Got lost on my way to patient’s home - which isn’t unusual. I drove into the parking lot of an aging white building with a swamp cooler and vast manicured lawns. Yes, this was the local golf course. Not a golfer in sight though. This was not any rural golf course. It was the local "country club." If I hadn’t read it on the sign at the entrance, there is no way I would’ve imagined that this was a country club.
Where I come from in Michigan, country clubs have paved or asphalt parking lots - not dirt and gravel. Many, many years ago I dined at the Grosse Pointe Country Club in Michigan. The staff, mainly male, wore white dress shirts with a simple tie and black trousers. Their socks and shined shoes were, of course, black. The tables were donned in ivory table cloths and napkins. On the table were simple fresh flower arrangements.
No linen table cloths at the Greenlee County Country Club. When I walked into the main dining room to ask someone for directions - a young woman, dressed in blue jeans and a tank top was busy behind the bar. She shouted out a greeting across the room and inquired how she could help. I walked up to the bar, got my directions, thanked her with a smile and left.
I stood on the front patio and looked around. No flower or shrub beds of any type. The cement patio had a few plastic webbed chairs that could’ve been from Walmart in Safford. Between the chairs was a white bucket that had a few cigarette butts at the bottom of it. A half a dozen empty beer bottles, stood like soldiers, next to the chairs. I even noticed a few empty beer bottles scattered under the odd bush.
I decided to place one of the cowboy and indian icon art pieces here. I walked back to my car and got it, my notebook and camera. Instead of putting it some where right next to the clubhouse, I placed, photographed and documented #65 in a small tree across the road from the clubhouse. Much like me, it was as if the art piece was a voyeur at the clubhouse. Strange to this environment, it would now be witness to the club members’ comings and goings. However, I drove away - a voyeur no more.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
City of Safford Victim/Witness Building - Safford, AZ September 27, 2010
I discreetly placed, photographed and documented cowboy and indian icon art piece #66 right under the corner of bush before anyone arrived for the annual candle light vigil for the National Day of Remembrance for Murder Victims and their survivors. Life size, plywood silhouettes - painted black - of men, women and children were erected all around the front of the building for the occasion.
At first, I wasn’t sure if placing one of the art pieces here wasn’t too cliche. Yep, Native Americans and cowboy brethren were indeed murdering one another due to underlining fear, anger, greed, jealousy and revenge. Probably these were the same reasons why the deceased, who would be honored here tonight, met their untimely death.
However, the past memories of "cowboy and indian" violent acts would be the story lines that fuel the imagination of cinematic adventure narratives and innocent childhood enactments for decades to come.
For today, the cowboy and indian art piece, even though hidden, would be part of the other objects left here in tribute of senseless loss. A tribute that is never a thrill to be part of.
At first, I wasn’t sure if placing one of the art pieces here wasn’t too cliche. Yep, Native Americans and cowboy brethren were indeed murdering one another due to underlining fear, anger, greed, jealousy and revenge. Probably these were the same reasons why the deceased, who would be honored here tonight, met their untimely death.
However, the past memories of "cowboy and indian" violent acts would be the story lines that fuel the imagination of cinematic adventure narratives and innocent childhood enactments for decades to come.
For today, the cowboy and indian art piece, even though hidden, would be part of the other objects left here in tribute of senseless loss. A tribute that is never a thrill to be part of.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
The OutPost - Greenlee County, AZ September 14, 2010
I just purchased off of ebay a "Dunny - Kidrobot" toy. This 3" vinyl toy figure has three points of articulation: a 360 degree rotational head and two arms. An artist card or sticker is also included with the toy. There was a particular Dunny was designed by Michelle Valigura is named "Cowboy/Indian." One half of the figure is a cowboy joined down the middle to the other half which is Native American. Both halves are frowning. The cowboy half comes with a separate gun that the figure can hold in its hand and the Native American half comes with a tomahawk.
This inspired me today since I had just picked it up from the Safford Post Office prior to driving to Duncan.. This correlated with my cowboy and indian icon theme and was contemporary which I liked.
While driving down AZ 75, I came across a mom & pop store with a sign that read, "The OutPost - Beer - Wine - Picnic Supplies" a few feet from the road. Underneath that sign was a two-sided plastic, three foot Coca-Cola sign that had the capacity to be able to be lit up. The lower right hand corner had a piece broken out of it the size of a fist. Why not place cowboy and indian icon art piece #59 within another icon?
