Lessons Learned

Adobe at Ranchos Plaza. Sold two big ones of this beauty.

38 Ranchos Plaza. Yup, same edifice.

I told Peggy that I was so tired by Sunday afternoon that I was nauseous. I don’t know how long it’s been since that happened. Decades for sure.

Rio Grande January. This is my favorite. Peggy's fave is above.

The leaden fatigue stemmed from the most successful opening in my slow building photographic career. As I’ve written over past weeks, Peggy and I launched our fourth bi-annual two person show at Wilder Nightingale Fine Art on Saturday, May 29. And, as described, the hook of this particular show was that both of us would be working exclusively in squares, hence the too clever by half moniker Immel². It seemed like a thin premise from the outset of our endeavor. But something happened on the way to oblivion. 

Walking Rain. Another big one.

A huge Into the Clouds will adorn the dining room in Bill and Tracy's Austin home if it stands up to a billboard sized enlargement she wants. A medium sized print of this sold as well.

Fresh Oven Bread is now at home with Mark and Irene Goodman.

Puerta Turqueza joins Fresh Oven Bread at Casa Goodman.

Thursday night I couldn’t sleep. From 11pm to 3:00am I was agitated to the point of anger over the (dim) prospects for selling my work. I had no such concern for Peggy. Her work is stellar. She's on a roll. I, on the other hand, feel like a journeyman, a competent plugger. In one of our earlier duets, I enjoyed exactly zero sales. That’s not a track record that inspires high hopes.

Because of COVID Rob Nightingale staged our opening from noon to 7pm. In a normal year it would have been 5-7 which concentrates the action. Seven hours mitigated for a trickle of traffic in the early going and some bustle from 4 onward.

Because Peggy had a voracious collector already queued up, she had half a dozen red dots on the wall the day before the opening. Buyers like bulls are attracted to red, and her onslaught of sales ensued. I didn’t have a sale till mid-afternoon. It wasn’t laudable, but it kept me from hari-kari.

Prompted perhaps by a first red dot next to an 8”x8” image called Into the Clouds, the sky brightened and a chorus of angels sang. By 6pm I’d sold eight prints and I’ve never sold more than four in a show.

What, you ask, are the reasons for this mysterious reversal of fortune? Frankly, Frank, it’s three things.

One, because I hadn’t made a square photograph since 1949, I had to scour the archives for stand-out horizontal images that could be rendered as squares. I have made the occasional winner in the six million images I’ve produced over the last 20 years I was able to package 18 worthy squares. So, reason one is that I could pick and choose the best out of a ton of possibles.

Reason two is simply the square format itself. We contended in our press materials that squares are more contemporary and more intimate. In the early going that was “dazzle them with bullshit” but by the end of day one it was reality. Who knew we were so prescient?

And finally, white frames. I am dazzled by a simple presentation that focusses the viewer’s full attention on the photograph on the damn image not the periphery. That’s reason three. I’m convinced I’m on to something here.

Selecting your best stuff. That’s clearly number one.

It's hip to be square.

And white frames rock.

And finally heartfelt thanks to all the folks who braved the Memorial Day hordes that descended on Taos. Thanks to you buyers out there. You know who you are.

And special thanks to Bill Roquemore and Tracy Wallingford-Roquemore who flew in from Austin to be part of the festivities. It was a total surprise to see them ambling toward the gallery early Saturday afternoon. It wasn’t the first kindness Bill has shown me. Back in 2006 he flew in for my ever show in Santa Fe. I had the misfortune scheduling my inaugural ball for Indian Market Weekend. Nobody else showed up but Bill.

And this year he did it on his Birthday. That's a tried and true friend.

Two for the show

Adobe at Ranchos Plaza, 15"x15" on 24"x24" rag paper.

Cruz Blanca, 15"x15" image in 24"x24" rag paper

Here’s a preview of the upcoming two person show with Peggy Immel. The opening will be from noon to 7pm Saturday May 29 at Wilder Nightingale Fine Art in Taos. It’s our fourth bi-annual show. It will run through Sunday, June 20.

The process of selecting images and configuring the strongest possible show is both exhausting and instructive. It forces a person to consider hundreds of photographs while asking, “Which ones are best?” Followed by, “Which ones work best together as a cohesive package”? 

