Wellspring of Inspiration

 

In our casa in the village of San Pedro Ixtlahuaca, near Oaxaca, in southern Mexico, Amy and I have found solace, inspiration and a canvas for our artistic souls. We love our classic adobe home, surrounded by plants, fields and mountains, set in a typical Mexican community. 

We serve our neighbors by giving art lessons to children. We offer projects and teach skills, provide all the materials while including refreshments. Children go away happy and proud, taking with them their artwork to share with their family. 

Our quiet life allows us to immerse ourselves in the rhythms of this world while still offering the enchanting proximity to the vibrant heart of internationally acclaimed Oaxaca.

Two or three times a week, we embark on a short journey to the city. There we buy foods we cannot find in the village, visit a marvelous ex-pat lending library, buy art supplies, and purchase the best artisan breads and pastries at a popular bakery. Sometimes I stop to swim at Hotel Victoria where we bought a membership that gives us access to the pool. Amy relaxes under an umbrella and we share lunch.

I always carry my camera to find opportunities for street photography. 

Usually we come upon a celebration happening⏤with music and lively street performances. 

Oaxaca serves as a melting pot of creativity, where artists from different backgrounds converge to express themselves. Engaging with this artistic kaleidoscope fuels our imagination and provides fresh perspectives to infuse into our creations. Galleries showcase a diverse range of works, from traditional folk art to contemporary masterpieces. Furthermore, now we both are represented at one of the Oaxaca’s finest art venues: Cuatrosiete Galeria. They gave us an exclusive two person show during peak tourist time: this years Dia de Muertos celebration.

When we return to our rural village, I exclaim how exciting Oaxaca is. It is wellspring of inspiration for two artists like us. We carry home echoes of Oaxaca's vibrant cultural symphony. Our quiet life is a canvas onto which we paint the stories, colors, and melodies we've absorbed during our time on earth.

We now have a new website showcasing our Mexican inspired art: Dos Venados

Break Rules

Advice to artists: create a style and stick with it, become famous and own a highly marketable brand. The same for any business.

Usually an artist chooses to concentrate on one discipline; like classical piano, poetry, fiction writing, or specific type of painting. He masters a style and gives it his own personality, perhaps becoming famous as a brand. If that brand goes big he is world famous. For instance Van Gogh. He made paintings in his own style, not popular at the time, but highly identifiable. Exactly 100 years after he died, Vincent’s  painting, Portrait of Dr. Gachet sold at auction for 163 million dollars.

My own trajectory as an artist is varied. I have a huge interest in the world and find that if I am in a niche I get uncomfortable. So I break rules and surprise people with explorations into the unknown. Then I also surprise myself.

My greatest success as an artist has been as a landscape painter. I am grateful for being able to make a living with my painting (see Steven Boone website). I often pinched myself to be sure I was not dreaming. “And I have not had to be a waiter on the side,” I told folks.

Along the way I have written a memoir, poetry, and magazine articles. I have been a publisher, made photographs, learned graphic design, been a printmaker and owned art galleries. 

I go in different directions simultaneously.

Recently I looked through old files of photographs and came upon some made between 15 and 20 years ago I share today. 

Encounters

The image, called The Traveler, is blurry. The mysterious human subject is a man but has been mistaken as woman. Strange light and shadow are all around, with golden luminescence falling from above onto the lone figure who is otherwise dark. The scene is absent of color and the landscape is so amorphous as to be almost anywhere . . . including another world.

The image is popular in my gallery. 0riginally a photograph, I manipulated it somewhat in photoshop. I print it on canvas, stretch it on stretcher bars like a painting, and work on it with other materials so that in the end it is called mixed-media on canvas.

To take a photograph is often called, “the capture.” Usually but a split second. I like the term because it describes indelibly recording a moment in time and preserving it for viewing later in the form of a picture. Most photographers are trained in camera fundamentals and techniques, then use fine equipment to set up shots that are esteemed for detail, contrast, proportions of light and dark, as well as subject matter that is universally acknowledged.

