An Unexpected Place

Final Voyage, oil on linen, 30 x 48 inches

My most recent painting had a surprising genesis. Amy and I were at a special museum exhibit in Oaxaca featuring art celebrating Xoloitzcuintle dogs. We own one. “Xoloitzcuintles are national treasures in Mexico, with a history that goes back at least 3,000 years. Mentions of these “strange hairless dogs” appear in the journals of Cortez and other European explorers. Ancient Aztecs named the breed for their dog-headed god Xolotl. Xolos were considered sacred by the Aztecs and often were sacrificed and buried alongside their owners to serve as protective guides to the next world. In modern times, Xolos are dedicated watchdogs and companions.” _AKC.org.
At one time Xolos were almost extinct, now resurrected they are celebrated. Ancestors of today’s Mexicans held the dog in high regard and today it is the dog most representative of Mexico.

In art, “happy accidents” are gifts. Like a lightning bolt, pure inspiration suddenly comes from an unexpected place. Many times I have labored on art with good intentions only to find I don’t like the outcome. Perhaps it lacks spontaneity, freshness . . . and so I strike out what I have done. Then something new appears in that destruction. A new direction and vision occurs.

At the exhibition, among the paintings, drawings and sculptures, I found myself in front of a glass case. Inside, a bronze sculpture of a boat, holding only an erect Xolo at the bow, showing the way. That moment I got an idea for a painting. I could make another of my “Memento Mori” pieces, commemorating the inevitability of death and passage between worlds.

At home I began gathering together ideas and decided death would row a boat with a casket while a Xolo sat atop, amidst flowers. I would call the work “Final Voyage.” The lake is set among mountains. The mood is somber but a light shows through the clouds, illuminating the waters. The course is set, the journey begun, with our Xolo guide present showing the way.

First study

Detail

The Original Tin Angel

When our neighbor Mayolo understood that Amy and I needed frames for our paintings in our little village in southern Mexico, he said, “I can make them out of tin!” My first reaction was to say no. I had never shown a painting in a tin frame and considered it cheap material that is used to preserve foods. Mayolo insisted he could do something that would make us happy. We decided to try one.

Memento Mori,    Steven Boone

I don’t understand Spanish and Mayolo does not speak English⏤Amy does her best to interpret. 

We collaborated with Mayolo to use motifs from our paintings as frame elements, and, the magnificent results that Mayolo created are mind blowing.

Rooster Serendade,    Steven Boone

Mayolo delivers frames that truly delight, proving he is a master craftsman and ingenious artist.

The Key,    Amy Córdova Boone

Best Birthday,    Amy Córdova Boone

Since that first frame, he has delivered to us nine more⏤each distinctly custom made with unique embellishments that enhance the art. In fact, each piece is itself a work of art and adds great value. Thank you, to our dear friend and brother, the one and only Mayolo!

Steven Boone Fine Art

                                                                  Amy Córdova Boone

Magical To My Eyes

 

The hour before sunset is especially magical to my eyes. The light is softer and seems to take a rosy cast. Long shadows race across the landscape. For a photographer or artist it is wonderful drama.

Lately I have taken to walking just before sunset.  We have lived for over two years here in San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, Mexico and up to now never really walked around our area. Partly a fear factor for there are stray dogs and we are “gringos” that do not know the community for the most part. 

We are half way into the dry season. It has not rained for three months. All the green fields have turned brown. Somehow, there are trees that maintain their green leaves. Of course the cactus plants have not a care in the world.

There are many dirt roads that meander over the hills. I follow them, sometimes venturing into a dry field, relishing the space and quiet.

Oaxaca Textures

The central district of Oaxaca is about a forty minute drive from our home on the outskirts of town. The trip would take about half the time but Mexico is the land of speed bumps. They are called “topes.” We need to slow down and cross over at least 50 to get into town. They have a purpose: making drivers more cautious. I see fewer accidents than up north in the USA. 

After 2 1/2 years here, I can say I am still getting used to them.

Our village of San Pedro Ixtlahuaca is a typical Mexican pueblo. The main resource is the church that sits next to the municipal offices. Basic shops and a cemetery complete the picture.

Amy and I are artists and do not have issues with being alone. Our home satisfies most of our needs. We can be creative, feel insulated and comfortable, tend our land with myriad plants and be entertained at night in our living room in front of a big screen television. 