I tried to be as discreet as possible since customers were coming and going from The OutPost about 40 feet away. One guy, all dressed in black, with greased back shoulder length hair, got out of a black, four-door, battered early model Lincoln Continental. He was all dressed in black with a 45 caliber gun holstered on his belt. The man resembled a sinister-type who could have been a character in the David Lynch movie, "Wild at Heart." An elderly lady with curly, gray hair and glasses remained sitting in the front seat of the car. Was it his mother perhaps? He graciously left the car and the air-conditioning on for her while he went into the store.
I decided to place, document and photograph #59 inside of the broken corner of the Coca-Cola sign and get away from that store. What if he was going into the store to rob it instead of making a mundane purchase like a pack of gum or a bag of pork rinds? What if he saw me with the camera and assumed I might be spying on him? Either way, I wasn’t going to find out. Got back into my car and drove off before he ever left the store. Byeeee!
This inspired me today since I had just picked it up from the Safford Post Office prior to driving to Duncan.. This correlated with my cowboy and indian icon theme and was contemporary which I liked.
While driving down AZ 75, I came across a mom & pop store with a sign that read, "The OutPost - Beer - Wine - Picnic Supplies" a few feet from the road. Underneath that sign was a two-sided plastic, three foot Coca-Cola sign that had the capacity to be able to be lit up. The lower right hand corner had a piece broken out of it the size of a fist. Why not place cowboy and indian icon art piece #59 within another icon?
I tried to be as discreet as possible since customers were coming and going from The OutPost about 40 feet away. One guy, all dressed in black, with greased back shoulder length hair, got out of a black, four-door, battered early model Lincoln Continental. He was all dressed in black with a 45 caliber gun holstered on his belt. The man resembled a sinister-type who could have been a character in the David Lynch movie, "Wild at Heart." An elderly lady with curly, gray hair and glasses remained sitting in the front seat of the car. Was it his mother perhaps? He graciously left the car and the air-conditioning on for her while he went into the store.
I decided to place, document and photograph #59 inside of the broken corner of the Coca-Cola sign and get away from that store. What if he was going into the store to rob it instead of making a mundane purchase like a pack of gum or a bag of pork rinds? What if he saw me with the camera and assumed I might be spying on him? Either way, I wasn’t going to find out. Got back into my car and drove off before he ever left the store. Byeeee!
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Thatcher Cemetery - Thatcher, AZ September 9, 2010
Thought I’ve heard it all so far in hospice. The patient that I had just left decided that she was going to "shopping" for her own grave site at cemeteries located here in the county.
I’ve had patients plan their funerals, write their obituaries or compose their whole memorial service. Never had anyone pick out their plot of land for their remains within weeks of their possibly death. When it comes close to your time and the grim reaper may be knocking at your door, as human beings we need to feel as if we have some "control."
My first horse, a roan-colored Appaloosa named Princess Lulu, has been struggling with cancer for the past two years. Even though she still has energy, the cancer has taken a toll on the definition of her body lines along with a huge tumor growing out of her left eye. It’s her time. I picked October 1, 2010 to have Lulu put down because that day allotted me time to grieve without many outside demands. I’ve paid a rancher to pick her up at my place, take her to his ranch, mercifully shoot her and bury my beloved mare next to his favorite cow pony. Lulu doesn’t have the ability to make those decisions. She’s dependent on me to spare her a painful end. The age old struggle with choices and control is my burden right now with Lulu. I want the control but I hate the price of the pain. I hate it.
On my way back to the hospital, I drove through the Thatcher Cemetery for the first time.
I photograph grave sites from time to time. Not because I know the people who are buried there. Folks tend to decorate them so interestingly.
I wasn’t there for five minutes when I came across one that was cause to stop and park my car. The grave was all gravel and had a large quartz rock and a huge empty, black cowboy boot planter on it - standing side-by-side. A piece of tin, with faint etching, was shoved into the ground. Next to that was a pair of old leather cowboy boots stuffed with tattered, silk mum flowers that had all their color bleached out by the sun. The only writing I could make out on the piece of tin was "Jake Johns - died 2007."
The grave site seemed kind of lonely looking to me. I went back to my car and returned with a cowboy and indian icon art piece. I placed, photographed and documented #58 there. It appeared to fit right in with John Jakes’s other elements of decor.
Before I walked away I spoke out loud to the spirit of John Jakes. "Hey, I sending you my mare, Lulu soon. Please look out after her." Then I smiled, "Happy Trails."
I’ve had patients plan their funerals, write their obituaries or compose their whole memorial service. Never had anyone pick out their plot of land for their remains within weeks of their possibly death. When it comes close to your time and the grim reaper may be knocking at your door, as human beings we need to feel as if we have some "control."
