage and other "assets" that generated income. In direct opposition to this harvesting of nature in this manner is my viewpoint that some of the natural treasures in the Rocky Mountains are best left to their own designs with natural processes controlling them -in a word, wilderness.

The first opportunity that came up to protect Wheeler after my first trips was some legislation designed to protect areas in the West as National Wilderness Areas.

This inaugural bill was designed to protect thousands of acres in several Western states. The United States Congress had set up hearings to discuss the areas targeted to be included in this bill and one of them was Wheeler Geological Area and its surrounding alpine parks. Congress had a hearing scheduled in Creede - an old mining town and only a few miles away from Wheeler. I showed up for the hearing and soon had a rude awakening. I came to discover that some of my neighbor's philosophies on what to do with public lands were strikingly different from my own. 

I found staunch and unyielding opposition to protecting any National Forest lands surrounding the mining town of Creede and even now I find it somewhat paradoxical that the men and women living in such close proximity to the natural wonders in the mountains of the West regard them in an entirely different manner than I do.

Of course, in those days there was still some mining activity and a healthy timber industry in southern Colorado. So it was not really a surprise that many were opposed to leaving things alone and open to whatever cash-in on resources that might pop up. Even likely wilderness supporters such as the sportsman; the hunters and fishermen, regarded any regulations controlling access as an affront to their way of life.

I think we share an appreciation for the beauty of natural environs, but when it comes to restricting activity or eliminating some of them altogether some people object vehemently. For locals I think they regard it as "their" land and even though they profess appreciation, that falls away when they are told they can't do something. Even if they would ultimately do nothing.

The anti-crowd adopted a singular slogan- 

" For Every Acre of Wilderness- One Less Job for Creede !"

That day, as I witnessed person after person testify against any wilderness designation for any land, any where, any time, I realized that to protect Wheeler I would have a long, hard struggle ahead of me.

When the Endangered American Wilderness Act of 1976 was passed by Congress, Wheeler Geological Area was not a part of it. That legislative process did, however, initiate my advocacy for protecting wildlands on the planet. It was eminently evident that southern Colorado needed wilderness champions. I signed up immediately and continue to do so.

More to come.

Plein Air Adventures- or- What Do Ya Think Yer Doin?

Quite often in painting on location, I set up in places that at first appear to be out of the way and quiet.
Many times, although they may not seem to be so, I have set up in spots that turn out to be on private land (or perceived to be private land) and thus am "challenged" as to- "what da you think yer doin' ?" One painter related that he would load up 5 pound bags of potatoes (being from the San Luis Valley, major Potatoville) as bribes to soften property disputes with skeptical natives.

This painting site was off on the right of way along a county road in Conejos County, Colorado. It is on the way to my friend and painter Charley Ewing's home and I have traveled it many times. I have been drawn to this old adobe set off the road nestled in some fine mature cottonwoods and check it out every trip I take. The adobe has been a repeat subject matter for me, painting it several times.

So I set up for a larger plein air panel - 16 x 20, and, as anticipated, it took two days to capture the scene. I did not have any territory issues and being within the San Luis Valley, the potato bribe thing wouldn't have worked anyway. Like trying to sell ice to an Eskimo.

What did transpire- and a partial reason it took me two days to complete- was a steady stream of folks curious as to what I was doing. They would pull over and we would blab about the area, the many adobe remnants in the neighborhood and the verdant bottom lands saturated by the acequias coming off the Conejos River.

Several of the visitors were from the Espinosa and Mestas clans, two families that pioneered this area coming up from what is now New Mexico in the 1800's. So here are some other historical tidbits that I learned during both painting days:

- The county road CR 17 is known as Espinosa Lane, named after the now-sixth-generation community that peppered the area with farmsteads, many older homes now abandoned and melting back into the earth.

- There was an attempt to renovate the adobe closest to my paint site, although not the subject of the painting. There was such an infestation of "water" snakes (garter) that they gave up.

- The subject of my painting was an original Espinosa family building, now vacant. One of the informants grandfathers was around when the Espinosas took in a frozen company of Mormons who had trekked over the Sangre de Cristos in the dead of winter. Of the 40 that left Pueblo only 17 arrived in desperate need at their doorstep. The Espinosa's harbored the travelers and butchered a calf. Shortly thereafter, the survivors helped found the town of Manassa just a few miles north.

All in all it was very poignant for me, and I hope for my visitors as wells, as we passed a pleasant day sharing the bounty of the acequias with stories and appreciation for the vibrant and verdent bottomlands along the Conejos.

- A short distance to the south of my painting spot is the community church known as La Capilla de Santo Nino which served the Espinosa community for over a hundred years. It collapsed on October 21, 2016 from old age. Very sad.

"Bounty of the Acequia" plein air oil on linen, 16" x 20"

This painting will be part of the Plein Air Painters of New Mexico 8th Annual Juried Members Show opening with a public reception at the Sorrel Sky Gallery, 125 West Palace Avenue, Santa Fe, NM, 87501 from 5 to 8 pm on Friday, Nov. 4, 2016. The show will be open for regular business hours until Nov. 27. 

C.Waters Annual Artist Showcase and Sale, Creede, Colorado

Chere Waters has nurtured a family of artists whose work populates the walls of her newly reopened C. Waters Gallery in Creede, Colorado. She will feature this select group in the second year of her newly relocated and named C. Waters Gallery after six previous years in a space attached to her home on the hill overlooking the town.

That's me on the left at last year's grand opening. Chere is in the center in black. Paul Stone, recently deceased after contracting ALS, is in the wheel chair in front. I call him Dr. Boom. You can check out the trailer for a project about his life at this link:

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/paul-freakin-stone-that-s-who#/









The reception and sale will be on Saturday, July 16, 2016 from 3 to 7 pm in the gallery next door to the world famous Creede Repertory Theater on Main street. My fellow featured artists are Suzanne Reed Fine, Kristian Gosar, Aaron Brown, Brownie, Hanna Waters, Colleen de Santos, Peggy Stenmark, Randall LaGro and Alicia Hess.

Here is one of my paintings - " Threshold to Loch Vale" 24x30" oil on linen

Chere's receptions are legend- great fun, food, artists and libations-and I am sure this one will not disappoint. If you are in the area, Creede is a hoot with the theater, dining and the magnificent San Juan Mountains. Come on by.