Sunday, September 25, 2011

Soul Mates

Life is change, and a big change is coming for me soon. After four years of being single and footloose, I am now engaged to Heidi Of The Mountains, and we will be married on the island of Kauai, Hawaii, November 4. Over the past two years, we have grown steadily closer, so that this is a natural evolution and culmination of our relationship.

I have enjoyed my four years of singleness and done things that I was only able to do alone. I have many experiences, and memories of adventures that will serve me the rest of my life. After we marry, Heidi Of The Mountains will most often be by my side, and I can be a trail guide for an enthusiastic explorer.

In our relationship, she has been bolder and more of the trailblazer. She has been the one to proclaim the supremacy of love, and press the bonds of affection. As if under a spell, my castle walls made of sand have steadily crumbled into the sea of love.

We are a team now. Heidi Of The Mountains quit her job of fifteen years to manage my art gallery. We make daily decisions together and plan our future. She does not stand for negativity and constantly affirms positive results. Getting married is a result of both of us thinking positive together. We have both been married twice before . . . so I feel slight trepidation, but Heidi Of The Mountains confirms that we are “soul mates” that have found one another.

Sunday, September 18, 2011


Heidi Of The Mountains is an outdoors type, and this week amidst the whirlwind activity at my gallery, she said, “I have to go to the mountains . . . and soon.”  I agreed to stop work, and today, we drove together to a ranch outside of Santa Fe that is renowned for raspberries.

When we arrived around noon, I was surprised to see a dirt parking lot crammed with cars, and looking out to the raspberry field, about 100 people ambling through the rows, buckets in hand, picking berries. We gathered our baskets and set out io the raspberry patch. A field manager took us to a row, and said, “The field has been picked over, especially since so many people were out on Saturday, but look under the leaves along the way here, and you will find berries.” I asked him about the growing season, and he told me the plants would continue replenishing berries for a few more weeks. “By Tuesday, they will all be back” he said. We stepped into the field, and soon, found ourselves each alone in our own meditative space, looking down, concentrated on spotting the ripe, ruby red berries amidst the green leaves and prickly stems.

While picking the berries, it is impossible not to sample the juicy fruit. To taste a freshly plucked raspberry is wonderful. The soft flesh almost melts in the mouth, oozing sweet and slightly tart flavors. The tiny seeds are all that are left to crunch upon before swallowing. In forty-five minutes, the two of us had gathered about 2 ½ pounds, for which we paid $12.00.

After our picking, we went to the quaint ranch café and ordered a slice of raspberry pie, then sat in the shade and shared.

As the sun moved slowly across the afternoon sky, I took my paints and easel out, and while Heidi Of The Mountains stood next to me making a watercolor painting, I captured a scene of an old adobe warehouse standing along the road. Its weathered tin roof pitched at an angle and reflected the bright sky, while the faded stuccoed whitewashed walls stood accented by deep green shrubs, sunflowers, and a few decrepit windows. A grand old tree grew at the end of the building, almost like an exclamation point.

On our way home, Heidi Of The Mountains massaged my head and neck while I drove, saying, “Oh thank-you . . . I had a wonderful day!”

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Perplexed At War

There are events that happen in life that have a way of embedding themselves so deeply and suddenly into the psyche that they seemingly cause time to stand still. The news is such that when it is delivered, a person stops as if frozen, then takes account of his surroundings, as if checking to see if life will pick up and start again.

On November 22, 1963, I was playing with my best friend at his house when the maid entered his bedroom and announced in a sad and incredulous voice that President John F. Kennedy had been shot to death. That was 48 years ago, and I still remember the moment like it was yesterday. Our happy play stopped and all three of us shared a bewildered silence, not particularly knowing how to carry on.

On September 11, 2001, I was in my home when a repairman came to work, and when he entered the house, announced that a plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York City. I turned on the television and the news was unfolding, with pictures of the airliners hitting the towers, played again and again. It seemed unreal, and also unreal that life could continue normally.
Today is the tenth anniversary of the attack on America that killed 3000 innocent people.

The event will never be forgotten . . . and yet life continues as it has since the beginning; toward an uncertain future.

I have traveled around the world and seen our beautiful planet in its glorious diversity and splendor. It is such pleasure to be friends with strangers and overcome outward differences. The human heart has a deep yearning toward unity. This is why I am constantly perplexed at war.

Sunday, September 04, 2011

An Emotional Link

Leo Tolstoy (September 9, 1828 – November 20, 1910) thought that art must create an emotional link between the artist and audience. Usually, an artist creates his art, then it goes forth into the world to be appreciated—or not. Most often, connoisseurs act as middlemen, promoting the creation to the public, and if they sell the art, they make a profit. Usually, the artist works alone and never meets the purchaser of his work.

Now that I own The Steven Boone Gallery, I have the pleasure of meeting the people that appreciate and buy my art. It is mutual happiness. The collector is choosing my work to include in the intimacy of their home surroundings, so they are glad to meet me and become friends, and I am pleased to get know those who value my work and are willing to purchase it.

Previously, I made paintings, and then delivered them to galleries for exhibition. Most often, when a work sold, I only heard about it and later received payment. I could only imagine the collector and their prompting. Now, I shake hands and look into the smiling faces of people, and then take time to converse and become intimate with them. It is a fuller experience, so that we can enjoy and remember each other. When the buyers take my art into their home they have a richer association and knowledge of it’s origin after having met the creator. The value for me is that when I make my art, I put all my self into the creation, and letting go of it is bittersweet. Knowing firsthand where it is going to be cared for, and seeing the depth of feeling and intellectual satisfaction that it gives is rewarding for me.