My first horse, a roan-colored Appaloosa named Princess Lulu, has been struggling with cancer for the past two years. Even though she still has energy, the cancer has taken a toll on the definition of her body lines along with a huge tumor growing out of her left eye. It’s her time. I picked October 1, 2010 to have Lulu put down because that day allotted me time to grieve without many outside demands. I’ve paid a rancher to pick her up at my place, take her to his ranch, mercifully shoot her and bury my beloved mare next to his favorite cow pony. Lulu doesn’t have the ability to make those decisions. She’s dependent on me to spare her a painful end. The age old struggle with choices and control is my burden right now with Lulu. I want the control but I hate the price of the pain. I hate it.
On my way back to the hospital, I drove through the Thatcher Cemetery for the first time.
I photograph grave sites from time to time. Not because I know the people who are buried there. Folks tend to decorate them so interestingly.
I wasn’t there for five minutes when I came across one that was cause to stop and park my car. The grave was all gravel and had a large quartz rock and a huge empty, black cowboy boot planter on it - standing side-by-side. A piece of tin, with faint etching, was shoved into the ground. Next to that was a pair of old leather cowboy boots stuffed with tattered, silk mum flowers that had all their color bleached out by the sun. The only writing I could make out on the piece of tin was "Jake Johns - died 2007."
The grave site seemed kind of lonely looking to me. I went back to my car and returned with a cowboy and indian icon art piece. I placed, photographed and documented #58 there. It appeared to fit right in with John Jakes’s other elements of decor.
Before I walked away I spoke out loud to the spirit of John Jakes. "Hey, I sending you my mare, Lulu soon. Please look out after her." Then I smiled, "Happy Trails."
Sunday, September 19, 2010
1125 S. Highway 191 - Pearce, AZ September 7, 2010
On my travels down 191 to and back from Pearce, I would always see these two curved shaped, steel, abandoned buildings. They reminded me of barracks one might see on an army base. Today was the day I decided that it was time to take a look.
Parked my car on the side of the highway. The buildings were 1/8 a mile from the highway. My walk consisted of watching how I stepped through waist high grass. My
little friends, the grasshoppers, lead the way. It was a careful climb up the wooden steps to the open entrance of the steel building on the left. Thank goodness it wasn’t high. If one of the steps had rotted out from the harsh AZ weather, my descent to the ground wouldn’t be far.
The first thing I noticed on the floor was what appeared to be a pack rat’s next. Rodent feces were scattered around the floor. Once again, I had to be careful how I walked on the wooden floors since they were prone to give in under the weight of my body at any time. There was a navy colored weathered, hand-painted in yellow sign which read, "FOR SALE. $35.000. 600 FT. FRONTAGE." Parts of the ceiling had already caved in. Most of the paint on the walls was peeling off. There was, what was left of it, a bathroom at the left end of building.
It appeared to be a building that was once used for social functions. On a sill of one of the broken windows was a festive Christmas arrangement made entirely of plastic. In some of the small piles of rubble that were through the building were bits Christmas decorations such as flat green garland and images of Santa on torn plastic sheets.
There were a few Christmas cards here and there on the floor. I picked up a soiled one off of the floor. The front of the card had a wreath made out of red chili peppers and read, "SEASONS GREETINGS." The inside of the card had a printed sentiment that read, "WITH WARMEST WISHES FOR A FESTIVE HOLIDAY SEASON AND A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR." Under this message, hand written, it read, "Brian, Jock (my husband) keeps saying how he wants to see your house and 9 acres (119,000?) sometime. Merry Christmas, Barbara Highfield."
After finding a shelf near the bathroom, I placed, photographed and documented art piece #61. This time, I once again manipulated the art piece’s final placement by setting Barbara Highfield’s Christmas card behind the art piece on the shelf. Then, I picked up a piece of green garland from the floor and wrapped it around the base of art piece #61 before taking my photograph.
Since this building was once a home to merriment, I decided to use the contents already there to make the placement festive. A tribute to the ghosts of parties past. Then I wondered, "What ever happened to Barbara Highfield? Was she still alive? Did Jock and her ever visit Brian? What kind of a relationship is Brian and Barbara really have?"
I took calculated steps out of the building and back into the bright, hot sun. Grasshoppers accompanied me on my walk back to the car. I touched the hot handle on my car door and with a precise maneuver, I opened it. Key in the ignition, with a quick twist, the engine started and the air conditioner began churning out, temporarily, hot air.
Once I was back driving on the asphalt highway, all I could think about was Barbara Highfield. Did she have a dance with Brian at the last Christmas party held in that building? I pictured two special friends sharing a laugh and gliding across the dance floor as my car made its journey - directly in the sun. I smiled and hoped in my heart that Barbara and Brian found happiness in their journey, together or apart. Whatever, I’ll toast them both on 12/25/10.
