All The Same Charm

Pet parade, Fiestas de Santa Fe, September 10, 2016

It brought back memories buried in my past. So far back that I don't recall how many years, but I vaguely remember arriving at a big parking lot a couple blocks away from the Santa Fe Plaza early on a September Saturday morning. I had my little girl and our dog with me. We were participating in a children's pet parade—part of the annual Fiestas de Santa Fe. I felt a bit awkward amidst the other adults and children with their animals. The animals were sometimes almost wild with excitement at the mass gathering of beasts . . . and I reveled at some that were in costumes! 

1949, by P Stackpole

The procession started. Clutching my girls' hand and holding the dog leash, we weaved our way around the plaza amidst all the onlookers. It felt primitive, unabashed and wonderful.

"Genuine Hot Dog"1949, by P Stackpole

Today I arrived alone to witness the same event with an all new cast of characters. I felt glad to watch among the throngs sitting and standing along the street curbsides. It had all the same charm. 

Pet parade, 1949, by P Stackpole

I Will Take That One

With my gallery open each day, most people come in to simply browse and look. It is like a museum experience with free admission. But of course, someone has to buy something because I am not a charitable institution and need to make a living. This happens just enough that I can stay open, continue painting and entertaining everyone.

It is only a few people who can afford good original art in their home. Thankfully, museums exist to bring important art to everyone. Much of the art in museums comes from collections donated by wealthy art lovers.

Artists need buyers. Unfortunately, not many people can collect paintings and sculpture. Art is a luxury, so clients must have disposable income to buy expensive belongings for their home.

"Casweck Window," oil on canvas, 20 x 16 inches. Boone painting bought by a collector from Dallas, Texas

During the renaissance, one powerful family in Florence, Italy, the Medici's, commissioned and collected some of the most fabulous art ever made. By doing so, great artists such as Michelangelo, Botticelli, and more, flourished and produced masterpieces. Now those same famous artworks are in museums.

"The Birth Of Venus," by Sandro Botticelli.  Created mid 1480's.

Last week, two women were standing outside my gallery discussing some of the art in the window. I invited them inside. Within five minutes the two were comparing a couple paintings side-by-side. They concurred on the one they liked best, and one of the women said to me, “I will take that one!” It was two thousand five hundred dollars and she said it would be going in a house she is building north of Dallas, Texas. I was impressed with how quickly and deliberately she made up her mind. And of course, grateful. 

She is my “Medici.”

"Pieta," (1498–1499), sculpture by Michelangelo Buonarroti,

Feeling The Rapture

I have been an artist for thirty years now. It has been my work, and I have not had to take other jobs to support myself. Thousands of my paintings are in homes across the land. Even now, I think of this and almost have to pinch myself to see if I am not dreaming. 

Steven, painting a still-life

When I paint and show the work, I am sharing what I love, and the product. Lately, I have been giving lessons in painting. While teaching, I am sharing what I love and my knowledge of the practice.

Whether painting or teaching, I say a prayer beforehand for the highest outcome. 

Today I taught. We gathered at the beautiful estate of one of the students and finished work from a previous session, making a still-life painting of a vase with sunflowers on a table with fruit. We worked outside on a covered patio. During earlier classes we made landscape paintings using only a palette knife to apply the oil colors to a panel. This time, I wanted to teach something different. We first drew a sketch and made an underpainting of our subject, then this week we finished by applying color—all with brushes.

All of us, being creative.

Only one student has had instruction before my class. All of us are over sixty years old and so I am heartened that my students are willing to learn and try something new and difficult. Everyone made beautiful work and felt a thrill in doing so. Each person's painting revealed their uniqueness and special way of seeing and experiencing the world.

Working in sync.

After class, someone shared a quote that he had recently read: “People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life. I don't think that's what we're really seeking. I think what we're seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.” - Joseph Campbell (American, March 26, 1904 – October 30, 1987)

Part of feeling the rapture is being in the activity of pure creation while in the world of nature.

The Heartbeat

I am very close to the heart of my city, Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA. Now that I have a gallery again, I am in the center of town—on the plaza. (See Boone Gallery). I feel the heartbeat and watch the ebb and flow of humanity as tourists enjoy their sojourn here. 

Boone Gallery, party during Indian Market.

Santa Fe is often in magazines and newspapers across the country. It is an attractive city with great hotels, restaurants, music, opera and of course, art.

