Cacti represents to me Mother Nature’s organic art work in geometric forms. It’s such a treat for me to live in southern AZ where these contemporary, hardy living sculptures loom all over the arid, usually brown, landscape. In fact, I purposely drive by certain locations where magnificent, older cacti live.
My favorite is the Prickly Pear cactus. I do have a few of my contemporary paintings hanging on the wall of a restaurant in Ann Arbor, MI named specifically after this cactus. But that’s not why they’re my favorite. This cactus is made up of large, succulent oval pads which resemble a tail of a beaver’s with clusters of prickers. The pads of this cacti hold a great deal moisture. Great for person thirsty and lost in the desert. Relief from thirst with one juicy bite! The jackrabbits around my house unmercifully devour them down to the bare ground during periods of drought.
It produces a deep red fruit that is repudiated for its edible, medicinal qualities (not to mention a delicious, sweet jelly that is lovely on one’s morning toast!) The Prickly Pear cacti also blooms yearly with small peony sized, bright yellow blossoms. This is one artistic and practical plant.
Here in SE Arizona, we recently had a strange weather occurrence. The temperature went down to an uncommonly low of 9 degrees. It was only for a few days but long enough to freeze the moisture in the succulent pads of the Prickly Pear cactus. When the warm, balmy weather returned, the pads of these cacti "melted" inside. As a result of this, the majesty of the Prickly Pear cacti became unsightly bags of droopy, greenish-brown mushiness - an unknown and foreign sight on the local landscape.
The death and distorted appearance of my favorite cacti disturbed me.
The best way I knew how to deal with this loss was through art. I placed, photographed and documented #99 on fauna melt down, mound that once was a favorite towering cactus. I’ll always remember you.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
433 Outer Loop, Clifton, AZ March 23, 2011
I was walking up a steep one lane road when I discovered it. The was no way that contraption could transport a horse. First of all, it wasn’t big enough. Shiny metal- like aluminum shaped in a capsule with minimum wooden sides to hold it all up. The floor of it was littered with dirt, smashed, rusty soda cans and brown, crispy foliage.
My patient and her family lived halfway to the top of this one car lane. There was no room for my car so I parked it at the bottom of the lane and hiked up. Not far from this hillside, I passed an enclave of Big Horn Sheep. I thought that they were a herd of goats that got out of their pen. When I got closer to them, I saw the horns and knew they weren’t goats! Even though they seemed a bit on the tame side, I didn’t walk up any closer to them. I took a quick photo with my camera and continued on to my final destination. The mild sun rays made the journey very pleasant.
Then I walked up upon the trailer. How I knew that it was originally made to transport an animal was due to the fact that it had an open rectangle cut out in the front. The style was a mini version of my horse trailer - only primitive and rugged. A goat, foal or a calf could comfortably fit into this mode of transport.
I placed, photographed and documented #98 on one the trailer’s bumpers. Both tires were flat. My cowboy and indian art had found a home on a vehicle with a journey to nowhere.
My patient and her family lived halfway to the top of this one car lane. There was no room for my car so I parked it at the bottom of the lane and hiked up. Not far from this hillside, I passed an enclave of Big Horn Sheep. I thought that they were a herd of goats that got out of their pen. When I got closer to them, I saw the horns and knew they weren’t goats! Even though they seemed a bit on the tame side, I didn’t walk up any closer to them. I took a quick photo with my camera and continued on to my final destination. The mild sun rays made the journey very pleasant.
Then I walked up upon the trailer. How I knew that it was originally made to transport an animal was due to the fact that it had an open rectangle cut out in the front. The style was a mini version of my horse trailer - only primitive and rugged. A goat, foal or a calf could comfortably fit into this mode of transport.
I placed, photographed and documented #98 on one the trailer’s bumpers. Both tires were flat. My cowboy and indian art had found a home on a vehicle with a journey to nowhere.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
15692 Park Lane, Ft. Thomas, AZ March 16, 2011
Ft. Thomas is an Latino/Anglo/Apache community east of the San Carlos/Bylas reservation big enough to have a school and police/fire department. There is no longer a fort here. In 1876, a military post was established here during the Indian wars. By 1874, General Crooks had brought hostile Apaches on to the local reservation. In 1886, Ft. Thomas military post had served its purpose when General Miles made a bold move and shipped all the Chiricahua Apaches to reservation in Florida.
My purpose today in Ft. Thomas was to a Latino, war vet, patient who was struggling with the unwelcomed side effects of his diabetes. He was facing the amputation of part of his leg. We talked about the possible amputation for a long time. The man shared with me having to cope with other adversities in his life such as serving in country in Vietnam and the violent death of his son a few years back. I asked him, "What helps you cope with your life’s tragedies?" Smiling, he told me it was the love and care from his Apache wife that keeps his life worth living - no matter what. His wife seemed able to maintain a positive attitude through tragedy and loss. She wasn’t at the house with us because she had a funeral to attend today on the San Carlos reservation. It saddened me that I didn’t have an opportunity to meet her.