We have not known each other but a short while in the entire scheme of our lives. We married in 2018 and discovered we have had remarkably similar journeys. Both of us share sophisticated backgrounds, having lived in exceptional urban environments most of our lives. 

We go into Oaxaca several times a week for the familiar thrill of sophistication and intellect.

The above pictures are a visual taste of the vibrancy, art, culture and textures of Oaxaca, Mexico.

Summoned to a Reckoning

Vanitas, Noche Encantada, oil on linen, 30 x 40 inches (completed 12/25/2022)

In my recent painting, streaking comets represent the brevity of life. Clouds drifting past the half full moon indicate mystery, and how light of knowledge is obscured. The skeleton blowing the trumpet makes an announcement of death. Two other skeletons dance happily. They are dead and testify happiness exists in the next world too. The lone skeleton on the right is the observer representing reflection. The church setting is from where I live in Oaxaca, Mexico. It is the Santo Domingo church⏤centerpiece of the city. A church represents devotion, spirituality, the connection between earth and heaven.

Lastly, at the foot of the trumpet player, a dog, man’s loyal companion, is looking on with great attention. The breed is xoloitzcuintli. Amy and I have one. “According to Aztec belief, the Xoloitzcuintle dog, whose history dates 3,500 years, was created by Xolotl, god of death, to protect the living and guide the souls of the deceased through Mictlán, the underworld or the city of the dead. The most important function that the Xoloitzcuintles were believed to fulfill was to help the souls cross a deep and mighty river that crosses the Mictlán.” ⏤Mexico Daily Post (see an article for more about Xoloitzcuintles)

“O Son of Being! Bring thyself to account each day ere thou art summoned to a reckoning; for death, unheralded, shall come upon thee and thou shalt be called to give account for thy deeds.”  —The Hidden Words of Baha’u'llah”

Last night was New Years Eve. I walked out on our roof veranda just at midnight as the valley where our house in the village of San Pedro Ixtlahuaca shook with reverberations.

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2023

¡Feliz Navidad!

Amy packed the piñata until it was almost bursting. I found a tree in our backyard with open space underneath, then hung the piñata from a limb. A piñata is a container, often made of papier-mâché, pottery, or cloth, that is decorated, filled with candy, and then broken as part of a celebration. Ours was decorated to resemble a pineapple. A rope attached gave enough length to pull the container and make it jump at the end of the line. 

The vecino kids began arriving at 3 PM. We had a group of ages ranging from 3 to 13, with one mother. I offered the duty of yanking the rope to one of the strong boys. The littlest child, a wide-eyed girl went first, taking the bat and hitting the Piñata with a tiny tap. I laughed and she became very shy and walked away. The kids took turns, youngest first, while Eber yanked the rope. 

Too soon, after about 12 strikes the piñata burst. A mad melee immediately ensued, with kids diving for treats. Big kids grabbed the most, but we made sure everyone went away with plenty in the bags we gave them.

Some of the children with their bags of treats.

¡Feliz Navidad!

Fireworks for the Virgen

 

We are almost getting accustomed to explosions in the air. At all times of day or night. Rockets that whistle up into the sky and then explode into a puff of smoke, causing deafening shock waves, bursting through silence, like a rock thrown into a pond sending ripples outward. 

Mexico sees more than 5000 traditional festivals and events celebrated each year. And then there are birthdays, weddings, and such.

If transplanted foreigners complain, they are often rebuffed for attempting to interfere with cultural tradition.

Last night Amy and I went with our neighbors to an event in our pueblo barrio. Three days in remembrance of the " Virgen Patrona” of our village, La Soledad. We arrived around 8 PM to a compound with a small capilla, or church. Food was being served and an enormous construction rose from the center of the grounds. 100 feet in the air, it had multiple arms attached with wheels that were able to spin. 

We stayed close to our friends, and mingled a bit. A brass and percussion band played off and on. Not many people had arrived. After an hour, Amy decided to go back home when our friends daughter decided to leave . Amy has been trying to recover from an injury to her ankles and leg. I stayed on, determined to witness the spectacle about to unfold and take photographs. It took awhile, but around 10 PM, music became more strident and young men began coming into the arena with papier-mache bulls, "toritos", loaded with fireworks. It became a game of tug of war to see who could arrest control of the bull. All the while it was exploding. At one point my neighbor came to pull me back and tell me it was dangerous.

Eventually, the arena was crowded and someone climbed up the scaffolding to light the big structure and set the explosions off. It cackled, whirled, sparked and spun. Everyone was dazzled.

