Intimate Details

There was an Aztec ceremony or velación at famed Ranchos Church a week ago Saturday. Steve Bundy, John Farnsworth and I photographed the spectacle in all its colorful glory and yet again I default to toned black and white. Which is not to say that Kodachrome moments won't follow in due course. 

As the pageantry wound down this intimate exchange emerged. As best I can figure these participants are experiencing a cleansing practice called limpia using prayer sticks made of fresh flowers. I found their warm engagement to be brimming with kinship and goodwill, commodities in rare supply these days. And I find hand kissing to be largely missing in public discourse. 

Not so fast smarty pants

Last week I offered faces in the crowd and pledged more action shots from small town rodeos in New Mexico. After reviewing shots from the Taos Sheriff’s Posse Rodeo I've learned that I have a lot to learn about stopping the action.

So instead, here’s more from the Jacob Mastic Memorial Rodeo in suburban Santa Fe. A good friend in California lamented that she had always struggled photographing her son’s high school football games to which I responded, “I’ve got that wired. Not a problem for me.” Sorry Kathy, that is very much not the case. Mea culpa.

Then another friend, the wonderful photographer Terry Thompson, said that has found color effective in portraying the frantic action of dusty cowpokes at work. Here's one:

This is from the Taos Rodeo. It almost works.

Rodeo Folk

Twice in the last month I’ve photographed rodeos. There’s so much action that it’s a third career just selecting the best sequences of saddle bronc riding, bull riding and the ever popular bulldogging. Then there are the faces of rodeo participants and spectators to which I am drawn.

Because selecting the best action shots is so daunting I’m offering more folks in the crowd today. This despite my pledge last week to share snorting bulls and horses in mid-buck.

These, by the way, are from the 50th annual Taos Sheriffs Posse Rodeo held June 24 and 25.

Don't mess with mama

I have to say that ranch, or is it rodeo, women seem like a hard-bitten lot. Is it just me but doesn't this mother-daughter duo with forty pounds each of beer girdle look tough enough to kick your effete ass?

These faces in the crowd are from the Jacob Mastic Memorial Rodeo. More action shots next time.

A sequence of events

Rodeos are fast paced to say the least. It’s rapid fire ballet of man and beast that comes at you hot, heavy and dusty. As I plow through the 2,000 shots from a week ago (and I am bleary eyed from the ordeal) I’ve chosen one sequence from the many I photographed that day. I selected this one because of the billowing dirt through which you’ll see this iconic slice of western Americana.

This is an experiment of sorts, one in which you’ll have to endure a herd of images to get the full picture. You could argue that this story would best be presented in a short video. Alas, that learning process lingers about half way down my lengthy to-do list.

Jacob Mastic Memorial Rodeo

A week ago I drove down the Turquoise Trail south of Santa Fe to photograph the Jacob Mastic Memorial Rodeo. Joining me were Steven Bundy and John Farnsworth, a couple of great shooters and good friends. Thanks to Steve for the heads-up. Last year, you may recall, we photographed the National Day of the Cowboy at the very same Mortenson Ranch.

My mission was hone my skills at action shots, not something I do much of. I clicked the shutter about 2,000 times. Don’t know if it’s a record but it’s right up there. Because I took so many cowboys in action images and have yet to edit and edit and edit them to get to the best 500, here are some faces in the crowd.

Next week there’ll an onslaught of swirling dust, whirling cows and intrepid cowboys and cowgirls in non-stop action. Here's a taste:

Adobe on the Prairie

Somewhere on the Blue Highways between Des Moines, NM and Branson, CO on my way to Bent's Old Fort I spied the sleeping bones of this adobe farmhouse. The dipping sun cast a gorgeous glow on the little dwelling. At least it glowed in the color iteration which I may or may not have shared with you a couple of years back. Funny thing. I have no fool proof method of knowing whether I’ve already posted an image but, instead, must rely on my steel trap of a mind to recall 500 some odd posts or would need to review ten years of posts to know for sure. That chore, thank you very much, isn’t going to happen.

La Morada

The newly mudded Morada de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe

Looking back at the path of the cross from the fourteenth station 

La Morada de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe is the mother ship of northern New Mexico’s and southern Colorado’s eighty plus moradas or lay chapels. They were built by the faithful when the Catholic church failed to provide churches and priests to their mixed breed flock in the campo. What grew in their stead in the early 19th century was a conservative brand of Catholicism that featured bloody acts of penance. There are thought to be about twelve active tribunals in northern New Mexico. 

Ojo Sarco

The unincorporated village of Ojo Sarco lies in a gorgeous high valley east of Dixon, south of Peñasco and west of Las Trampas. Gotta love those musical monikers. Drive east from Dixon on SR 75. Just out of town take the right fork onto SR 580 which becomes CR 69 just as it turns to dirt. A short but scenic journey through red rock country delivers you to the little church and its sagging neighbor.

Tyrrell Errata

Earthy Tyrrell coffee cups on the seconds shelf

Oops! I misspelled Al Tyrrell's name and, hence, web address. My apologies to the talented potter and to you. It would be www.altyrrellpottery.com to see more.