Parked my car on the side of the highway. The buildings were 1/8 a mile from the highway. My walk consisted of watching how I stepped through waist high grass. My
little friends, the grasshoppers, lead the way. It was a careful climb up the wooden steps to the open entrance of the steel building on the left. Thank goodness it wasn’t high. If one of the steps had rotted out from the harsh AZ weather, my descent to the ground wouldn’t be far.
The first thing I noticed on the floor was what appeared to be a pack rat’s next. Rodent feces were scattered around the floor. Once again, I had to be careful how I walked on the wooden floors since they were prone to give in under the weight of my body at any time. There was a navy colored weathered, hand-painted in yellow sign which read, "FOR SALE. $35.000. 600 FT. FRONTAGE." Parts of the ceiling had already caved in. Most of the paint on the walls was peeling off. There was, what was left of it, a bathroom at the left end of building.
It appeared to be a building that was once used for social functions. On a sill of one of the broken windows was a festive Christmas arrangement made entirely of plastic. In some of the small piles of rubble that were through the building were bits Christmas decorations such as flat green garland and images of Santa on torn plastic sheets.
There were a few Christmas cards here and there on the floor. I picked up a soiled one off of the floor. The front of the card had a wreath made out of red chili peppers and read, "SEASONS GREETINGS." The inside of the card had a printed sentiment that read, "WITH WARMEST WISHES FOR A FESTIVE HOLIDAY SEASON AND A WONDERFUL NEW YEAR." Under this message, hand written, it read, "Brian, Jock (my husband) keeps saying how he wants to see your house and 9 acres (119,000?) sometime. Merry Christmas, Barbara Highfield."
After finding a shelf near the bathroom, I placed, photographed and documented art piece #61. This time, I once again manipulated the art piece’s final placement by setting Barbara Highfield’s Christmas card behind the art piece on the shelf. Then, I picked up a piece of green garland from the floor and wrapped it around the base of art piece #61 before taking my photograph.
Since this building was once a home to merriment, I decided to use the contents already there to make the placement festive. A tribute to the ghosts of parties past. Then I wondered, "What ever happened to Barbara Highfield? Was she still alive? Did Jock and her ever visit Brian? What kind of a relationship is Brian and Barbara really have?"
I took calculated steps out of the building and back into the bright, hot sun. Grasshoppers accompanied me on my walk back to the car. I touched the hot handle on my car door and with a precise maneuver, I opened it. Key in the ignition, with a quick twist, the engine started and the air conditioner began churning out, temporarily, hot air.
Once I was back driving on the asphalt highway, all I could think about was Barbara Highfield. Did she have a dance with Brian at the last Christmas party held in that building? I pictured two special friends sharing a laugh and gliding across the dance floor as my car made its journey - directly in the sun. I smiled and hoped in my heart that Barbara and Brian found happiness in their journey, together or apart. Whatever, I’ll toast them both on 12/25/10.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Broken Arrow Baptist Church - E. Ironwood Road, Pearce, AZ September 7, 2010
One can sure tell its Fall in SE AZ by driving down any asphalt road. There are hundreds of grasshoppers all over the road. One of my dogs, Belle, switches from chasing lizards to pouncing on grasshoppers at this time of year.
On my way to a patient’s home, I drove past a building, with a long sign of faded lettering, that read, "Broken Arrow Baptist Church." There were also some letters on the left hand side of the sign which read, KJ1611. I parked my car on the side of the road and walked 50 feet through tall grass. I carefully scanned the grass for rattlesnakes. No snakes, just grasshoppers.
The front door was chained and locked. The ceiling to the left of the entrance had almost caved in. Scattered around the entrance were identical, books with red covers which read,
"All American Church Manual." They were worse for wear from the weather.
Since I chose to manipulate the staging of the photographs at today’s scenes - I gingerly picked up two of the hymnals. One I placed as a back drop against the front door. The other I laid in front of it and opened to a hymn. There I placed, photographed and documented #60.
As I walked back to my car, I couldn’t help but wonder about what happened to the congregation of this church? Not enough coin in the Sunday collection plate? It occurred to me that this was an unusual name for a Baptist church - "Broken Arrow." Perhaps the church’s name had some connection to the Cochise Apaches who once resided here. Perhaps these folks were missionary types trying to convert the "savages?" Maybe the congregation just wanted to have an unique name for a Baptist church.
Another riddle unanswered. Got to my car. Another grasshopper I almost stepped on. Another patient to see before my car has to head down north Highway 191.