A Slice of Life

 

Almost as a lark, I looked online at houses listed for sale in the area of the famous south central Mexican city Oaxaca. Most of the better homes listed in town were too expensive, but one, on the outskirts jumped out at me. It seemed everything I wanted in a house and entirely affordable. I showed Amy and she liked it too, agreeing it was splendid.  I had been ready for a change of living. Amy and I visited and liked what we found. 

We have been living in our home 2 ½ years now. It is in San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, population 3800, a pueblo a few miles west of Oaxaca. Our “pueblo” has municipal offices, a church and smattering of businesses. The drive 7.5 miles from our house to the center of the city takes about 40 minutes. In the USA it would take 20 minutes. The difference is because Mexico is the land of “topes” or speed bumps. We have to cross over about 50 to get in to town. But they play a part in reducing traffic accidents. I notice fewer accidents than in the USA. 

Our property has beautiful plant life. The German woman who built the adobe house with her Mexican architect husband was an agronomist. I spend considerable time tending the plants, but admit to enjoying the chores. 

San Pedro Ixtlahuaca does not offer much entertainment or other such opportunities, so Amy and I paid for a membership to an established hotel in the city. Hotel Victoria has extensive grounds. I gained access to a marvelous outdoor swimming pool. It is just right. Amy can lounge poolside reading a book while I swim. Food and refreshments are served up and usually the area is almost to ourselves.

So this is a slice of life here.

Just Like Life

 

Sleeping Buddha, Hilo, Hawaii. by Steven Boone

Recently I was publicly accused of disrespect by someone I do not know. It happened when I posted a photo online in a Facebook camera group I am a member of.  The photo was one of the street photos I love to make. I have thousands from all over the world spanning decades.  When I first read the comment, I did not understand it. “This is no respect.” I assumed the person that posted could not speak good English. I thought he referred to the person I photographed who was unkempt. Then, later I realized he was referring to me. Several other comments were negative. Others positive.

Hurt, Oaxaca, Mexico, by Steven Boone
(This is the photo that caused the controversy.)

Here is the story:  Several days a week Amy and I go from our home in a village outside Oaxaca, Mexico into the city to shop for necessities. We were walking in Oaxaca Centro. I always take my camera to be ready if I want to take a picture. I know how to look and see amidst the crowded, sometimes broken streets full of traffic. Among the shamble of shops and pedestrians a swirling kaleidoscope of variations occur and usually I take a picture or two worth saving. This day, as we walked carefully over a crumbling sidewalk, I saw ahead an impoverished young man with severe problems. Without shoes, dressed in rags with one foot bandaged, the other exposed leg had many sores. Slumped against a wall, on the steps of a financial institution, he was sleeping. I paused and took the picture. Scenes such as this are part of the fabric of life. We all need to be aware of how others live and suffer. And, yes, it is difficult to see.

After taking the photo, I took change from my pocket and rested it on a ledge by his arm. Then Amy gently put banknotes in his hand. We walked away. I looked back as we crossed the intersection. He was smiling and staring after us.

Canada,  -Vivien Maier, (American, February 1, 1926 – April 21, 2009)

In the annals of photography there are great examples of fleeting candid moments where the subject is unaware of being photographed. It is when maximum honesty exists.

It is legal to take photos in public places that include people. No permission required. Candid photography to me is almost always better than posed. But it is more tricky to get a good result. There is no set up⏤it is all spontaneous. 

Trolley, -Robert Frank, (Swiss, November 9, 1924 – September 9, 2019)

It begins and ends in a fraction of a second, and happens millions of times a day on earth. That is photography. No use to try and kill it with rules. It does not belong in a box and will always escape confines. Just like life.

Ireland, Josef Koudelka (Czech-French, b. 1938)

Sophia Loren and Jane Mansfield, by Joe Shire, (American 1917-2006)

The Terror of War, Nick Ut, (Vietnamese-American, born 1951)

After the Opera, Weegee, (American, June 12, 1899 – December 26, 1968)

Famous street photographer Quotes:

“I have no inhibitions and neither does my camera…,” “To me a photograph is a page from life, and that being the case, it must be real.”  -Weegee

“Photography can be a mirror and reflect life as it is, but I also think it is possible to walk, like Alice, through a looking glass and find another kind of world with the camera.”  -Tony ray jones

“Most of my photos are grounded in people, I look for the unguarded moment, the essential soul peeking out, experience etched on a person’s face.” -Steve McCurry

