Gratitude

 

This last week has been a whirlwind of happy circumstances. After announcing that Amy and I will be  closing our gallery, our collectors stepped in to buy art. Four paintings are going to Rising Fawn, Georgia, two to Fort Collins, Colorado, one to Glenwood Springs Co., one to Las Cruces New Mexico, and three go to Kerrville, Texas. 

  

Paintings go to two homes in Santa Fe. Collectors from Albuquerque, NM bought one and a collector from Edmond Oklahoma bought one. 

We are grateful for all the sales during the pandemic. Many businesses have been severely impacted; including our gallery. 

We had planned to close when our rent was scheduled to increase drastically beginning in 2021. Then we decided to quit early, and now we are going month-to-month, with the probability of shuttering by the end of the year.

Now we know we can for sure make virtual sales.

Call It Flux

The Boone Gallery, where Amy and I have exclusively shown our art, is closing. The covid-19 pandemic is forcing us to close earlier than we planned. 

We have some remorse, but both of us know changes occur in life and we must adapt. I call it flux, and have been in relationship with it for as long as I can remember.

Beginning in a few days—Wednesday, August 12, we are auctioning art.

Before our artwork goes elsewhere, we are offering it directly to the public and collectors at a discount. It is an opportunity to benefit both us and everyone else. 

To preview, click here: AUCTION

For further information, go to boonegallery.com or stevenboone.com

Remember to check it out and begin bidding on Wednesday, Aug. 12

A Conversation Can Occur

I struggle learning foreign languages. I wish it were easier since traveling is my passion. Having lived in Italy several times, I recall how much I wanted to be fluent among my friends there.

As a child, I had trouble speaking English. Some of my earliest school memories were in the office of a speech therapist helping me correctly form and enunciate “r’s”.

Which brings me to hyper text markup language. Html is the language of the world-wide web. In code form it is letters, numbers and symbols strung together on a page. But read by a web browser such as Firefox or Google Chrome, magically a web page appears complete with stories and pictures.

I am not fluent in html, but know rudimentary ways of constructing a website. For about a decade I have used a program called Dreamweaver but still feel a novice.

Lately, during the slowest time of tourist seasons in Santa Fe, using WordPress, I managed to make another website, one that I have needed for some time. I have owned the domain name but it has sat vacant. Now it is up and running . . . have a look:

boonegallery.com

I made many mistakes along the way as I did with my other websites. Fortunately the web has places to find “speech therapists”. I may not be able to roll my “r’s” like the Spanish and Italians, but at least a conversation can occur. 

A Few Gems

I was in Buenos Aires and had to get to a tango performance or my stay there would not be complete. The show at Café Tortoni started at 11 PM. I arrived at the café and had a light refreshment before going downstairs into an areea that resembled a cave. The audience sat in the dark at tables as the performance began on a stage lit with colored lights that filtered through smoke effects to give just the right atmosphere for the passionate dancing. An ensemble of live tango musicians played adjacent to the dancers. Everything was intimate, especially as the room was small.

In the dark I strained for good views and snapped photos. I didn't know what I would get. A few gems came through and since then some of the pictures have made more than enough income for the entire trip to Argentina.

Yesterday, a married couple from Arizona came to The Boone Gallery and bought the two images shown here. This exchange reminded me of the whole evening and how fortunate I am to be able to make a living from art.

To read earlier posts from the trip, go to: Buenos Aires or Tango Embrace

Old Man Gloom

It's that time of year when the people of Santa Fe celebrate with an annual fiesta. A spectacular occurrence sets off the festivities with a bang: the burning of Old Man Gloom—otherwise known as Zozobra. "Zozobra is a hideous but harmless fifty-foot bogeyman marionette. He is a toothless, empty-headed facade. He has no guts and doesn't have a leg to stand on. He is full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. He never wins. He moans and groans, rolls his eyes and twists his head. His mouth gapes and chomps. His arms flail about in frustration. Every year we do him in. We string him up and burn him down in ablaze of fireworks. At last, he is gone, taking with him all our troubles for another whole year. Santa Fe celebrates another victory. Viva la Fiesta!" - A.W. Denninger

At a Zozobra event and poster signing

My partner, Amy Córdova had two of her artworks selected for posters of the event, which draws tens of thousands of people. The local Kiwanis Club is the sponsor and proceeds go to the Boys and Girls Clubs of Santa Fe. The theme for this year was the era of the sixties. So Amy made a take-off of the Beatles Abbey Road Cover and also Zozobra wearing bell-bottoms and John Lennon glasses.