Boone, painting in front of the gallery

Summer is when major events occur. The biggest splash is made by Indian Market. It began this weekend and is just now concluding. Here is an excerpt from Wikipedia: “Santa Fe Indian Market is an annual art market held in Santa Fe, New Mexico, USA over two days on the weekend after the third Thursday in August and draws an estimated 100,000 people to the city from around the world. The Market was first held in 1922 as the Indian Fair and was sponsored by the Museum of New Mexico. In 1936, the New Mexico Association on Indian Affairs took over the event.

It is now organized by the Southwestern Association for Indian Arts (SWAIA) and showcases work from about 1,200 of the top Native American (American Indian) artists from various tribes across the country. The market features pottery, jewelery, textile weavings, painting, sculpture, beadwork, basketry, and other traditional and contemporary work. It is the oldest and largest juried Native American art showcase in the world. The economic impact of the Market has been calculated at more than $19 million.
Artists display their work in booths around the Santa Fe Plaza and adjacent streets, selling directly to the general public.In order to participate, all artists must provide proof of enrollment in a federally recognized tribe, and their work must meet strict quality and authentic materials standards. Art experts judge the work and distribute awards and prize money in various categories. On the evening before the Market's opening, members of SWAIA may attend a preview of representative works by the artists as well as the winners in each category. It is a way for potential buyers to see the winning artworks as well as what will be sold the following day. Many buyers make a point of arriving downtown very early in the morning, and it is not unusual to find artists having sold out within a few hours.”

Three Native Americans. Pictures taken during Indian Market.

Indian market can be a mixed blessing for many businesses. Despite the crowds most of the sales are going to Indian vendors. This year I have been blessed by people buying my art too.

Be Surprised

A Tale of Love, Mixed Media, 34 x 24 x 4 inches

I like to be surprised by my creations. That is, to be so involved while creating, I “disappear” in the work.  When I re-emerge to take a look, I might be amazed.

I can be astonished by other peoples reactions as well. This happened recently. I have a new art gallery in a mall off the main plaza in Santa Fe. It has big windows so pedestrians can see inside and view the art hanging directly in front of them. When I first opened, I hung my new work of mixed-media pieces in front of the windows. I hoped that they would make an impression. Later, friends came by and suggested I put my better known landscape paintings in the windows. I obliged. 

After I made the change, a fellow came in and introduced himself as a partner in a business down the hall. “I am glad you made the change,” he said. “There was a piece in the window that was creepy. Where is it?” Then he walked to the backside of the panels and said, “Here it is! Ugh This really creeps me out!” His skin crawled as he pointed to the dolls. I had to laugh, because it never was “creepy” to me.  (I am laughing to myself now, as I write, just recalling this.) 

The next day a woman came in and went right to the same piece and spent considerable time studying and admiring it. 

So why the different reactions?

I claim a piece a success in as much as it gets strong reactions. Weak or badly done art does not warrant reactions worth talking about.

Four Hangups, oil on linen, 28 x 30 inches,

Some years ago I made a series of paintings called HangUps. They always elicited responses—some highly positive and some negative, but always a reaction. One of those paintings is now in a museum in France. 

VanGogh All Hung Up, oil on linen, 22 x 24 inches,
In the collection of Foundation Van Gogh, Arles, France

And that is art.

Diana's Song, Oil on canvas, 24 x 20 inches

For more on the mixed-media pieces, see my previous post: Walk A New Path

A Gorgeous Summer Evening

Couple, admiring the sunset.

I am a sunset aficionado. I have painted them often and taken scores of photographs. They are fleeting and when the conditions are right, it is nature at its most dramatic. I can sense a good sunset before it happens. 

Tonight as I made dinner a thunderstorm struck and I thought if there was light on the horizon later, a good sunset would occur.

It was cloudy and stormy with scattered rain drops as I got in my car and drove to my friend's house. She had surgery on her foot recently and hobbles around the confines of her small home. After awhile, as we were relaxing, she pointed outside and said, “Oh, look at the sky!” The clouds blanketed the top but near the horizon a fiery golden glow emitted. We checked the time and realized we had about twenty minutes. She grabbed her crutches and put the protective boot on her foot and away we went. I drove to a little park at a location in town that looks out over the city. A small crowd had already gathered to mingle and watch. 

My excitement was palpable as I grabbed my camera. She said it was okay for me to run ahead to a good vantage point. The sun was sinking below the horizon as a brilliant glow stretched across the lower part of the sky. Dark clouds accented the space above.

Santa Fe sunset

As I regrouped with my friend, she spoke to a stranger nearby and said, “It is so good to live here and have this!” The other person grinned and said, “Yes, and you even came out on crutches to see.”