On my way to a patient’s home, I drove past a building, with a long sign of faded lettering, that read, "Broken Arrow Baptist Church." There were also some letters on the left hand side of the sign which read, KJ1611. I parked my car on the side of the road and walked 50 feet through tall grass. I carefully scanned the grass for rattlesnakes. No snakes, just grasshoppers.
The front door was chained and locked. The ceiling to the left of the entrance had almost caved in. Scattered around the entrance were identical, books with red covers which read,
"All American Church Manual." They were worse for wear from the weather.
Since I chose to manipulate the staging of the photographs at today’s scenes - I gingerly picked up two of the hymnals. One I placed as a back drop against the front door. The other I laid in front of it and opened to a hymn. There I placed, photographed and documented #60.
As I walked back to my car, I couldn’t help but wonder about what happened to the congregation of this church? Not enough coin in the Sunday collection plate? It occurred to me that this was an unusual name for a Baptist church - "Broken Arrow." Perhaps the church’s name had some connection to the Cochise Apaches who once resided here. Perhaps these folks were missionary types trying to convert the "savages?" Maybe the congregation just wanted to have an unique name for a Baptist church.
Another riddle unanswered. Got to my car. Another grasshopper I almost stepped on. Another patient to see before my car has to head down north Highway 191.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Nielson Trucking Co. and Car Wash - Duncan, AZ September 1, 2010
Every time I drive into Duncan, I have to pass a red, white and blue painted self-serve car wash. Never do I see anyone actually using the facility or any vehicles parked there. Today I stopped the car to explore it and hopefully place an art piece there.
It must still be in occasional use because I didn’t see any debris around or broken glass from soda or beer bottles. It appeared that someone has been looking out after it.
Upon further exploration, I noticed a piece of plywood, painted white, which read, ”Nielson Trucking Co. - Owner & Operator Dan Nielson.” There was a semi-truck cab also painted on the sign. I was surprised, however, to see that there wasn’t a phone number listed any where on the sign. I placed, documented and photographed #57 on the ledge below the sign.
While I drove back to my office at the hospital in Safford, I thought about the assemblage pieces that I was working on in my studio at the ranch. These weren’t related to this art project except by theme. These assemblage pieces were made mainly of vintage cowboy and indian toys that I’ve acquired from all over the world on Ebay. The figures, plastic and metal, in various sizes were placed in off beat scenarios on table top sized shelves.
These pieces would be sold in a gallery or directly to a private collector.
While I worked on these assemblages, I thought back to the overseas tourists I’ve seen visiting Tombstone in the past. Were some of these Old West enthusiasts - as children, had they once played with some of the vintage figures I purchased from the four corners of the earth? Were they following up on their childhood iconic passions?
While driving to a patient’s home in Clifton the other day, I noticed that cowboy and indian icon art piece #50 was gone from where I placed it. Hopefully, who ever picked it up noticed my email address written on the bottom and will contact me. Maybe it was one of those overseas tourists. Maybe they were passing through on their way to visit one of the other local locations used as a backdrop in one of the old westerns. Maybe.
It must still be in occasional use because I didn’t see any debris around or broken glass from soda or beer bottles. It appeared that someone has been looking out after it.
Upon further exploration, I noticed a piece of plywood, painted white, which read, ”Nielson Trucking Co. - Owner & Operator Dan Nielson.” There was a semi-truck cab also painted on the sign. I was surprised, however, to see that there wasn’t a phone number listed any where on the sign. I placed, documented and photographed #57 on the ledge below the sign.
While I drove back to my office at the hospital in Safford, I thought about the assemblage pieces that I was working on in my studio at the ranch. These weren’t related to this art project except by theme. These assemblage pieces were made mainly of vintage cowboy and indian toys that I’ve acquired from all over the world on Ebay. The figures, plastic and metal, in various sizes were placed in off beat scenarios on table top sized shelves.
These pieces would be sold in a gallery or directly to a private collector.
While I worked on these assemblages, I thought back to the overseas tourists I’ve seen visiting Tombstone in the past. Were some of these Old West enthusiasts - as children, had they once played with some of the vintage figures I purchased from the four corners of the earth? Were they following up on their childhood iconic passions?
While driving to a patient’s home in Clifton the other day, I noticed that cowboy and indian icon art piece #50 was gone from where I placed it. Hopefully, who ever picked it up noticed my email address written on the bottom and will contact me. Maybe it was one of those overseas tourists. Maybe they were passing through on their way to visit one of the other local locations used as a backdrop in one of the old westerns. Maybe.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)