Amy, signing her posters

Amy was given four VIP passes to the burning, so we will be close up. Next week I will post a story with photos of the burning of “Old Man Gloom.”

"Light My Fire" by Amy Córdova

 

 

 

 

 

"Zozo Does Abbey Road" by Amy Córdova

Regal Pageantry

At the center of my town is a plaza. It is well-used, especially in summer with frequent festivals and music concerts. Santa Fe, New Mexico is the oldest state capitol in the nation, founded in 1608 by New Mexico's third Spanish governor, Don Pedro de Peralta. It was made the capital of the territory in 1610. At over 7,000 feet above sea level, it is the United State's highest capital city. Santa Fe is the third-largest art market in the United States, after New York and Los Angeles.

Folk festival

I am fortunate that the Boone Gallery is just steps off of the plaza. There is usually music there, tourists from all parts of the globe visit, and I have been surprised by car shows, motorcycle gatherings, avant-garde music raves, Spanish markets, folk festival parades, pet parades, and now the big daddy of them all—Annual Indian Market which commenced this weekend.

Classic car show

Usually, despite being so close to the center of action during Indian Market, my shop is quiet—like being in the eye of a hurricane of cultural and commercial activity.


This is understandable since there are over 200 fabulous Indian artists spread across the plaza and adjacent streets. The masses of people are busy perusing and purchasing Native American arts and crafts.

Traditional Native Attire

A favorite attraction during the market is a fashion show. There are various categories including traditional and contemporary. Natives from all over North America present themselves in hand made attire and it makes for regal pageantry.

To add to my happiness sharing the plaza with indigenous Americans, a local hotel owner came in my gallery and bought one of my large paintings; a colorful river scene. Nature is the most native of all. Thank you Santa Fe plaza.

Embudo, oil on linen, 36x48 inches. Print available

The Clouds

 

When my friend Therese saw the likeness of birds in twilight clouds and showed me the photograph she took, I thought to make a painting. It hung in my gallery for several months. A few days ago a woman from Denver, Colorado became entranced with it and bought it.

Karen had recently moved with her husband to Colorado from the east coast and had left much of her art collection behind, in order to begin fresh. “Our house has been bare because I have not wanted to buy anything unless I really love it."

It pleases me greatly to be able to meet the people who purchase my art. I was able to look into Karen’s eyes and see her excitement. I was there when she took a picture on her phone and sent it to her husband for approval. He replied, “Nice.” She laughed at how when he says “nice” it usually means something much more. Then she looked back at the painting and pointed to a face she saw in the clouds. Therese saw the face too, and eventually so did I.

Pareibiola is a psychological phenomenon that causes people to see or hear a vague or random image or sound as something significant. Some people do this regularly and others don’t. My father admitted he never could see the, “man in the moon.”

I love looking at skies with clouds that shape shift and turn colors. Especially sunsets give me great joy and a sense of awe. I made a photograph of a landscape with clouds forming the shape of a heart over mountains. Even my father, bless his departed soul, would be able to see it.

For more, see: The Geese Are Clouds

The Creative Mind of Amy Córdova

 

Saints, shamans, spirit beings, extra-terrestrials, creatures of every type, the sun and moon . . . these are just some of the subjects of the creative mind of Amy Córdova.

I first met Amy at a dinner hosted by mutual friends. She was dressed liked an artist with a colorful blouse and skirt, and Native American jewelry. After discovering her art background, I asked if she would be interested in putting her work in my gallery and working there while I went to Venice, Italy to live. I planned to be gone several months.

 It has been six months since I returned and Amy and I have become partners in many walks of life. We make art together, manage the gallery as a team, share meals, read fairy-tales together, pray together and more.

In less than a week my gallery is hosting a one-woman show for Amy. It is during Spanish Market in Santa Fe; appropriate because of her Spanish heritage. Fortunately, my gallery is just steps away from the plaza, where all the activity takes place.

The name of Amy’s show is Querencia, and refresh to “a deep rooted longing and love for a specific place and those who inhabit that place.”