And that is what a gorgeous summer evening and the promise of a great show of light does.

"Heartfire", 48 x 36 inches, oil on linen by Steven Boone

The Pristine Moment

The Red Pancho, Oil on linen, 16 x 12 inches

Awakened experiences and new perceptions are occurring regularly and I am thankful for all. My inner child is thriving, along with active imagination, and I have been producing a new series of artwork. 

All I can say is that it must be equanimity. I had a perception the other day—a visualization of looking through a thick sheet of glass. The glass was flawless and absolutely clear, allowing me to see with perfect clarity the world of beautiful nature. I think this showed my inner life is in a calm and peaceful place that allows me to experience the outer world with clear perception. Like a child looking through eyes of wonder, and years of experience offer some wisdom too.

In fact, my energy has been good and I am doing things easily and without resistance. I drove to California for sixteen hours straight. This surprised me. Usually I get dreadfully tired after 500 miles or six or seven hours of driving, and have to drag to a stop. Same on the way back—sixteen hours no problem. My mental state is alert, calm, and reflective. 

If I feel a complaint, I can easily overcome it by absorbing into the “pristine moment.” What is this? It is where love exists in nature and can overcome troublesome mind with great curative effects. 

Daydream, Mixed Media, 16.5 x 12.5 x 3 inches

These days I am busy opening a new art gallery in Santa Fe. It is a temporary affair in the same location on the plaza that I had a gallery last summer for two months. This time I will go three months, taking advantage of the busiest part of the tourist season. I do not know what to expect and I am paying a higher rent than normal for the privilege of not signing a one year lease. Last year it worked nicely, but I am hearing from business people that retail is down from last year. They say it is probably because of the uncertainty of the upcoming election. The whole world is watching as our national spectacle unfolds.

Anyway, I am taking the jump—the same way I did while in New Zealand last January and jumped from a suspension bridge into a deep stream of glacial water far below me. I crossed my arms over my chest and as I hurled myself forward I cried, “Thank You God for everything!”

Blue Pools, Glacier stream, New Zealand

Our Hearts Were Light

Nambe, New Mexico. Photo by Jack Gordon

When we climbed over the barbed wire fence that separated the highway from wind carved rock crags that stood like ships on the tree dotted high desert plain, I joked of being arrested. My friend was curious. Actually, I had been arrested once in the same location. Or so I remembered . . . it was long ago and I had been standing off the highway on Indian Tribal property painting the beautiful landscape. An officer drove up and arrested me for trespassing. That is how my memory goes anyway. 

I had not been back until now. My friend Jack from Washington DC is visiting for a few weeks while his wife teaches a writing class. He had seen the spectacular rock formation and wanted to go back in the evening to shoot pictures of stars.

As I drove and he pointed out the way, I realized we were on the high road to Taos, New Mexico, the most scenic route between the northern New Mexico cities of Santa Fe and Taos. Great clouds were forming dramatic curtains as the sun steadily drifted to the horizon. We stopped at an old church and browsed among tombstones, then continued on until we came to the spot. As night came, coyotes started howling, a familiar sound to me, but not to Jack. He asked, “Are there rattlesnakes around here?”

Rock formation, photo by S. Boone

 His equipment was more elaborate than mine, and he was interested in taking long exposure photos to capture stars in the sky above the rock cliffs. He set up and I sauntered in a different direction because I was fascinated with the full moon shining close to the horizon. It hung in the dark sky among massive indigo clouds. Occasionally a car would come along the highway and its headlights would beam light in front. Because my exposure was long, the light would appear as a solid line of incandescence in the otherwise dark foreground. 

Lipstick sunset, photo by S. Boone

Jack and I lounged on the sandy earth, waiting for his picture and talking in the dark. His photo did not come out to his liking because of the clouds. When we climbed back over the fence to go home, it was almost midnight. We took turns holding the fence open while squeezing through. Jack arrived through but I got caught on a barb and fell. My pants ripped and hand cut in three places. When I opened the car door, I could see a lot of blood. Jack came to the rescue with bandages he had with him.

Headlights and full moon, photo by S. Boone

Our hearts were light and we talked all the way on the 30 minute drive home.

Smiling From Ear To Ear

Despite every effort, when a famine spread throughout the land, a man and his wife succumbed to starvation. First the man. His wife loved him so dearly that she hastened in his footsteps. Then they were together again happier than ever. They were skeletons—just bones with no meat, but looked as beautiful as ever to each other. 