After I left his house, while driving back to the hospital, I came across a charming dead end street, Park Lane. Across from the fire station and the small vets’ memorial, I discovered 15692. It was an abandoned charming, cement block house with a kitchen stove, covered by a huge fallen pine tree, on the front porch.
After making my way through pine branches, I placed, photographed and documented #93 on the stove. It was in tribute to the man I had just left. A tribute celebrating his wonderful relationship with his wife. A love that even massive fallen pine tree couldn’t put asunder.
They have the love of a lifetime. A love I envy and someday hope for myself. A love that’s real - crossing even cultural backgrounds, dashed dreams and poor health. With or without, the "death due us part." Thank God for hope and possiblity. Amen!
My purpose today in Ft. Thomas was to a Latino, war vet, patient who was struggling with the unwelcomed side effects of his diabetes. He was facing the amputation of part of his leg. We talked about the possible amputation for a long time. The man shared with me having to cope with other adversities in his life such as serving in country in Vietnam and the violent death of his son a few years back. I asked him, "What helps you cope with your life’s tragedies?" Smiling, he told me it was the love and care from his Apache wife that keeps his life worth living - no matter what. His wife seemed able to maintain a positive attitude through tragedy and loss. She wasn’t at the house with us because she had a funeral to attend today on the San Carlos reservation. It saddened me that I didn’t have an opportunity to meet her.
After I left his house, while driving back to the hospital, I came across a charming dead end street, Park Lane. Across from the fire station and the small vets’ memorial, I discovered 15692. It was an abandoned charming, cement block house with a kitchen stove, covered by a huge fallen pine tree, on the front porch.
After making my way through pine branches, I placed, photographed and documented #93 on the stove. It was in tribute to the man I had just left. A tribute celebrating his wonderful relationship with his wife. A love that even massive fallen pine tree couldn’t put asunder.
They have the love of a lifetime. A love I envy and someday hope for myself. A love that’s real - crossing even cultural backgrounds, dashed dreams and poor health. With or without, the "death due us part." Thank God for hope and possiblity. Amen!
Cluff Ranch Wildlife Refuge. Graham County. March 16, 2011
It’s not unusual to see road signs riddled with bullet holes along the caramel, sandy road that wraps itself around the wildlife refuge. Using road signs for target practice on county back roads is a way of life around here. Just the way it is and always will be.
I was on my way back to the hospital from a patient’s house. A very sad, elderly man who lives in a mansion - furnished with rare and beautiful objects from Europe. He has a few bullet holes around his house. No, not target practice. He shot a guns off in his house in a misguided attempt to kill the emotional pain that stalks him, room to room, in a house that will never echo the laughter of the woman he loved.
I stopped by the side of the road at an information billboard that listed the rules of the refuge and such. It was shaded by its own wooden roof. After stopping my car, I walked over to examine the information board closer. Kicked a few spent red gun shot shells out of my path. I placed, photographed and documented #92 on a wooden beam that supported the roof. This art piece had its own refuge now out in the wild, wild west. A refuge where it can witness the pulse of life out here without any haunting memories.
I was on my way back to the hospital from a patient’s house. A very sad, elderly man who lives in a mansion - furnished with rare and beautiful objects from Europe. He has a few bullet holes around his house. No, not target practice. He shot a guns off in his house in a misguided attempt to kill the emotional pain that stalks him, room to room, in a house that will never echo the laughter of the woman he loved.
I stopped by the side of the road at an information billboard that listed the rules of the refuge and such. It was shaded by its own wooden roof. After stopping my car, I walked over to examine the information board closer. Kicked a few spent red gun shot shells out of my path. I placed, photographed and documented #92 on a wooden beam that supported the roof. This art piece had its own refuge now out in the wild, wild west. A refuge where it can witness the pulse of life out here without any haunting memories.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
3544 Eighth Street, Thatcher, AZ March 16, 2011
I placed, photographed and documented #97 at the corner of the ranch where Spade lives.
Since the death of my first horse, Princess Lulu, in the Fall of 2010, I struggled with whether or not to purchase another horse. I decided that, preferable, it would be a horse from a cattle ranch. I’ve adored the ranch horses that I’ve ridden. Their "job training" makes them versatile and unflappable - obedient.
Outside of me riding this horse for pleasure, it will also function in the role as my "hospice horse." I put together sort of a program for the terminally ill cowboys and cowgirls receiving our hospice services. In the past some of them requested to spend some time with a horse before they die. If they lived within a few mile radius, I would ride Lulu over to who ever’s home they were spending their last days at.