Not so this photo. In October 2008 I was living in Kashmir, India on a houseboat on Lake Dal, at the foot of the Himalaya Mountains. One day I set out with the owner of the boat to ride horses in the mountains and trek. The day was marvelous and included a stop in a village where I painted and met locals. On the the way back, as the sun was going down we drove on a primitive road that twisted down along a river. Occasionally we went by homes and people. I was rather delirious with joy, feeling the air streaming against my face, full of happiness for the encounters of the day and all the beauty I experienced. I had experimented with using my camera for shooting pictures that included my movement and the turning of the earth . . . in other words, taking photos that did not try and stop movement but rather used it in the composition. We passed a man in the road. He wore a phiran—a native costume that is like a cloak that goes to the ankles. I leaned out the window, turned back to look and took his picture. A “capture” that took half a second. The moment proved serendipitous for the image has been enjoyed by many.

When one sells, I make another and add different strokes and textures so that each piece is unique and the art keeps refreshing. Prints on paper also are available.

For more on this photo, see: Footprints

For more on Kashmir, type it in the search field at the top of the toolbar to the right.

Unity Of Existence

 

In pure moments of being, I perceive behind the veil of the material world in the realm of non-duality, or oneness. Here, love reigns supreme. Unity rules the real existence.

During periods of high creativity, I am able to let go of selfishness so as to merge completely and seamlessly with the whole. While painting, time vanishes, the joy of process takes over, and as the picture takes shape, surprises occur as if I am not in control at all. The best photography occurs when I lose everything that is a barrier between me and the subject. In writing, ego must fall, so that I am not writing with an eye to myself; rather the process unfolds on its own.

When meeting anyone new, I love being in this space of oneness. As if to say, “I have no judgement of you, we come from the same dust, created by the same Hand. I remember you—a friend from before this existence. We met on the shores of dawn.” Thus, I can look in the face of a foreigner and see a fellow being I have known all my life.
A king is my brother, same as a pauper. A person of a different color, with different features and dress—no matter, I combine just as well with them as with one of my own kind.



There are limitations. My body is not so quick to lose itself. It has adapted in certain environments. It has learned to be friendly with some elements and not friendly with others. Experience says it does not like hot, humid jungles. It reacts violently to some contamination in water in foreign lands that those people are immune to (India) . It is repelled by certain foods that other people eat—such as spiders (Cambodia). I can’t help that.

I have been in all these situations and appreciate them as part of the fabric of life. Behind all is the unity of existence.

Surrounded By Spirits

I am surrounded by spirits, and that is the feeling of the Lord.  —Naomi Boone

I love this simple sentence written in my daughter's journal when she was seventeen. She had learned she was dying of cancer.

She felt the power of angels—emissaries of God, sent to strengthen and guide her.

I am practicing remembering the feeling of the Lord as I prepare to go on another extended journey across continents, leaving everything behind to go into the "flux" state I so love. I will "let go". I thrive with the feeling of falling like the little bird pushed from the safety and familiarity of it's nest. A miraculous and hidden power informs the moment so what is needed occurs—to fly.

SPIRIT can take a flock of birds and direct them to determine Earth's magnetic field so they navigate using true north. During the day time they are guided by the position of the sun. Are they doing this mentally? Birds sometimes fly while sleeping during non-stop trips that can take weeks. No, they are not thinking; SPIRIT moves them to arrive unerringly to their destination.

And so too, I hope to leave the mental arena and go into what I call the zone. Like the falling bird, I go from the familiar into the unknown and rely on trust. Surrounded by spirits and guided by them, barriers fall away and I am no longer separate from my surroundings. In oneness, I enter THE DREAM, where miracles live and occurrences become fantastic.

I leave Santa Fe on November 1. First stop is Washington DC, (where I grew up,) to see my brother Wade and his family. I especially relish spending time with my young niece and nephew who barely know me. After four days I fly to Paris, France and book into a hotel on the left-bank for another four days. Time in the streets and museums, being inspired,  shooting photographs and going with the flow . . . day tripping to Versailles. Next I arrive in my favorite place . . . Venice. For a month. It is easy being creative there . . . making paintings, writing and photographing. Next is Egypt. In Luxor I have Egyptian friends that make a place for me in their family. After that it gets fuzzy: but most likely I will go and find the Masai people who had such a big impact on me. They are in Kenya and Tanzania.

I do not have a return ticket. SPIRIT and THE DREAM will direct me and that is how I like it.

