Sidetracked Charley

I was in the fourth grade when our family moved from El Paso, Texas to Albuquerque, New Mexico. We moved because I could not breathe the air there. I want to say they cracked petroleum there. But what did I know beyond the sky was sometimes yellow and I could not breathe. Mom was pregnant with Debbie, and Gary and I rode in the backseat separated by a round tank full of Dad's tropical fish. Dad had a job with Sealright, Inc which made paper milk cartons. Sealright was a polyethylene packing subsidiary of Phillips 66. The petroleum company. I was rather proud of myself for learning to say that, and to not laugh when adults would stare at me not knowing what to ask about that. Albuquerque smelled better. Then. Before all the freeways were built and the shape of the valley trapped the exhaust down near the ground in the winter months. We lived in the foothills. I could breathe. I learned that if I could see the air I could not. Still it was better than El Paso though I missed our trip

Fall of Stars 20 x 30 Mixed Media on Artists canvas $1350 Next to last of the End of Days series? When did the series begin? Is it even a series? Maybe it is really a period like Picasso's Blue Period. What binds these paintings together? I sat down in my studio to play with doing an interview on video and while working on framing, how to put a painting into the frame with me, where was the best lighting in my studio, an incredible dryness in my mouth making talking difficult, what came out after a sip of water and swallowing was the End of Days series. Now with a friend coming over to interview me I am struck by what to say. I have thought of a group of paintings I began after I dared to not paint churches. They are largely canyons, my cathedrals, though here and there is a pueblo or ruin of the before people. There is nothing special about those really. I have always been drawn to the architecture of ancient ruins and yes, canyons. And old mission churches in New Mexico which I s

The 1942 Case Tractor   The weather forecasts through December and January kept saying Snow Showers. And on those days we would get an inch or two. I wanted more. I wanted snow up to a Labradoodle's chest. Magique hunting voles It would take at least that to keep us from sinking more into the drought and cause us to face another wildfire. And then it appeared in the NOAA forecast: Snow Shower, Snow Shower, and SNOW. Capitals are mine. But we got approximately eight inches combined from the two days of Snow Showers. And 18 on the day it called for SNOW. Wasn't over yet That was last week. I figured that was our freak weather event and we would slide back to La Nina weather of Snow Showers. But this Wednesday the Tuesday snow began early and stayed late. Melding into the major winter storm Olive. Unfortunately it was also a severe wind event. And included warnings for another possible Snow Squall like last winter. Snow Squall is the mountain equivalent of a straight wind tornado.

A funny thing happened on the way to recovery from the Calf Canyon/Hermits Peak Fire: I lost my way. I have been through Post Traumatic Stress Disorder before. And I just figured I was there again. I knew my way out. Keep putting one foot in front of another. Replant all the seeds which were abandoned without water when I was yanked from my roots and put in an alien environment. Check on your neighbors like the Red Tailed Hawk, and Kellie across the street, and Leslie back from Guam. Plant a garden way late and paint. Survive. But like head injuries, each subsequent episode of PTSD gets harder. Not easier. Denial stronger. I became obsessed with my garden. Things which are green and growing and close to the ground so I could keep my head down and not scan the horizon for any cloud which looked too much like smoke. All clouds looked too much like smoke. When my Angel Fire friends talked of fire pits and fire works I zoned out. I even began deleting those fire bugs which talked of such t