There was this particular elderly cowboy who had his visit with Lulu in the AM. Only a few hours after we had left his home - the man died. He had gotten his last dying wish. Then Princess Lulu ended up in "hospice" herself due to a malignant tumor in her eye. In the end, she had to be put down. I’ll never forget that October day, when the rancher I paid to follow through with that horrible task, came and picked her up. Lady Latte, my other horse, cried out for Lulu all that following night. My heart still aches whenever I think about that day. I swore that I would never get another horse. I swore I wouldn’t ever let myself be vulnerable to that kind of pain again.
The local sheriff and rancher had to thin out his 17 horse herd. That’s how Spade, half quarter horse and half thoroughbred, came on the market. What a dream to ride this gelding and so unflappable. The only draw back to this horse was his height and the fact that he was very difficult to mount without me climbing up on something because of my bad left knee. The only problem Spade presented was an inability to line up and stand still next to objects I chose to help me dismount. He would continually swing out his hind quarters no matter what approach I tried with him.
I told the cowboy, who was the sheriff’s son, if he could teach Spade to line up with the objects I needed him to so I could mount and dismount - he had a sale. The young man said he would work on that task with Spade, then give me a call.
I’m still waiting for that call. Cowboy and indian icon art piece #97 is in tribute to Spade.
May he find his proper home on the range.
Since the death of my first horse, Princess Lulu, in the Fall of 2010, I struggled with whether or not to purchase another horse. I decided that, preferable, it would be a horse from a cattle ranch. I’ve adored the ranch horses that I’ve ridden. Their "job training" makes them versatile and unflappable - obedient.
Outside of me riding this horse for pleasure, it will also function in the role as my "hospice horse." I put together sort of a program for the terminally ill cowboys and cowgirls receiving our hospice services. In the past some of them requested to spend some time with a horse before they die. If they lived within a few mile radius, I would ride Lulu over to who ever’s home they were spending their last days at.
There was this particular elderly cowboy who had his visit with Lulu in the AM. Only a few hours after we had left his home - the man died. He had gotten his last dying wish. Then Princess Lulu ended up in "hospice" herself due to a malignant tumor in her eye. In the end, she had to be put down. I’ll never forget that October day, when the rancher I paid to follow through with that horrible task, came and picked her up. Lady Latte, my other horse, cried out for Lulu all that following night. My heart still aches whenever I think about that day. I swore that I would never get another horse. I swore I wouldn’t ever let myself be vulnerable to that kind of pain again.
The local sheriff and rancher had to thin out his 17 horse herd. That’s how Spade, half quarter horse and half thoroughbred, came on the market. What a dream to ride this gelding and so unflappable. The only draw back to this horse was his height and the fact that he was very difficult to mount without me climbing up on something because of my bad left knee. The only problem Spade presented was an inability to line up and stand still next to objects I chose to help me dismount. He would continually swing out his hind quarters no matter what approach I tried with him.
I told the cowboy, who was the sheriff’s son, if he could teach Spade to line up with the objects I needed him to so I could mount and dismount - he had a sale. The young man said he would work on that task with Spade, then give me a call.
I’m still waiting for that call. Cowboy and indian icon art piece #97 is in tribute to Spade.
May he find his proper home on the range.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Duncan Cemetery, Greenlee County March 15, 2011
I like to place cowboy and indian icon art pieces in honor of folks who were around during the Apache wars. They were the actual witnesses of this racial and cultural conflict. When I stand over their graves I wonder, "How did the Apache wars actually impact this particular person’s life?" I know that the person can’t actually answer me but I still wonder.
Greenlee county was affected by Geronimo and approximately 200 Apache braves after they left the reservation in 1882. Geronimo and his marauding band pillaged, tortured and killed settlers in this area.
I placed, photographed and documented #95 near the grave of Clarence London. He was born on 11/14/1882 and died on 7/17/1969. As a baby, he may have not been a direct witness of Geronimo’s rampage but his family sure was.
Then I placed, photographed and documented #96 near the grave of Mary Jane McCleskey.
She was born on 3/30/1835 and died on 4/6/1916. Now she was old enough to witness an Apache rampage. However, she lived a long and presumely healthy life. Her death definitely was not at the hand of an Apache. Mary Jane did take with her to the grave memories of others, around her, who met such a violent, bloody demise.
I read in the Eastern Arizona Courier today that the airstream trailer that I placed #81 was burned to the ground on 2/26/11 - with every other dwelling on the property - by the fire fighter’s class from Eastern Arizona College in Thatcher. This was part of their "hands on" training. The fire was large. Nothing left on the property was salvageable. The cowboy and indian icon art piece was burned into ashes along with those leafy patterned curtains I loved from the 1950's. I will always have the memory of exploring that airstream trailer with those soiled but fabulous curtains. Who knows. Maybe one of those student fire fighters rescued the cowboy and indian art piece before everything was set a blaze. It could be sitting on the dashboard of his or her car or truck right now. Maybe.