Because a criterion of Immel² New Perspectives is that every artwork must be in the square format, there’s another layer of complexity.  Having photographed exclusively in the classic digital 3x2 aspect ratio since 2002 it meant assessing each potential image to decide if it could be successfully cropped from a horizontal to a square. That flies in the face of almost 20 years of seeing every subject in horizontal terms. I have proudly declared that I always compose in the viewfinder and print full frame. It's right there in my artist statement. So, cropping every photograph in this show has been a major departure philosophically and aesthetically.  Intensive therapy helped. After going through process of selecting and cropping 19 photographs I’ve concluded that the adventure was worth it and that maybe just maybe I should become less rigid in my golden years. Only time and experimentation with other aspect ratios will tell. I still revel in the discipline of composing in the viewfinder. Its' been a point of pride to render a subject just the way I saw it.

When I start assembling a show I choose the biggest pieces and work down. Typically, the larger anchor pieces are the ones that I think are the most impressive and, by implication, have the best chance of selling. In this case two of the four 15”x15” images on 24”x24” paper are already proven sellers in the horizontal format. And one of them, Adobe at Ranchos Plaza, was included in our Show Preview article in the May issue of Southwest Art magazine. And it was in our ad in the same magazine. So, it had to be in the show.

Book Cliffs

Puerta Turqueza

Here lies Bernardo Salazar

The meat of the show are the medium size prints shown above. There are nine of these 8”x8” images on 12”x12” paper.

Butternut Squash

Elegy

The final component are the ones I call “little jewels.” These are images that lend themselves to small presentations and hew toward still lifes. I have a great affinity for these compact numbers. They are 4"x4" on 8"x8" paper.

From the outset if this project I’ve believed the square presentation to be a more modern than the horizontal one I’ve favored for more than fifty years. Now that I see the 19 framed photographs as a package, I think I was right.

Please visit www.wnightingale.com, click on Events to see Rob’s Immel² New Perspectives. Then click on Artists and scroll down to Immel² New Perspectives. Click there to see all the paintings and photographs in the show.

For a more personal look please visit Peggy and me at Wilder Nightingale Fine Art from noon to 7pm, Saturday, May 29. We’ll be there the whole time and Peggy will be demonstrating from 1pm to 4pm.

See you there.

America the Beautiful

Adobe at Ranchos Plaza, Ranchos de Taos, NM

Blanket of Snow, Ranchos de Taos, NM

Harjula's, Thomaston, ME

On May 29, the same day as the opening of Immel² New Perspectives at Wilder Nightingale Fine Art, the virtual show America the Beautiful opens, as well. Peggy and I are proud to be included in Mary Williams Fine Art's online exhibition. It’s massive in scale, features some of the country’s foremost artists and 20% of the proceeds will be contributed to Feeding America. Both the artist and Mary Williams Fine Art will donate 10% of their sales to this worthy charity.

Book Cliffs, Grand Junction, CO

Presbyterian Church, Taiban, NM

Sagrado Corazon, Peñasco, NM

Standard Station, Rice, CA

America the Beautiful started with a question, “What could the gallery do to promote, through the beauty of fine art, the profound wonder of America?”

Yacht Club, Salton Sea CA

Wagon Ruts, Clines Corner, NM

Walking Rain, Navajo Nation, AZ

The answer Mary Q. Williams concluded was to build a show that honors our country through artworks from all 50 states by artists from all 50. She writes, “I am very serious about making this successful on a national, as well a charitable level.” 

As you peruse the scope of the show, I hope you’ll find an art piece that touches you, that will grace your home or workplace and that will help Feeding America continue its important work.

Feeding America supports 200 food banks and 60,000 local food pantries. It’s the nation’s largest domestic hunger relief organization. For more than forty years it has responded to the needs of people struggling with food insecurity. Feeding America’s goal is to win the fight against hunger in America.

Did you know that more than 40 million Americans including 13 million children face hunger every day? No community is spared by this tragic reality in wealthiest nation on earth. You can help Feeding America in its quest to feed hungry Americans by buying an art piece from American the Beautiful. I can’t think of anything more worthwhile and rewarding.

To learn more, click on:

www.feedingamerica.org

www.marywilliamsfinearts.com/america-the-beautiful

Mary has kindly accepted all ten of my photographs. I usually limit the number of images in a blog post to six, but this time here’s a preview of all ten. 