Everything will be okay, because God is with me no matter what.  —Naomi Boone

Power In A Picture

The expression, “One picture is worth a thousand words”, has special meaning to me as an artist—most of my life is visually inspired. I have stood painting in silence for countless hours. No words transpire but the pictures that arrive speak volumes.

In silent wonderment I have experienced the earth in its many mysterious expressions. In my archives are tens of thousands of photographs from many travels around our globe. Occasionally I come upon one that warrants a closer look. The photo from Agra, India, included here, is an example of a picture that can elicit a story:

It does not matter who the figure in the foreground is, she is everywoman. Standing on a balcony, dressed in a simple and elegant white sari, her flowing robe disappears into the dark shadows surrounding her. Her hands rest on a protecting barrier that offers safety from accident. If she were to fall she might die. She is wrapped in thought and reverie, pondering her life on the threshold of a dream. The place she stands is remarkable, at a ledge—as if at the prow of a grand ocean vessel, taking her forward into a vast unknown. She is above the fray, at the level of the treetops where birds sing and monkeys play among the limbs. How has she arrived at this moment in time? Where will she advance next? Maybe she is simply breathing in the moment with no care to the past or future; exhilarated being on the edge of something bigger than her.


Behind her head are many rooms. Each is connected, has its own vantage and holds its own integrity. All are part of a greater whole, yet are independent. They could be storehouses of her mind. And when she has passed through each of them, she will arrive at a tower that is not limited. It is above all, and offers a viewing point that is not circumscribed. It is a place of clarity and peace. But it is not easy to arrive at.  Many doors lead to it.

Our woman is in her process. She stands in shadow but is robed in white. She is on a journey of many levels in a place of wonder.

These are the words that come to my mind as I ponder the image. The story can extend to a thousand words . . . this is the power in the picture.

Light In The Dark

Santa Fe Plaza, first night of Christmas lights

Last night I went to some art openings with Therese. There were four or five but we selected two photo exhibits. As we drove, she became excited at the Christmas lights around town. “I just love Christmas!” she said with a voice brimming with enthusiasm. I felt surprise.

We parked near a gallery, began walking arm-in-arm in the cold night air, and I volunteered a memory. “I was only four or five years old. Our family lived in a suburb of Chicago. I remember my mother bundling me up one cold night and taking me downtown on the train. It was only about a half-hour ride. We arrived among the tall buildings, and walked on the snowy sidewalks, holding hands. There were throngs of people and I sensed excitement and gaiety. We stopped in front of the big department store windows. They positively glowed with Christmas activity and carefully constructed holiday scenes; life sized Santa Clauses', elves that moved, realistic reindeer, indoor snow—with snow-dust that glistened and gleamed. Big train sets with moving trains. Colorful dolls all fancy and made up. Animals I had never seen; penguins and unicorns. Mother and I pressed our faces up to the glass and marveled. What I remember most was the light, creativity, cold night and loving warmth of my mother. It was special; just the two of us.”

The photo exhibit at Verve Gallery was remarkable. We found the subject matter to our liking. The photographer, Beth Moon, travels the world finding the oldest most wonderful trees with character and photographs them at night. She chooses specimens that are in places free of light pollution. Then carefully waits for conditions that allow for photos that show the trees with the backdrop of millions of stars.

Santa Fe Plaza, beginning of Christmas season

Everyone likes light in the dark; just like Christmas.

Enough To Fill Volumes

At the Banteay Srey Butterfly Centre, near Siem Reap, Cambodia

I had not intended to leave the United States in mid-September and travel around the world, but this is what happened. Yes, for certain I knew I would go to live in Venice, Italy where I stayed five weeks, and maybe visit India and Thailand.
On November 2, I was in Varanasi, India and by the end of the month living in Chiang Mai, Thailand. In Thailand I realized I could only legally stay 30 days and began imagining where my footsteps might wander next. I chose the neighboring country of Cambodia and a visit to the famous Angkor Wat Temples. I only stayed one wonderful week, and circumstances brought me to Bali, Indonesia. By then I knew I would continue circling the globe east back to the USA. From Bali I went to New Zealand—and then my mother died and I hurried back to attend her memorial in Santa Barbara, California.

Over the course of 119 days, I made 25 paintings, shot thousands of photographs, wrote 17 blogs and made scores of journal entries, traveled by boat, train, car, rickshaw, bus, airplane and foot. The experiences are enough to fill volumes and will be woven into my future like so many brightly colored and various threads woven into a composition of exceptional fabric.