One day they went to sit by their favorite piece of art . . . an immense painting of a young woman naked and gazing up into the heavens, in front of two young musicians playing flutes. They were in good spirits and laughed, joking about their former life and how hungry they had been. The woman put on a baking apron, a bakers cap, and took a guitar out and began to play and sing. The man had a bakers apron on and found an immense basket full of bread loaves that he put on his lap as he sat next to his wife. He had his bakers hat on too and sang along gleefully. 

An angel heard the singing and arrived to see what all the merry-making was about. She hovered above the couple, and when they looked up and saw her, they both stopped singing. The man spoke and said, “Do you know that you are naked?” The angel smiled and replied, “I am not naked. It is you two that are naked . . . you have not an ounce of flesh on your bones!” At that, the husband grinned at his wife and both of them broke out laughing. The woman began playing her guitar again and both sang together in such perfect melodies that the naked angel soared in circles around their heads, twinkling her toes and smiling from ear to ear.

All Things Will Pass

Backyard of my parents former home, Santa Barbara, California

There is so much that I want to give you. You know Steven, when you turn to God, you find riches beyond measure. All things will pass, even earth and heaven, but God is forever. This is a message I received when my mother's spirit visited me today at her former home in Santa Barbara, California. 

I arrived here to gather with siblings as we sell off the remnants of my parent's estate before selling the house. I see so many familiar objects; tableware, furniture, books, kitchenware, clothing, tools, and hundreds of healthy potted plants around the housed . . . I am reminded of my parents lives. 

People lined up early to burst through the gate at 9 AM and begin sifting through things, gathering armfuls. With glee they collect for a fraction of the original cost or value. The house is emptying. Tomorrow it will be over and what is left will be donated. The money collected will go toward fixing the house to sell.

My father died a couple years ago. He was not a materialist and took after his hero, Mahatma Gandhi of India, who cared not for riches but was passionate about social justice. He left little in the way of things, but bequeathed a grand legacy of a lifetime of activism on behalf of poor and oppressed people. (See a tribute).

My mother died some months ago. She was highly intellectual, wrote, made art, and loved to garden until she became too feeble. Her great pleasure was nature. So it made me happy to see the joy in people as they bought almost all of her beautiful plants, still bursting with life and happily thriving in decorated pots. 

I had the thought that eventually we all end up in graves and our things are passed on or discarded. What we take with us is what we have accomplished in our life and our soul. Nothing else.

Sign Language

I keep objects on my kitchen window. They all speak to me. They sit on the ledge above my sink, in front of the window that looks out to the neighbors fence past my driveway. It is an odd assortment; a potted plant, painted egg, flying nude angel, framed photos of dear ones, a bust of Thomas Jefferson, wood carving of water buffalo—about eighteen items. An odd assortment that matches my odd psychology. 

I notice that when an item is near another the two “talk” to each other. The conversations become performances and if one item were to step in or out of the picture, the drama changes.

I composed a scenario with objects from the window. Here is a story:

An old man has walked many lands, searching for a special gift to bring home to his beloved in a small mountain village in Chile. She had requested a piece of magic art to heal her of a malady that made her terribly tired and blue. 

One day, months into his journey, the fellow was out walking with his cape and hat, one hand behind his back, deep in thought about the pursuit of happiness. Around a bend in the road at the edge of a forest he looked up and met a hand that spoke in sign language, “Hello there friend!” Immediately the old man could understand as if he was hearing the words, and with eyes bulging wide open, he replied, “Hello good hand!” The hand's fingers were nimble and signed, “I know you have been walking great distances in search of a healing artwork to cheer up your beloved.” And in a second, the hand turned away, closed into a fist, then turned again to open and produced an egg, holding it between two fingers. The hollow egg's shell was painted with an exquisite design in black lacquer of three farmers working in a field of magic herbs in an enchanted world. “Put this in your sack and find your way back home. Place the egg on your windowsill in your kitchen. These farmers will come to your beloved in her sleep and revive her withered field of dreams. They are expert gardeners. Her deep consciousness will flourish. Healing waters will nourish her inner garden and she will be well again.”

The old man fell down to his knees, tearfully thanking the hand. The hand spoke one more time, “It is because you have a pure heart that this gift is given. You are old and infirm, yet because of love, you traveled endlessly for your beloved. Grace has come to you at last. Go now and know that you are protected.”

And with that the old man hugged the hand's thumb, took the egg, put it carefully in his sack and turned to walk home. The hand waved good-bye, then suddenly vanished.