Thanks for exploring America the Beautiful. I hope you find a painting, sculpture, or a photograph you love. It’s a purchase you can feel good about. 

New Perspectives at Wilder Nightingale

Mark your calendars! On Saturday, May 29 our fourth biannual show, Immel² New Perspectives, opens at Wilder Nightingale Fine Art in Taos. Here's the Show Preview written by Southwest Art Magazine's Senior Editor, Allison Malafronte. We thank Alison for the thoughtful interview and article. Look for it in the May issue of Southwest Art which is on newsstands now. 

I encourage you to click on the first page just below. That will reveal the text full size which will be easier to read.

 

Opening, Saturday May 29, 2021 from Noon to 7

and running through Sunday, June 20.

We hope to see you there.

To learn more contact me at

steve@steveimmelphotography.com

The Sunny Side of the Street

Waiting for the bus to Monterrico from Antigua

The Kissing Alley, Guanajuato, Guatemala

After examining the ethics of photographing people on the margins of society two weeks ago I have selected a few images of a happier persuasion. Cheerful stories are no less important than the images of destitution that appeared in the April 18^th edition. Yet they don’t pack the emotional wallop. And they seem less of an intrusion somehow. We can share cheery moments in time without regret or embarrassment. So, have a blast. Candid street photographs of the joy in everyday life speak of the human condition as eloquently as darker ones that reveal misery and hopelessness.

Payent, Avignon

Connected in Marseille

Gallic nose, Marseille

Traje de Gitana, Flamenco dress, Sevilla

Whether photographing the down and out or a loving couple in The Kissing Alley, I’m squarely from school of anonymity. It’s the only way to avoid influencing the scene. Sometimes even a stealthy shooter gets caught in the act. A matron in her fitted traje de gitana struck a flamenco pose when she saw me photographing from a Seville sidewalk.

Just a minute

The Colonel and some of our Area and District Managers. The handsome youngster behind me is Bill Roquemore, then the DM in Columbus, later a Pizza Hut executive and a Pizzeria Uno franchisee. Bill is one of my dearest friends. 

Sometimes a bit player makes a lasting impression. They don’t play a major role, yet you remember them for decades. Jimmy Ackerman of Perrysville, PA is one of those. For reasons I can’t explain he popped into my mind Saturday. He was a blip on the radar screen of my life but has stuck with me for more than forty years. Remembering Jimmy propelled me into a mental inventory of others who made a big impression in a minor role.

In the spring of 1976, I was promoted to vice president on KFC Corporation. I had spent three years as executive vice president and general manager of a small subsidiary. I performed both roles through July 4^th, our nation’s bicentennial. I know this because Peggy, Garrett and I celebrated the milestone in historic Lexington, MA, a couple of towns over from our home in Lincoln. The backstory is unimportant other than as a lead-in to meeting Jimmy.

Undertaking the unlikely turnaround of KFC’s northeast region required a move to the New York City area and the regional office in Greenwich, CT. Turnaround understates the situation substantially. KFC was in a tailspin, a situation well known in the executive suite of KFC and of its parent, Heublein, the Smirnoff and José Cuervo folks.

The chairman of KFC, Mike Miles and president, Jim Willie recognized that KFC was in the tank and that their 800 company-owned stores were operated like dog meat. I have a stronger descriptor in mind. And my northeast region was the worst of the worst. KFC had just launched a monumental quality control push intended to raise operating standards in the stores. It was named QSC, for Quality, Service and Cleanliness of which we had little. 100% was a perfect score. For example, the inspector took the interior temperature of the fried chicken with the handy probe thermometer in his pocket. It had to register at least 140 degrees and ideally 160 degrees which proved that it was fresh. Below 140 it had to be thrown out much to the chagrin of the store manager.

As part of that QSC effort I began visiting every district and every store in my 229-store region that included New York City, the worst of the worst of the worst.  Some sage at home office in Louisville told me, “If you can fix that sorry son of a bitch they ought to give it to you.” So, I inspected all the stores with the area manager (about 10 stores) and the district manager (from 25 to 66 stores). One of those visits was to the Pittsburgh district where I toured and inspected all 39 stores in DM Ray Reimer’s realm. They were crap.