Greenlee county was affected by Geronimo and approximately 200 Apache braves after they left the reservation in 1882. Geronimo and his marauding band pillaged, tortured and killed settlers in this area.
I placed, photographed and documented #95 near the grave of Clarence London. He was born on 11/14/1882 and died on 7/17/1969. As a baby, he may have not been a direct witness of Geronimo’s rampage but his family sure was.
Then I placed, photographed and documented #96 near the grave of Mary Jane McCleskey.
She was born on 3/30/1835 and died on 4/6/1916. Now she was old enough to witness an Apache rampage. However, she lived a long and presumely healthy life. Her death definitely was not at the hand of an Apache. Mary Jane did take with her to the grave memories of others, around her, who met such a violent, bloody demise.
I read in the Eastern Arizona Courier today that the airstream trailer that I placed #81 was burned to the ground on 2/26/11 - with every other dwelling on the property - by the fire fighter’s class from Eastern Arizona College in Thatcher. This was part of their "hands on" training. The fire was large. Nothing left on the property was salvageable. The cowboy and indian icon art piece was burned into ashes along with those leafy patterned curtains I loved from the 1950's. I will always have the memory of exploring that airstream trailer with those soiled but fabulous curtains. Who knows. Maybe one of those student fire fighters rescued the cowboy and indian art piece before everything was set a blaze. It could be sitting on the dashboard of his or her car or truck right now. Maybe.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Corner of Comache Drive & McCarty Trail, Duncan, AZ March 15, 2011
Today I visited with my patients in Greenlee county. The weather is warm enough for the lizards to scurrying about but not hot enough to scorch me through the windshield of my car while driving down the highway. For lunch, I stopped in Ole Jo’s diner in "downtown" Duncan. The walls of this diner are unpainted plywood and wooden posts that host the cattle brands of the local ranchers. There are also old photographs, rodeo posters, sheet metal art (painted black and depicting aspects of local life such as roping calves, bull riding, etc.) and rustic antique accents. Part of the diner is a bar. One has to go through a set of swinging wooden doors, just like in the old western saloons, to enter the bar.
At the diner, there happen to be a group of older female bicyclists who also stopped there for lunch. The started out in Ft. Lauderdale, FL and were in route to San Diego, CA. The other locals and I watched them clown around the diner and bar. They snapped photos of each other as they "played cowboy."
They asked me if I could take a group photo of them which I did. Then they wanted me in the photo. Hmmm, I thought I would jazz things up. So I went outside to my car, grabbed one of my cowboy hats and a horse bridle that I had in my back seat. The ladies were delighted and snapped away!
After the fun and games, they got back on their bikes and headed to a location in New Mexico. I got into my car and drove off to my next patient’s house. While I drove around the area, trying to locate the street my patient lived on, I came across a forlorn white brick house with no address. It was in the carport that I placed, documented and photographed #94. The cowboy and indian icon art piece found a new home in the part of the carport that wasn’t caving in.
After I met with my patient and her family, I headed back to Safford. My transportation was 4 wheels, not 2. These 4 wheels would get me home in time for PM feed. At home, I could exchange my 4 wheels for 4 legs of a horse power. The type of horse power that nuzzles me as soon as I open the corral gate - a welcome that can’t be found in any new town or long and winding road any where in the United States.
At the diner, there happen to be a group of older female bicyclists who also stopped there for lunch. The started out in Ft. Lauderdale, FL and were in route to San Diego, CA. The other locals and I watched them clown around the diner and bar. They snapped photos of each other as they "played cowboy."
They asked me if I could take a group photo of them which I did. Then they wanted me in the photo. Hmmm, I thought I would jazz things up. So I went outside to my car, grabbed one of my cowboy hats and a horse bridle that I had in my back seat. The ladies were delighted and snapped away!
After the fun and games, they got back on their bikes and headed to a location in New Mexico. I got into my car and drove off to my next patient’s house. While I drove around the area, trying to locate the street my patient lived on, I came across a forlorn white brick house with no address. It was in the carport that I placed, documented and photographed #94. The cowboy and indian icon art piece found a new home in the part of the carport that wasn’t caving in.
After I met with my patient and her family, I headed back to Safford. My transportation was 4 wheels, not 2. These 4 wheels would get me home in time for PM feed. At home, I could exchange my 4 wheels for 4 legs of a horse power. The type of horse power that nuzzles me as soon as I open the corral gate - a welcome that can’t be found in any new town or long and winding road any where in the United States.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)