The life of artist, photographer, traveler, and writer Steven Boone. Steven was born in Chicago but now lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA. His paintings are widely collected, and also included in the permanent collections of the US Department of Interior and The Foundation Van Gogh D'Arles, in Arles, France.
Boone lost his daughter to cancer when she was nineteen. His award-winning book, called "A Heart Traced in Sand" recall his experiences with her living and dying.
Sunday, January 29, 2017
No Hay Problema
Television has disappeared from my
life entirely in Mexico and I don't miss it. Time is spent being
creative—painting, shooting street photography and processing the
pictures, studying Spanish, writing, doing inner practices that are transforming.
If I want news, I go
online and read the New York Times.
The local produce is great. For
breakfast, eggs, bacon and toast with fresh coffee. Usually no lunch,
maybe a pastry with coffee after nap, and dinner is whatever I pick
up fresh during the day.
I went out for “desayuno”,
breakfast, today for the first time in over two weeks. The little
restaurant across the street beckoned me and I had huevos rancheros,
toast and coffee. Then I came back to my apartment and did laundry in
the kitchen sink. No hay problema.
The weather has been sublime, and each
day as I walk the city streets the air touches me with gentle warmth
as slight breezes play. I love the light. Especially splashed across
the brightly colored walls and cobbled walks and streets.
Today is Saturday. Yesterday I stopped
painting since I leave on Monday for Ecuador and the panels need to dry, which
takes a few days. I have more time to walk about. This morning I
found arts & crafts fairs, street festivals, farmers markets with
live musicians . . . so much going on and people in festive moods. I
bought a hand made leather journal with blank pages to write my
“notes to God”. I had the good fortune to purchase it
from the man who made it. It is leather and embossed with stylized
dancing figures. My current one began September 8, 2009. It is a
little red leather bound book with strap. Just for inner talk with God. Other journals are for anything.
At the farmers market all sorts of
fresh organic foods were being offered, along with native home made
Mexican cuisine, hand made salsas, jams, breads, and such.
Back at the apartment, I got into a
text conversation with Therese at my gallery. At that moment, a woman
was considering purchasing a painting. We typed a couple texts about price and shipping, and
then the woman bought the painting. Satisfying, especially since in Santa Fe it
is the slowest tourist part of the year and the Boone Gallery is only open part
time. Also because the painting was made during my stay in Venice, Italy,
last year. This confirms for me that I am blessed to
be able to go anywhere and paint the scenery. People enjoy this.
A nap, then out on the streets
again—walking for miles. I have become familiar with and know
major landmarks like Plaza Principal at the city heart where the big
“Templo” stands. I try to walk places I have not been. This
afternoon I found a marvelous old church, Templo de San Juan de Dios.
The place was empty and I had it to myself. Light was pouring in from
stained glass windows high above, casting soft glowing colors on the
warm white walls. Jesus figures, created lovingly and given great
feeling were there, along with Mary sculptures. The floors under the
humble wooden pews are marble and decorative. I lingered, shot photos
and felt holiness.
Later, on the street again, aroma from a shop
selling rotisserie roasted chickens over wood fire stopped me. For
about $2.50 I bought half a chicken, with roasted potatoes and green
chile thrown in for good measure. I tied the bag to my belt and
walked on. At Plaza Principal, great festivities were in swing.
Mariachi musicians, balloon sellers, children playing, a clydesdale
horse, and a donkey decorated with flowers. Flower garlands were
popular with the females who put them on their heads with smiles and
laughter. Muy bonita!
Flower garlands, waiting to crown a head.
As I was heading home, a little girl
was suddenly by my side. Her poor peasant family was at the curb. She
pointed to my bag of chicken and sheepishly held out her hand. No hay
problema. I gave her part of my supper.