Standing tall among the midgets was Jimmy Ackerman’s Perrysville store. It was a jewel. Jimmy had operated the unit for ten years. He had painted the place himself. It was polished to a sheen. His employees were crisp and enthusiastic. Though the establishment was a plain box from the 1950s it glistened with pride. He operated it like it was Jimmy’s Fried Chicken. I was blown away. Ray Reimer, whose best days were frying chicken when he was in high school didn’t recognize the talent and commitment in his midst. Reimer is the fawning dude with the white belt and shoes at the top of the page.

The answer to why Jimmy was still a store manager, I hypothesize, is that he didn’t look like multi-unit management material. He was round, bespectacled and self-effacing. And Reimer was a Neanderthal. Pittsburg workers put their heads down and wait their turn. So did Jimmy. I marveled at the blue collar mentality and allegiance to company that I observed throughout the Steel City.

Jimmy Ackerman became an area manager soon after my visit. One of the best. And when KFC announced its top ten area managers in 1977, Jimmy was among them.

I remember the name of exactly four store managers out of the 229 in my region. Notable among them were Jimmy Ackerman and Deepak Patel from the 23^nd Street store in Manhattan. Deepak was a 1977 top ten store manager out of 800 across the country. He was the face of the immigrants who operated so many of our New York stores and who contribute so much to our country. Virtually every manager in NYC was a person of color and a third were immigrants. I don’t remember a single white male manager. Deepak, unlike most KFC managers, was a college graduate who pursued the American dream the old-fashioned way, by working harder and smarter than everybody else. His pride in his store was as palpable as Jimmy’s. Though I met him just once he made such an impression that I Googled his name several years back. I didn’t find that Deepak. The ones I did find were all doctors. Did you know that 25% of physicians in the United States are foreign born and that 8.5% are from India? Most are in the country on visas that bar them from changing employers or moving to another state, even temporarily, a restriction that makes it difficult to move to Covid hotspots. Makes no sense to me.

Jimmy and Deepak were honored at our 1977 national convention in New Orleans. It was a highlight of my life.

The South Bronx in 1977

There was a third store manager whose name I don’t recall. He deserves better. I’ll him Mustapha. He operated a store in the Bronx across from a burned-out city block that looked like Bagdad after the bombs. New York was on fire in the mid-70s. I was strangely oblivious to how bad the racial unrest was. Mustapha was north of fifty and had a PhD in Chemistry. He had the proud bearing of the professor he had once been. He operated his store with utter precision. His store was, in short, perfect. He fell into a conversation with me as if we were peers. He wanted to tell his story. It was apparent to both of us that he was beneath his station. He was an imposing and powerful figure, perhaps a retired general. I asked how he became a (lowly) KFC manager. He told me that he’d immigrated to the U.S. a decade before. He had located in New York and had become a high school chemistry teacher in the South Bronx. He described how he couldn’t tolerate the disrespect that American students showed him. In Egypt, he told me, the teacher was the absolute ruler of his realm and that respect was demanded and given. He simmered. He channeled his discontent into making his store the best it could be.

Two others I remember for less August reasons. One I recall for a name that's out of Scorsese movie. She was Chickie Faracca who managed the unit on the Cross Bronx Expressway. The other was Leroy Capers who was the size of an NFL lineman and ran what the highest volume KFC store in the world at Herald Square. Leroy held the title till the Moscow outpost opened. Oh, and Chickie was sleeping with her Area Manager, Enzo Caltanissetta. Speaking of names.

I met Deepak and Mustapha one time. It couldn’t have been more than an hour. It doesn’t take long to recognize a stellar human being. With luck you never forget them.

To do or not to do

Walk on by, Madrid

Out of the shadows, Las Vegas, NM

Much has been written about the ethics of photographing the homeless and downtrodden souls we see on the street. Of late the chance of witnessing this kind of misery has grown exponentially. San Francisco is the poster child for the plight of homelessness and for our collective inability or unwillingness to deal with it. My examination of photographing those who are less fortunate was prompted by an essay in Medium back in February. It stuck with me. Then I was touched by the response that the top two photographs elicited on Instagram last week. You’ve seen them but the stories they tell are germane to the context of this post. 

The Medium article makes the case that these people are invisible to us and we perform a service when we shine a light on them. I’m not quite as sanguine but I'm chewing over that perspective. I worry this kind of photography may be maudlin and cheap tug at the heartstrings.

