8.14.13

I am on the last leg of my protracted southwest roadie, holed up in Flagstaff, back in my own bed tomorrow night. Yea! It has been a good trip, certainly not lucrative by past standards, but enough gelt to keep the wolves from the door. I was able to spend time with some of my favorite friends, dealers and clients and on balance am happy with the whole excursion. As I am constantly reminded by many of you, I've got a pretty good life.

I'm tired and think that I will try to lay down a scattergun summary of the last week or so. Last we spoke I was heading out of Albuquerque and the Bosque towards Santa Fe. I rolled into town and had a pretty miserable meal at Tiny's. Place used to be great but this was the second disaster in a row and I am now officially through with the joint. No flavor to the once incredible chicken tacos - from the sublime to the ridiculous.

I checked into my hotel stopped off to check in with John Morris at the Museo and then met Stoops at the Plaza Cafe for dinner. I had my compulsory cashew chicken mole enchilada and sopapilla that are always terrific. There was an emoish cowboy singer crooning away at the bandshell that didn't sound terribly interesting.

Had a two day setup, then a five day show, which is uncharacteristically long and now pretty much a blur. My first time at this particular show and it may have been reflected in my fairly dismal sales. Slow but steady. Perhaps I just didn't have the right merchandise, aging demographic, aging dealer, luck of the draw, who the hell knows about these things?

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Sold my Wallace Rodeo china set to a charming woman named Rebecca, Schenck's girlfriend. We got into an interesting conversation. She said that after 50 a woman largely turns invisible to the world.

Which is funny because Helen McHargue wrote a great poem about the very same subject a few years ago that I would like to put my hands on again. Wonder if there is a gender based double standard? Maybe we all get invisible? Although I think that women are judged differently, unfortunately. What do I know? I'm no psychiatrist, I just play one on the internet.

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I was driving one morning on Cerrillos Rd. and stopped and rolled my window down to get a newspaper from one of those guys who I assume is in drug rehab and now is hawking local fishwraps in the morning in traffic. How much I asked the guy? Seventy five cents, he says. I handed him a buck and he gave me a funny look and walked away.

I thought for a second about asking him where my quarter was but the look from the guy said, hey pal, you look like you are doing all right and as you can see my life is fucking hell so let's just call it even and not talk about the quarter and I capiched and didn't say a word.

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I was going to La Fonda one morning to buy my new york times and ran into my friend, rockstar native american painter Tony Abeyta working on a new mural at the hotel. Tony is a fantastic artist and a great guy. We were both friends of Sam Maloof. We reminisced a bit about our late friend and a bunch of other stuff. Tony bought me breakfast. Really glad that he is doing so well. Nice to catch up.

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I, of course, ate like a swine all week. Big veal chop at the Bullring, Zia Diner, Osteria, it is all sort of a blur right now. Steve and Mitzi had us over for a great meal. Definitely the best public meal I had was at Santa Cafe, probably the most consistent fare in town. John and Luzanne invited me to join their dinner.

Rounding out the table  was Monique, Mira Nakashima, the famous furniture maker, her friend John and Mike Runnels, the ex D.A. and Lieutenant Governor of the Land of en/disenchantment. We got into a very spirited discussion about all manner of topics. Was afraid I had been a bit too demonstrative but John said that everybody enjoyed the evening and I definitely did. I have always been such a fan of Mira and her father George's work and it was a real privilege to make her acquaintance.

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Attended two great parties last wednesday, Jan Duggan's opening of the Art of Smoke show at Two Star and the Sandroni's annual soirée. Both wonderful affairs. Had a chance to meet Joe and Linda's great kids at the latter and really enjoyed them.

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Read an article the other day about the ten worst computer passwords. The worst was pet names. (Damn.) But they also said that you should give a fake mother's maiden name for a secret question because it is too easy for schmucky hackers to look up your mother's actual maiden name on the web.

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Stopped by and saw Les Perhacs's show at the Gerald Peters Gallery. Very impressive looking. I hope that he kicks ass.

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I bought a very cool and early Fritz Scholder collage painting that I like very much at the show. Come by the gallery and take a look.

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Longtime psychedelic poster artist Dennis Larkins stopped by the booth and shared some of the fantastic work he is doing for the band Moonalice with me. Top notch stuff.

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NY Stan sent me this quite unusual link on William Kentridge. Give it a chance.

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Mark Zaplin came by the booth one day. Mark has been fighting the big C for a couple years but he both looked great and had a great attitude. Incredible strength of spirit. I am really rooting for him and a recovery.

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Dawn at the water hole © Bill Schenck 2013

I detoured to Bill Schenck's wonderful ranch today and ordered a small commission. Very exciting. Bill signed his new book and gave me a copy. He is a good guy, very talented cowboy pop artist and I frankly can't wait for my painting.

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Tooled on down to Albuquerque afterwards and checked on the status of a large rug I am having restored at Textival. Might have to ship it to Turkey for some reweaving but it will one day be gorgeous.

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I finally made it the 40 west. Exhausted. I was pretty beat driving today. I turned north at Winslow and tried cruising up to the Homolovi ruins but the gate was shut. I took this picture there last year.

Instead I decided to try to catch the sunset from Meteor Crater. I had never been there. Sixteen bucks. Nice big impact crater.

Pretty cool spot, snagged some great sunset shots. Dawn of creation type sunset.

I finally made it to Flag. Exhausted, this is all I think I can muster. Good night.