Now, my traveling is inward, into stillness, psychology, spirit.

One Experience Flows Into The Next

The Lavender Umbrella, Chiang Mai, oil on canvas, 40 x 30 cm

Like unstoppable sand falling to the bottom of an hour glass, my time in Thailand is running out. I have to leave within a week, and although just stepping across the border to Cambodia, thinking of going away brings tinges of remorse.

I have Thai friends here in Chiang Mai, the streets are no longer confusing, I like riding my motorcycle, the cost of living is low, the climate is great, I have had good apartments including now when I can go swimming at the pool every day, I have made paintings and captured wonderful photographs. There is much more to explore—yet I am leaving. Thailand visa requires a limit of thirty days. I can turn around and come back immediately and stay longer, but THE DREAM is carrying me around the world and I must arrive again in the United States.

Papua New Guinea has always held an attraction for me, ever since I saw photographs in National Geographic of fearsome men in makeup and bones through their noses. I am making my way there, and have found that one of the cheapest routes is through Bali, where I arrive Christmas night.

In dreams, one experience flows into the next, with grand eloquence and abundance of awe inspiring surprise. This is THE DREAM, and I know it has many dimensions. I will stay in touch with my Thai friends, think fondly of them and keep them in my heart as I do with everyone that I meet along the way. With some people, it is never good-bye, but rather, we will see each other again.

Everything Is Part Of Everything

Life cannot be held, only experienced. To try and hold it is when we realize it is but a dream. When we believe we are in possession of something, in fact, this is illusion too, for nothing can truly be possessed, everything is part of everything else and is continually transforming and subject to external forces beyond personality.

When I lost my eldest daughter at age nineteen, after watching her suffer for two years while receiving the most skilled treatments and care, is when I truly became detached from holding on to anything of this world. Nobody can hold on to their most precious possession—their mortal frame, and I saw how much she loved hers and tried to keep it.

Certainly since her passing, from her vantage point of pure spirit in divine love within illimitable space, she has guided me to experience the world fully without fear, knowing it is a dream unfolding.

The traveling I am doing is full of dream sequences, beginning this year in September, living in Venice, Italy. My apartment was above a little stone bridge that spanned a canal that gondolas passed beneath each day. Nearby was a campo over a thousand years old. I like to paint, take photographs and write each day. After six weeks in Venice, THE DREAM took me to Cinqueterra on the Mediterranean coast, with its five magical villages hugging the steep, rocky shore, almost falling into the sea. From there, Florence, the birthplace of the Renaissance and high art, where my apartment sat steps away from Michelangelo’s marble sculpture masterpiece, David. Each day, the DREAM wind blew me through the fabled streets, until one day it took me to Rome—the eternal city where it is said all roads lead. I have been there many times before and it reawakened an awe of human ingenuity and achievement, with its vast architectural wonders from the time of empire. I heard through the ages the echo of horses hooves as they pulled gladiator carts, and listened to stringed instruments play in markets bustling with commerce just outside marbled churches filled with masterpieces of art. In Rome I relished a stunning art exhibition by a contemporary artist who filled me with inspiration to carry into my own work.

From Rome, into the sky again to land six hours later in New Delhi, India and then to arrive in Varanasi, one of the oldest living cities on earth. Cows roam the streets amid the crush of people, with bodies arriving every day from all parts of the globe to be burned on cremation pyres that are always blazing. The ashes thrown into the sacred Ganges River mean that salvation is assured for the believers. I floated on the Ganges in a boat to watch candles lit and placed in baskets to drift on the water, and experienced the thunder of explosions marking the Diwali Festival. THE DREAM introduced bacteria into my body and intestinal illness, as it happened before when I visited India. I continued painting, but spent more time with photography, taking some powerful images, especially with an American friend who modeled in flowing cloth on temple steps overlooking the Ganges.