Al Tyrell's Cups

I have one of Al Tyrrell’s coffee cups for every day of the week. I’m a big fan of hand thrown pottery, generally, and Al’s lighter than air tazzas fit my thumb and index finger like a glove. I choose the color and shape of the morning’s cup based on a feeling, like selecting what to wear on a given day. Today's is my newest from last Sunday, a lovely granite and burnt sienna number.

The cups shown above reside on Al’s seconds shelf outside opposite his kiln. Damned if I can tell why they're seconds which is not to suggest that I buy seconds. Anyway, I‘ve used a shallow depth of field because I like the softness and how the image fades into the background.

Al says “Dishes in natural colors created to bring beauty to everyday life.” Visit his studio in Dixon, New Mexico or at www.altyrrellpottery.com.

Yeah, I know. With all this talk about colors this probably ought to be in, well, color but black and white's my thing. 

On the way in the rain

On the way from Malaga to Gaucin by the way of Ronda I passed through a rainstorm and came upon this crumbling finca just as the deluge stopped.

Leave your mark on the world

Last week’s post was a quiet little effort, almost a throwaway it seemed. But then came comments that told me that the graffiti on the walls of the church in Taiban, NM was thought provoking to some. I told my friend, the noted painter Steven Day, that I didn't know whether the sobering verse ending with "I had to kill myself" was genuinely moving or simply maudlin.

I've learned that the church was built at the cost of $250 in 1908 in the town of Taiban, NM and that it served a congregation of Presbyterians, Methodists and Baptists till 1936 when the town withered to nothingness and vanished entirely by World War Two.                     

Sometimes it pays to pull over on the side of the road if your curiosity is piqued

Inside the abandoned Presbyterian church between Taiban and Tolar, New Mexico is a range of earthly writings. Some like exhibit one above are exuberantly positive. Others like exhibit two are as dark as dark can be. 

Several years back I re-visited Fort Ord, the long closed army base where I partook of basic training in the summer of 1960. There, too, I came across wrenching graffiti in the barren halls where young men laughed and learned to be soldiers. As best I could figure, squatters had bedded down in the decaying barracks and left us mementos of their angst and desperation. 

My examination of the little church's interior walls affected me the same way.

I applaud the message of the headline I purloined from the south facing wall.

Vantage Points

The little church between Taiban and Tolar grabbed me and won't let go. Here's the little treasure from the west and and directly up to the eaves.

I’m experimenting with file size as I try to solve the riddle of Facebook’s annoying crops. Facebook viewers please click on the image to be sure you see the whole thing.

Next week a little of what’s written inside the proud edifice.

Church and Sky

East of Fort Sumner, best known as the place where Pat Garrett plugged Billy the Kid, spread empty flats that are indistinguishable from arid West Texas. Ahead lies Clovis, NM where Buddy Holly recorded his early hits. The ribbon of US Highway 84 slices through the arid steppes with only the remains of tiny railroad towns like Taiban and Tolar to relieve the sameness. Standing alone between them is a shuttered Presbyterian church begging to be remembered. 

Payback time

A few days ago my friend John Farnsworth posted an image of me from his favorite café cum duck blind in Antigua. Not to be outdone, here’s payback for his entirely too candid candid. Might even be from the same afternoon. Take that, guapo!

Out like a lion

Last Wednesday Mother Nature threw us a curve ball as yesterday’s 70 become today’s 40 with winds to 50mph. Didn’t exactly need that to tell the truth. Still, look on the bright side. The blustery winds and low clouds gave us this display.

Betwixt and Between

Green River, Utah is a withering former mining town just off I-70 in the center of the state. It’s a place that you stop when you can’t drive any farther. You left Grand Junction in your rear view mirror a 100 miles ago and it’s 100 more to the next services in Salina. When you do condescend to take the off ramp you discover a bevy of decaying buildings and the most incredible light come sundown. This little shed at a railroad siding on the south side of town is one such treasure.

973 souls populate the once thriving uranium mining mecca, the site of a defunct missile launch complex and now the potential host of a nuclear power plant. It's a slippery slope to oblivion.

Mesa Vista

Ghost Ranch is one of New Mexico’s iconic locations, all red rock mesas, piñon pines and scrub. It’s makes for a perfect photo jaunt which when combined with lunch at Bode’s General Store in nearby Abiquiu. After lunch jump over to Plaza Blanca for more New Mexico magic.

It's still life

For three weeks I’ve felt like I’ve had one foot in Guatemala and the other here in New Mexico. I miss the adventure and freedom of being in a new place yet I'm glad to be back home. I've been musing about the nature of travel, especially the kind that allows enough time in a place to feel like you almost live there. It’s like having two lives and those two lives add up to more than the sum of the parts. Two and a half lives maybe or three. It makes life seem larger, longer and maybe even slower which in my advanced middle age seems handy.

Today I get back to the basics of black and white photography with a couple of still lifes, the shallow depth of field barbed wire from the village of Golondrinas which lies between Mora and Watrous, New Mexico and the succulent from the cliff walk in Laguna Beach after a rain. The raindrop flecked agave probably says desert to you not the Mediterranean environs of Southern California. I live for these little misdirections.    

This and that in Antigua

The cross of the church at the Convent of the Conception

We're winding down on the trip that never ends. Time to get on with contemporary New Mexican imagery methinks. Then again, one never knows.

On the chicken bus to Pastores from Antigua.

Camera shy in Antigua.

Madonna at the market

Volcan Agua at dusk from Avenida 3