For more, click here: Amy Córdova

Indian Meeting Place Of The Universe

A life size wooden Indian faces my gallery every day. He wears a war bonnet, is dressed in buckskin and holds a tomahawk. Each morning he is dragged out of the shop called Shalako that sells old Native American Indian silver jewelry and adornments. Then he goes back inside at closing time. He stands sentinel at the door and tourists from all over the world have stopped to have their picture taken next to him.

Santa Fe is the meeting place of the universe for Indians this weekend. Indian Market is in progress. Today, a real Indian stood next to the wooden one as I took a picture. He grabbed the ax from the wooden Indian's hand and smiled while I photographed. He is from the Jicarilla Apache Nation in New Mexico, and is here among tribe people from all over the United States, including Alaska, and also some from Canada. 

Tents line every street going out from the plaza. The Indians sell their pottery, jewelry, weavings, artwork and more. Tourists come from all over. They can be seen waiting at the booth of a favorite artist for over an hour before opening time at 8 AM on Saturday morning. 

Throughout the two days, there are continual performances of native music with colorful dancing in traditional costume . . . and a spirit of happiness and excitement pervades everywhere.

My gallery is only 100 feet from the plaza. Often, downtown businesses complain that shoppers are so fixated on the Indian crafts that their businesses go into a sales slump. Last year I had the good fortune to sell a big painting during the market.

I show up with a positive attitude and am thankful for what fate brings . . . and this year some collectors came in and bought art from me; including a portrait that I had just completed. You might call it a “native” portrait. It is of an indigenous woman from South America, wearing her native costume, including a bright red felt hat.

"The Red Hat", oil on linen, 20 x 20 inches
by Steven Boone

Young People

A parade of young people have been entering my gallery and making an impression on me. Most often, their parents have been with them. The Boone Gallery is situated in the heart of Santa Fe, on the historic plaza. Across from my gallery is the city visitor center.

In the last week each day I experienced a memorable event involving youth. First, a woman came in with her little boy who was bursting with happy liveliness. He wore big glasses that seemed might fall from his face at any moment. As he bopped around the room from painting to painting she explained that he was artistically precocious and the family came to Santa Fe from Illinois partly because of all the art to be seen. As I stood next to her she pulled out her smartphone and scrolled through images, finding a photo of one of her son's drawings. It was remarkable for it's detail of an old fort on a hill, with a perfectly drawn American flag on a tall pole, fluttering in a breeze. I was impressed. With pride she said, "That's amazing for a five year old! I mean, the other kids are making stick figures!" By now the boy was next to us and he quickly corrected his mother, "I am six years old!" She smiled, "You were five when you made this." The boy went to the couch and sat down, rocking as he looked around, then jumping up again. I handed him a folding glossy card with images of my paintings. They thanked me and walked away. A few minutes later, the lad ran back to me holding the card. "Mr. Boone, you are the best artist!" Now it was I saying thank you . . .

The next day, a man came in with a boy about the same age as the first, and gently explained that he wanted his son to be able to see an artist working. This lad was much quieter, but very observant. They only stayed a few minutes. The father gratefully thanked me for being open to their intrusion, and they left, the boy wide-eyed and not saying a word.

Then came a father with his teen-aged daughter. He explained that his daughter was interested in art. He observed that my paintings were thick with paint and wondered how I made them. As they stood next to me, I opened my palette box and used my palette knife to mix colors together. The girl stood watching, transfixed. I said, "Most artists use the palette knife to mix colors and get new tones or colors. Then they put it aside to use brushes to apply paint in thin layers. I use the knife to paint." The little lesson lit them up and they walked out satisfied.

Several other stories unfolded. A young woman, 24 years old, came in while my assistant Therese was working. She loved a mixed-media piece called "Tango Passion". It is a rather large photograph of mine from from a tango club in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I printed on canvas and stretched it over stretcher bars. It depicts two dancers in intimate embrace on stage, smoke swirling around them in red lights. She felt it would be great in a home she was moving into soon. She takes tango lessons and explained she worked two jobs and might not be able to afford it. Then she left, promising to be back soon. She never arrived on the day she promised, and I thought it was a missed opportunity. The next day, Therese stopped in for a brief few minutes, and by coincidence at the same time, the young woman returned. She said she wanted to buy the art if she could make payments. I agreed. She said that her mother and grandmother were dancers.