Almost in a daze of altered perception, a train ride of twenty hours brought me to the heart of the continent, to Pushkar, the home of the only Brahma temple in India, where I arrived at the beginning of a famous once yearly festival. Thousands of camels were brought there to be traded and sold, with gorgeous horses, tents, festivities and excitement. THE DREAM introduced a young boy to my side one morning to take me to his family who live in tents on a hilltop. The man is a maker of folk instruments, and he and his wife sang and made music for me. We become friends, and THE DREAM brought money to them through one my friends on Facebook who took compassion on their difficult life of extreme poverty.
I am in other worlds, and far from the events of America and other places where news of violence and political intrigue comes to me in bits and pieces.

Now I am in northern Thailand, and do not see camels but plenty of monks in flowing saffron robes amid ornate Buddhist temples with soaring spires above intricate gabled roofs and dragons guarding the doors. My stomach ailments have mostly gone away, and each day is exploration, photography, and either painting or writing. THE DREAM has brought me together after seven years with Thai friends from the past. Our lives are woven in DREAM.

As THE DREAM continues unfolding, I wonder where it goes and where it leads. Soon it will lead to Cambodia but after that, I do not have a clear picture of what lays ahead. Perhaps the misty mountaintop needs time for the the wind to blow away the shrouding haze—and reveal itself entirely in glory.

Free To Wander

Piazza San Marco on a Sunday—with empty tables because of slight flooding.

To be free to wander is a ravishing pleasure that feeds my artist soul. And in Venice, to wander is extra pleasurable since there are no cars to threaten a person who is dreamy and in an altered state of consciousness. Altered states occur since it is a “floating world,” much like a dream. Accordions play, church bells ring, boats drift by on the labyrinth of canals and one cannot walk far without coming to one of 400 bridges that span the city.

Reflections—Piazza San Marco, Venice, Italy

 I have had a remarkable 24 hours. A friend from the United States arrived yesterday and we met at my apartment to have dinner and catch up with each other before leaving to meet with two Venetian ladies. My American friend, Neely, speaks Italian and immediately was conversing with her Italian counterparts as we walked together to a free baroque concert in a 700 year old church—Chiesa della Madonnadell'Orto. The concert was a fundraiser for ebola victims in Africa, and consisted of recitals from Antonio Lotti (5 January 1667 – 5 January 1740) an Italian Baroque composer. The massive church with soaring architecture and paintings by famous Venetian painter- Tintoretto, (Italian, October, 1518– May 31, 1594) soon filled up and we sat together in pews as the conductor and musicians came forth and stood facing us. The music and singing was sublime and as I closed my eyes I was transported through the ages to other times.

Stevie, self-portrait in Venice

Today, I have been walking with Cristiana for two hours, and amazingly we chatted most of the time, while she occasionally waited patiently while my muse stopped me to photograph something or other.

I realize that when I am in the artistic zone, it is an altered state where I am not really seeing people as personalities and buildings as shops or homes. Rather I am responding to light and reflection, texture and space, intriguing positions of humans in interaction or alone within the environment.

Cristiana recognizes me as an artist and says that anyone who is to be in relationship with me must understand this is who I am. I agree totally.

Venice . . . double exposure

The Disappearing Passage

A motif has captivated my imagination since my earliest days as a budding artist: the disappearing passage. As a boy, I sometimes would sit at my school desk with my pencil and draw on paper a horizontal line, and then make a road that steadily grew slimmer, until it disappeared at the horizon. Those simple lines gave me great pleasure and left me satisfied. Perhaps, it was my path into eternity.

Now, a half century later, I continue making images that lead the eye into a central location and end in ambiguity. Often, in the beginning, it is an unconscious attraction and only later I see that I have come to familiar territory. Most often the road or path seems to begin underfoot, and travels to a place of disappearance. But it can also be a river or a street . . .

It is as if I am in dialogue with time and travel, and I love symbols of issuance and continuity, even as they go to the mysterious place of vanishing.

 

 

 

Boldness, Drama and Controversy

Garry Winogrand, Monkeys

At the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, as I walked through a special exhibit of the photographs of Garry Winogrand (14 January 1928, New York City – 19 March 1984, Tijuana, Mexico), I suddenly realized that if the same photos were in my gallery, most of them would go unsold. I knew that they were curiosities and while intriguing to see, people would not buy them. 

Garry Winogrand, Untitled 

My most powerful and original work is the least likely to be bought. 