Center of inattention, San Miquel de Allende

Talking hands, San Francisco

Human conditions, San Miguel de Allende

One man band, San Miguel de Allende

In your face, Los Angeles

The thrust of much of the commentary about this fraught subject is that we must treat the human beings in our visual narratives with respect. Most of us try to avoid seeing these people. That’s painfully obvious in the top image. It makes the case that we either don’t see these human beings, or we will them to disappear. That’s why they are often described “unseen” or “forgotten.” They and their human condition warrant memorializing. Yet photographing the vulnerable among seems voyeuristic and an intrusion into their space. It is awkward and it does violate their privacy. But is it more of a violation than photographing a laughing family on a picnic?

The case can be made that any candid shot of a woman or man on the street is intrusive. But that it’s really taking advantage when the person is distressed, incapacitated and helpless. Candid street photography is worthy social commentary if it brings attention to a shameful situation. Is it also shameless?

Most of my street photography is of ordinary folks doing ordinary things, of everyday lives being lived. More than a few are lighthearted. Today I’m shining a light on subjects that I am almost embarrassed to have photographed.

In broader terms the street photographers fall into two camps, anonymous flies on the wall and those who engage the prospective subject and acquire permission. Some even pay for the intrusion. That’s been happening since the early 19^th century when photographers had to hire their subjects because exposure times were so long. Engaging potential subjects is fine. It's a choice. Posing your model ala Diane Arbus is perfectly appropriate, too. Pay them if you must, but you’ll get a different, and I’d argue, a less real result than truly candid shot.

I am very much of the fly on wall persuasion. It’s best that the victim doesn’t know you’re there.

I recall being chased down Turk Street in San Francisco’s Tenderloin by a homeless couple yelling, “Get out of here, motherfucker. Give us some goddamn respect.” I turned my back and walked as fast as my little chicken legs could go.

I’ll tell you one thing. There could have been whole more street photographs in this post. Thank me for my discipline.

Thinking Tall

In this shot from the 1980 opening of my second Pizzeria Uno in Cambridge, Massachusetts I'm bracketed by a couple of college footballs gods, on the left is Ike Sewell an All-American guard at the University of Texas from 1923-1925. He founded Pizzeria Uno in 1943. On my right is Mark Olivieri, an undersized but ferocious linebacker at Tulane. He was the star of the Green Wave's 14-0 win over mighty LSU in 1973, the first since 1948. Mark played at 5'-11" and 220 and was the last cut of the Pittsburgh Steelers in 1974. At that hot moment when I was 38 I was taller than Mark. 

I’m obsessed my height or more correctly by my lack thereof. My obsession has worsened as I’ve become a gnome. One of the markers of osteoporosis is that you’ve lost more than 1-1/2 inches of your former self. I qualify and then some. I’ve gone from a person who thought of himself as a little tall to someone how realizes he’s short. Yet I still feel a little tall despite evidence to the contrary.

I also seem taller than I am to others. I think it’s that I have the legs of somebody 6’-2". Even as the withering that has accelerated the last fifteen years people will say things like, “You must be close to six feet tall.” Or when I lamented about my diminution to a couple of painter friends from southern Colorado, they responded, “You’re not short!” Even a close friend whose husband is 5-9ish recently guessed, “You’re 5’-11” aren’t you? Uh,no.

When I joined the Army Reserve in the summer of 1960 the weighing and measuring folks called me 5’11”. I don’t remember the specific event, but I guarantee that I stretched my back, lifted my head and put some air between my heels and the floor. I always elongate by back, tilt my head to its tallest disposition and raise my heels off the ground to get maximum altitude. 

For the last five years since I got my osteoporosis diagnosis, I’ve tallied 5’-91/2”at my Osteo doc’s office. Then in my February visit the bone density tech measured me at 5’-81/2”. Is that even possible? Can a person actually lose an inch of height in six months?

You know you’re short when people that you have always considered short are taller than you are. That happened as recently as last Monday. When we left our new accountants office, we ran into acquaintances we know from the art world. John Crouch, the husband of the couple has always seemed short to me, but when I stood across from him, he was as tall as I am. His ever-present Stetson and cowboy boots may have contributed to the illusion of height.

And speaking of cowboy boots, they have been my favored footwear since I was 10. When I was in Manhattan during the summer of 1966 I was dubbed “Tex, the singing cowboy.” But you can call me Tex or Mister Tex.