For more: Photography by Steven Boone

Keeper of the Key

"Keeper of the Key, acrylic on canvas, 40 x 70 cm

Amy´s newest painting from our studio in San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, Mexico, outside Oaxaca.
In her own words:

The seated figure holds a key that invites one to explore the inner self. Like Turtle, her Mother, she is still and yet clearly present. Her garment of blossoming beauty represents the bounty of La Madre Tierra and a tribute to growing things.
She is grounded as the result of life’s long journey. Like Mother Turtle, she waits and watches in silence. She, like ourselves, always will remain , the Ancient Child, born from life giving waters, the splendor of moonlight and the magical realms of spirit, of which…we ALL possess the key to journey within.
Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent reminds us that though we may be surrounded by forces we cannot comprehend…fear will not be our response. 

Many years ago, I wrote the text for a children’s book I called, “The Turtle’s Daughters”. I created it as a pageant piece for a grand elementary school event in St. Paul , Mn. The event was sponsored by Art Start/ Art Scraps of St. Paul, an amazing non profit that brings art experiences to underprivileged communities. Several artists were hired to  work within the schools to help the children create images and objects which would be part of our procession. On an overcast Saturday afternoon, over 1000 children and families participated along the banks of the mighty Mississippi river. We honored Turtle Island (Our Earth) and her lovely water daughters, the great rivers of our planet. I read my story, accompanied by a Native American elder who softly played his flute, which mesmerized the atmosphere allowing the story to come alive.

Children of many cultures from several city schools came together to march with their creations in a marvelous parade. Some performed my tale as a dance, complete with a moving gossamer blue river made from yards of fabric. Many groups carried handmade animal banners, large painted cardboard deer and buffalo. Children carried puppets: flocks of papier-maché  birds, turtles , frogs, and many more creatures. 

Our purpose? A call to grownups to wake up, see, and acknowledge that “progress and profit” should NOT be our main goal, as human “Beings.” Together, we must work as one to protect the fragile beauty of Turtle Island, and of those of fur, feather, and fin, who have no voice…  whose survival also depends on the well being of our sacred planet.  

The students answered my call that day. They became “Child Warriors of the Healing Earth”. Although, I never submitted my story for publication, I have never forgotten the power and beauty of that somewhat rainy day moment in time.

Nothing could have stopped us.

The memory lives with me still. Every now and then, I add another voice through my imagery to make that story live on.

Bendito Sea

For more artwork: Amy Córdova Boone

 

Dia de Muertos

It is a beloved time of year in Mexico, bringing families together, and whole communities. Dia de Muertos, in English means “day of the dead.” It might sound macabre but it is not. It is when death and life meet in celebration. A time when departed souls are honored and called to return for a visit “home” to loved ones left behind. A time for happiness.

Like most of Mexico, we made an ofrenda for our home. It is an altar to honor and commemorate our relatives and friends that have passed away⏤hoping that by honoring them in this way, they will come back to us and visit. We decorate with fine cloth, offering fancy breads, flowers, artwork, photos and objects signifying the passions of those remembered.

Oaxaca, in the south central mountains of Mexico is an epicenter for Dia de Muertos during the special days between October 31  -  November 2 when it is celebrated. Hotels are all booked solid well in advance as tourists from all over the world descend upon the city. This year, Amy and I hosted a group of tourists from the USA at our home in San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, a village on the outskirts of town. They came to meet us⏤two famous artists living the authentic Mexican life. Our friendly neighbors made a traditional lunch. 

The next afternoon of November 1, we arrived in Centro and quickly found a couple just setting up to paint faces. We looked at their samples. Amy chose a style, as did I, and we both sat amidst the crowds and had our faces painted.

Each day Amy and I went to town to wander among the crowds and relish the atmosphere. I am a photographer as well as painter, so took plenty of photos. Everywhere we turned the fantastic sights of people with face paint and sometimes elaborate costumes dazzled us. Street performers and musicians entertained. A sense of excitement and happiness abounded. Especially starting around 4 PM and going into the night.

Yesterday, November 5, Amy and I were driving by our local cemetery in the late afternoon. We stopped to take a look. Nobody was there but a caretaker. The place was awash in flowers that covered all the gravesites. The experience took my breath away. I felt privileged to come in behind all the worshipers who had brought gifts of love for their departed loved ones, then sat and communed with them. 

It is what Dia de Muertos is all about.