People enjoy experiencing boldness, drama and controversy in museums, but not in their homes. Only serious art connoisseurs, those who have art running in their veins, understand that great art involves risk taking, and want to be part of it. These collectors do not want to be associated with the mundane, but instead, what is cutting-edge, and advanced. And this is what arrives in museums.

Steven Boone, Paranoia

Phoenix

Last Monday, Heidi Of The Mountains and I drove eight hours from Santa Fe, New Mexico, to arrive in Phoenix, Arizona, where her parents have a winter home in Sun City, the sprawling retirement community.  The weather during winter is balmy—warm enough for shorts. I am coming to know my in-laws, and played a round of golf with Heidi’s father.

Colorado, 8 x 10 inches, oil on board

I brought my paint supplies with me, but honestly, although the weather is great and Phoenix is a major American city, I am not impressed with the physical appearance of the area. It is very flat, in a desert, and non-descript houses are wall-to-wall everywhere. So when it came time for me to choose a painting, I did several, but from photographs retrieved from my computer.

We love the Sonoran Desert environment; the only place in the world where the Saguaro cactus grows in the wild. This morning, we left home just after dawn to drive to a place where we could hike. We found a trail in mountains near Sun City and walked among the saguaro with our puppy, Chamo. At the end of the winding walk, we came to a rock wall with a small pool of water at its base. The morning light was good for picture taking, as you can see from the one  I am including here at the top.

Serendipity

There are always two people in every picture:  the photographer and the viewer.  ~Ansel Adams

When I was in Kashmir, India, I went on a trek in the Himalayan Mountains, and during the journey stopped in a tiny hamlet to paint. I set up my easel to get a view of houses with the mountains rising behind. Children were the first to arrive by my side, but before long adults too, came to watch. I was entertaining them. Fortunately, I had my camera, and occasionally turned and snapped pictures of the onlookers. That day was quite memorable, and I came away with a painting, wonderful experiences, and a trove of photographs. Many are favorites from among 30,000 pictures I took in 2008. One in particular is a photo that came when I had finished painting and stood to smile at the young people. I motioned to a group that I wanted to take their picture and without a word, they quickly gathered and focused all their attention to me. In a second I had taken a marvelous photo, and then, a few more in succession. I have printed it as large as 34 by 44 inches and lived with it for many months . . . and never tire looking at it. The children are present, free from confusion and gaze openly with candor. They are dressed nicely in mountain garb, and have chapped skin from the climate. In some of the pictures, the village children show clothes that are stained and faces with dirt . . . and it's understandable since they do not have washrooms or toilets, but live close to nature. In the above photo, I like that they stand shoulder to shoulder as comrades.

I had similar moments of serendipity when in the briefest of seconds an unlikely slice of time is captured forever. For instance when I was outside a mosque in Istanbul, Turkey, and noticed a big congregation of pigeons bustling about. A homely woman turned to me, and in a moment I had taken her picture as she offered me seed to throw to the birds. She is smiling bashfully and missing teeth.

Some photos can be planned. When I was driving on the island of Corfu, in Greece, I came to a place called Ipsos and spotted a rickety dock that jutted into a lake. I stopped and as the gentle waves lapped the shore at my feet, set up a tripod and leisurely snapped photos. The result is a picture that has fullness and emptiness both. I call it Zen Dock. 

Sometimes, I knew a picture was waiting for me, but I would need to make special effort to get it. When I was in Hoi An, Vietnam, I heard of a fish market that was especially lively at dawn, when the fishermen arrived at a dock amid a crowd of clamoring and bartering women. Several mornings I rose with the sun to ride my bicycle to the place. Sure enough, I got great pictures. Among them is this shot of a woman who was squatting on her haunches, smoking a cigar under her straw hat.

Photos can record in a moment a picture worth a thousand words. While in Africa in the Serengeti game preserve, I met a group of Masai boys and could not have made a painting of them. But my camera was with me, and my brief encounter is now more than an isolated memory in my head.

It's weird that photographers spend years or even a whole lifetime, trying to capture moments that added together, doesn’t even amount to a couple of hours.  ~James Lalropui Keivom

Photography records the gamut of feelings written on the human face, the beauty of the earth and skies that man has inherited, and the wealth and confusion man has created.  It is a major force in explaining man to man.  ~Edward Steichen

See more travel pictures:  Artistic photography by Steven Boone
Also my full website for photos: Graphixshoot