Assuming that I was a legit 5’-11” at some point in my life, when I wore boots, I was 6'-1" to my fans and to my deluded self. Then when I gave up my cowpoke affectation five years ago and returned to the sneakers of my collegiate years, I lost two full inches.

So, it’s cowboy boots starting now, pilgrim. As my late friend Jim Crivits liked to say, "Win if you can. Lose if you must. But always cheat."

A man of few words

Work in Progress

I have few words and certainly no images to share. I’ve discovered that extruding a garden variety 800-word blog is the stepchild to writing an 80,000-word page turner. My friend and now life coach, thank you John Ellsworth, has covered me up with concrete processes for constructing a novel, the mechanics of said pursuit. Without these planning and plotting tools a fella will flail away, take way the hell too long to produce even one book, and all the flailing will come to naught. According to a book that John recommended and which I read in a single sitting I am a “pantser” meaning that I write by the seat of my pants while I need to be a “plotter” which should be self-explanatory. Hell, if I wanted to be a bricklayer, I’d have bought a trowel. And all I have is this stupid computer.

The truth is that the strictures of book construction make sense to me even If I don’t fully grasp them yet. In the early going I’m still pantsing and the plotting or planning parts languish in the nether regions of my brain. Right now, I’m mired in the character development phase as I flesh out the protagonists of the novel of which there appear to be two. I didn’t know there would two such characters until I’d written the first 500 words, my daily goal for now according to John. “That should be easy for you” John suggests. Easy for you to say, Mr. 2,000 words a day. 

In the aforementioned book the author speaks about getting a call from her publisher. Her publisher tells her that she wants to publish her next book in the fall and needs the manuscript in three weeks.  The publisher asks if she can do that. Is she sure? Our author responds, and I paraphrase liberally, “Sure. I do it all the time.” And she proceeds to deliver a 90,000-word novel in three weeks. The secret is that our author had already outlined the entire book and after re-acquainting herself with the outline she knew she had a good one. She says that she can do such an outline in a few hours. I am blown away and challenged to give it a go.

When I began writing, the presumptive hero of the novel was known to me. Then my keyboard named him. Those little squares have minds of their own. I knew what the character did for a living. I chose a profession which would put him in situations where he would stumble into trouble. And I knew his, he is a dude, personal demons before the first keystroke. But when I began writing the character became real to me. The second protagonist grew from knowing what makes the primary character tick and where their lives could intersect. If not on a collision course they are placed on the same turf at the same time and sparks fly, both good and bad. Beyond character one’s flaws, fierce antagonists by any measure, I have yet to discover his archenemy. If I’m conceiving a series of books headlined by our hero, the malevolent super genius villain will emerge from the situations I’ll create. That’s the plan, Stan.

And for those of you who scoff, “You mean to tell me that you’re thinking about a series of books when you can’t even write one?” Uh, definitely maybe. 

And now for some construction work.

Teaser

Maxwell Edward James struggled down the steps of his rent-controlled apartment on 11^th Avenue. He’d lived in the below grade apartment in Hell’s Kitchen since he returned from the first Gulf War. The $1,400 a month he’d been paying since 1991 made the trim two bedroom a luxury that he could afford. He’d be paying $5,000 if he rented the place today. Freelancers like Max live from assignment to assignment. He accepted the uncertainty that came with his freedom to come and go as he pleased. Freedom was job one. $5,000 was not only be out of reach but he had to have a second bedroom for writing and editing. He was a one-man production team that sold finished television news stories in 9 minute segments. Video, stills, narrated, edited and ready to broadcast from the field via Max's second bedroom.

At $1,400 he couldn’t even live in Queens or Hoboken.  Hell, he couldn't live in Newark, heaven help him. And he didn’t want any part of it anyway. To Max Manhattan was the center of the known universe, and Hell’s Kitchen had been his neighborhood for going on 30 years. He knew the rhythms of the place. He He knew every street, alley, gin mill and bodega from 42^nd Street to Central Park and West Side Highway to Times Square.  

Everybody in the neighborhood knew him. They stood by him though he was a pugnacious sort when he had a load on. They dismissed the occasional dust-up because he was one of their own. Even the beat cops looked the other way. And the other guy started it didn't he?

According to his building super, Javier, “Max is a stand-up dude. He paid his dues in Iraq, didn’t he? Cut him some fucking slack.”