Another day, two young women came in and I was immediately struck by their friendship and that one was white and the other very black. They looked around, obviously just for enjoyment, and one joked, asking did I ever "get stoned" and paint. I responded that I had not used drugs since I was about her age. "Spirit fills me up. I do not need to use anything to get high." She immediately was impressed with the answer and apologized, also saying that the colors and vibrancy might make people wonder what state of mind I had been in when they were created. Then she explained that the two of them were with a church mission that was getting young people off the streets and helping them straighten out. She pointed to a logo on the front of the tee shirts they were wearing. I reached behind my desk and gave them both a copy of my book, A Heart Traced In Sand, Reflections on a Daughter's Struggle for Life. "This is a book I wrote about my daughter who died of cancer when she was nineteen. I used many of her own diary writings." As we talked about tests and sufferings that we must face in life, the black girl looked in my eyes with a big tear falling down her cheek. "Why does life have to be so hard sometimes?" I assured her that though it is hard, there is something in us that can endure even the most severe trials.  "God never abandons us. Tests come to make us stronger." When the girls left, I felt deeply connected and sensed them for a long time afterward. One of them marched by my window later, smiling and lifting my book to wave to me.

Lastly, three generations of a family came in as I was arranging prints in my flat files. The old man was struck by one piece in particular. It's a big reproduction of a photograph called Kashmiri Children. I explained that I was in a Himalayan village in Kashmir, India,  making a landscape painting when many of the young people came around to watch me. I made a painting, but even better, took some remarkable photographs that afternoon, including the one he admired. He introduced himself and his daughter and mentioned they were in town for a family reunion. I showed him a large print of the picture on museum paper that he could buy.  "I want to bring my wife back." He promised to come back that afternoon or the next morning.
They left and I did not see him again so thought it was only a fluke. The next afternoon, the old man's daughter came back. "Did my father return?" I said no. "I want to buy that print for him . . . for Father's Day". Then she looked around and said she hoped he would not walk in while she was with me. "We will keep it a surprise," I said. "If he comes back, I will say it sold." She bought the print and payed to have it shipped to her father's house. "You will be able to enjoy it when you go visit him," I said.

How appropriate the string of youth events includes the sale of an artwork featuring young people.

Be Like A Butterfly

Since arriving back in the United States in February, brought home by the unexpected death of my mother, I have been unusually subdued and reclusive. Now, the late summer vibrations are strong here in the high plains of New Mexico—and I have been drawn out of a cocoon to be like a butterfly, free to flutter in the broad expanses. 

Last year I opened a pop-up gallery on the historic Santa Fe Plaza for two months. It was a success. So this August I opened and will stay three months. I have been working the gallery alone. Now the magic outdoors is calling me to go out and paint in "plein air." I've hired a dear friend to assist several days a week. After living here for forty years, I know where to go outside of the city to find just what I want.

I drive north in my van through a couple small towns. I either go to the Rio Grande Gorge, or to the area known as Ghost Ranch, near Abiquiu, where the famous artist Georgia O'Keefe spent her last years. Both have spectacular scenery and and are not crowded. 

The first day I went to the Gorge and made a painting from slightly above the Rio Grande River, looking toward a tall mesa with the river in the foreground. Chamisa shrubs are just now coming to bloom and added a splash of brilliant yellow in front. When I finished I found a nice spot higher up that looked over the canyon walls to the river below. I got my cooking supplies and food out to prepare dinner, but then could not find a frying pan. I forgot it! So I drove home.

The next day I went to Ghost Ranch. Along the way the scenery was so spectacular that I had to stop several times to take pictures. The clouds especially added immense drama as they billowed and danced in the deep blue sky. Past Ghost Ranch with its red rock formations I found a dirt road that goes toward Christ In The Desert Monastery. I pulled off near some pastel bluffs and set up to paint. Then the beautiful clouds began letting loose raindrops! No worry, I knew it would pass, so I gathered my gear and laid down in the van, listening to raindrops splash against the roof. A half hour later and I was up and out, resuming painting with the fresh aroma of sage filling my nostrils. 

"Ghost Bluffs," Oil on canvas, 20 x 20 inches

 A few hours later, as I strove to finish my painting amid the changing light, I thought, “Wow! How much easier it is to just take a photograph!”

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.