Two things at once

Bombay Beach Yacht Club, Salton Sea, CA.

Peggy and I have added a show to our spring roster. Several weeks back I got an email from Mary Q. Williams who owns the prestigious Mary Williams Gallery in Boulder, Colorado. It seems that Mary had seen my website which is hosted by FASO, Fine Art Studios Online. I switched to FASO about this time last year and recommend it highly. The next day Peggy received her invitation to participate in the show, America the Beautiful, a 50-state virtual exhibition with 10% of the proceeds going to Feeding America which supports 200 food banks, food pantries, soup kitchens, shelters and community-based agencies that serve more than 46 million people. I can’t think of a more worthwhile endeavor. So, not only am I excited to be part of such a significant show but am honored to support Feed America. Thanks Mary.

Standard Station, Rice, CA

Conoco, Lake Valley, NM

Monhegan Light, Monhegan Island, ME

This isn't Kansas anymore, Toto. San Luis Valley, CO

Mary describes America the Beautiful as “the most important and aggressive show we have done in the 26-year history of Mary Williams Fine Arts.” And asks “What could the gallery do to promote through the beauty of fine art, the profound beauty of America?”

Her vision is to have artists from all 50 states represented though the art doesn’t need to be from the state in which we live. And it's a good thing if these selections are any indication.

To have the art and sculpture clearly evoke many aspects/icons of the country.

To have the gallery and the artist each give 10% of the proceeds of their sales to Feed America. In Mary’s words, “The show has the ability to inspire people to buy art while also helping hungry Americans.”

America the Beautiful will launch on Memorial Day, May 31 and will run through July 10^th unless it’s extended due to popular demand. Yes, careful reader, that’s the same weekend that our live Two Person show Immel² New Perspectives opens at Wilder Nightingale Fine Art in Taos. Our cups runneth over. We’re twice blessed. Two shows are better than one. Make me stop.

Among Mary’s ideas for subjects for the artwork are:

The American landscape such as National Parks, Mountain Ranges, Rivers, Lakes and Rock Formations and more.

American Holidays

Iconic or important American bridges, buildings, churches, beaches among other subjects that are famous nationally or locally.

Industry… farming, ranching, the railroad, automobiles, lumber, mining, aerospace. and aviation.

Mary’s ideas and buzzwords aren’t meant to be comprehensive but to prime the pump. Mine's primed.

She has asked for invited artists to submit up to 10 pieces for the show and reserves the right to accept all or none.

I will submit my full allotment of ten. I reckon at least one will make the cut.

In this post I’m showing images that may or not be among my ten. I reserve the right to submit all or none of them. There may be something even better just around the corner. And I’m certain to include at least one from Immel² New Perspectives. But today I want to post new stuff, obscure stuff or stuff that’s so old you won’t remember seeing it.

Immel² New Perspectives

Cruz Blanca

Autumn Oranges

I’ve been experimenting with the square format as well as spot color since the first of the year. Then in January Peggy and I along with Rob Nightingale who owns Wilder Nightingale Fine Art began tossing around ideas for our fourth bi-annual show at his gallery. We named the show Immel² New Perspectives and, yes, the title refers to the square format Peggy and I will both be using. It’s a notable departure from the landscape or horizontal format we have long favored and brings new design criteria to our work. 

Sunlit Wall

Ventana Azul

In that light today’s offerings are, you guessed it, all squares. These may or may not be part of the show but are representative of our new way of looking at things.

Please mark your calendars for our opening at Wilder Nightingale Fine Art on Saturday, May 29, 2021. In light of the Covid-19 pandemic the opening will be held from Noon to 7pm rather than 5-7pm to spread the crowd over more hours.

Look for our Show Preview and ad in the May issue of Southwest Art Magazine. Senior Editor Allison Malafronte writes, “the Immels decided to they would turn a fresh eye toward their beloved New Mexico and Southwestern surroundings” and “which forced the artists to reconsider familiar scenes through a new lens.”

Peggy added that, “Changing formats allowed me to find creative ways to paint the same subjects while providing a design puzzle that’s been fun to solve.”

I told Allison that. “New Perspectives encouraged me to get out of my comfort zone and show less of the subject not more. I’m showing a different angle and aspect ratio that focuses on texture and detail.”

Be there or be square. I can’t help myself.

Wilder Nightingale Fine Art is at 119 Kit Carson Road in Taos.