One

One

One

Is a

Very

Special

Number

I

Have seen:

One raindrop from one tiny cloud

Fall on my face after looking up from where I was

On the roof of the chapel I was building

And saw

It

Plummet to my face and splish there

It was the only raindrop I saw that day and the only cloud

If you could call it that …

My dad says I have seen a UFO up on Cheyenne Mountain one night, on his shoulders,  but I don’t remember that...

I have had one neon purple witch spank me in the little pitch dark  trailer where I was trying to get to sleep as a child…

I have looked at my first child as she stared at me with two blue eyes as just her head was out at her birth and I was crouched down on my hands and knees… looking up…

I discovered a peach tree in my yard that had only one, beautiful perfectly formed and ripe, ready to eat

Peach

On it and I plucked it off, amazed, and took photographs of it and then we ate it.

And what I know now is that “one” is special….and so is “many”, as I eschew one god  in my Multiverse…

I know one vote can make all the difference….

One smile can too; at the right time.

One photo can be the absolute best

And one moment sublime

And... what I really know is that each time I do something, something I have done, it seems, routinely, many times before, the motions are truly unique somehow…

Each time I try to invoke dualities; I am oversimplifying and leaving much out.

Each time I think about one god, I am starting wars

As I plant my feet and hang on bite

Will being the devil here

And my feet are perhaps planted because one dimension is wagging its tail in another

…and the dimensions are being counted and Infinite may be the number,

Leaving plenty of room for lots of thoughts,

As they commingle in the susurrus stream of pluralities

In a cosmic dance that is spiritual, physical, emotional, value driven for us humans..

Waltzing through “Texas” With You in My Arms

Last Gallery On The Right

My Hero

My Hero   

I was asked recently, in a group setting around a dinner table, to talk about a hero in my life.  I immediately thought of  Jimmy Carter and some other more exotic heros, like Jackie Chan.  I racked my brain for women that I highly admired and was having a difficult time remembering them, like the lyrics to many songs I can play on my guitar….or even the titles to the songs.  It is not that I don’t love the songs; I just have trouble with getting started on them.  Anyway, I was surfing the internet the other day and thought I would key in Tachai, which was the model agricultural commune in The People’s Republic of China in the early seventies, over forty years ago.  I was privileged to have been on a “youth group” during the Cultural Revolution and after the “Ping-Pong diplomacy” event and before Richard Nixon went over there; it originating through the Chinese offer to host Bill Hinton, a famous friend of China since before “Liberation”.  The group  had the amazing fortune to be hosted by the Chinese government and to be allowed to live in this village and to work on the terraced fields with them as well as working in a Textile Mill in Shanghai and travelling all over the country!  I lived in a “cave”  in Tachai,  which was actually a slick affair that was dug into a loess bank, along with a long line of other such dwellings and then a brick arch was put in place for the walls and ceiling and a beautiful stone face was put on the front and latticework on the paper windows and a nice front door.  The interior was hard trowel plastered and painted a bright white.  There was a washstand and beds and some dressers.  Chairman Mao had chosen Tachai as the model commune and hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people arrived, each day, in busses and studied this fantastic place.  They had turned a poverty stricken place riddled with gullies into a thriving place and “tamed” the gullies and were producing great yields per mu; of corn, millet, fruit, vegetables, etc.  There were many stories about the labor hero, Chen Yung Guei, who was like a senator now in the national government and wore the traditional towel on his head even in the high company of his fellow leaders; he was truly a hero with many stories to back that up.  There were women, too, in the village that were recognized for their extraordinary strengths of mind and character.  There was an older woman who was very strong and capable and had a few digits of her hands cut off as punishment in the cruel past; either by the Japanese or the landlord class or perhaps her parents cut them off to save her from sexual abuse.  I do not remember her name, but was very impressed. 

The first site that I came upon as I searched the internet was a fascinating story about what had happened to Tachai over the years and it had a photograph of an older woman.  It told about how the winds of change and politics had affected this place and how, it seems, the village and their accomplishments had been discredited over time, how they slipped into hard times and were struggling.  It got so bad, mostly because the government had appointed persons who were not effective in supporting the economies of the place and let it slip.  Books, I knew, had been written about the tragedy of what happened to this place due to the cruel winds of politics.  I read one some years ago entitiled, “From Seventh Heaven to Nine Hells” or something like that.  It documented the horrendous fall from grace of Chen Yung Guei.  Anyway I knew a little about the story.  This website capsulized the saga and brought it up to date. 

The reason I am writing this piece is because I was amazed to see that the woman who was depicted in photo and story was none other than that of a person I had, for some reason, realized was something special even forty years ago.  At that time she must have been in her early twenties.  I had taken a picture of her out of China Pictorial (the Chinese equivalent of Time magazine) and framed it and kept it on my office wall for all these years.  I had framed no other pictures from that time, despite the many chances to do so.  She was not wildly beautiful, except in the sense that her features showed strong jaw, her eyes intelligence and full life and her physical strength was clear.  I had seen her and perhaps travelled with her in a bus.  I had heard about her and her leading the young women’s labor groups and somebody must have told me what a powerful and capable person she was as I was, obviously, deeply impressed.  I guess it is really special to be told about all of these strong farmers and to have her qualities singled out so clearly at the time and somehow it struck me and she became perhaps the only “hero” that I had even taken the time to frame.  The reason why it is so remarkable is the story about her involvement in the modern history of Tachai:

Things got so bad in Tachai that the government decided to put Guo Fenglian back into a position of authority after having shunned her for many years.  The story is a remarkable one of how she figured out how to rework the economy of that area and found very successful ways to turn the place around.  She had the ability to see what could be done (using their geology to make Portland cement and other things like that) and was, years later; she was still a hero, unbeknownst to me until recently. 

So, obviously, I am still amazed at how the world works and what triggers us to make those around us …..heros.  I wonder how deeply their influence goes and, of course, how far!

  http://www.china.org.cn/china/CPC_90_anniversary/2011-08/04/content_23140840.htm

     -Thor Sigstedt, 59, is a cousin to Bill Hinton (now deceased), lives on a small experimental “ranch” in Northern New Mexico.  He is a woodworker, furniture maker, sculptor and builder.  In China they introduced him as “Ta Shi Wa Lao Dung”; He who likes manual labor; that being a link, perhaps, with Guo Fenglian.

The Straw Bale Casita in Spirit Valley NM

Straw Bale Casita in Spirit Valley

Well, it is probably about time that I wrote about my experience in building with straw bales.  I had an unusual situation where I already had a post and beam framework in place, a hexagonal burro “shed” that had levels that spiraled upwards with a few different levels, including a hay loft and a central support system that doubled as a feed drop and feed bin.  I was out of money and had quit smoking cigarettes, so I was needing a project that 1) kept me away from people and 2)I could use salvage and saved items to build it with and 3)was physically challenging to give me a way to vent my energies.  I built the thing using credit cards for about $15,000 and that money was almost exclusively for the purpose of feeding me and paying the small mortgage I had at the time and taking care of my children when I had them.  The banker was horrified when I told him I had racked up that much  card debt and was now trying to refinance the property (40 acres with an adobe house, a big adobe “Teen Cottage” and a huge log shop/studio).  I had plenty of collateral and equity in the place, but no clear way to prove income other than the rental I was starting to get from the straw bale rental house, called BJJ, the BJ job; BJ (Benjamin) was my donkey who was now being relocated to slimmer digs, along with Isabella, his female sidekick.  I am sure they were not pleased with this new arrangement, as the “shed” was very cool with a good winter southern exposure and a good windbreak from the northern winds and a nice place to hang out in the summer too.  And the girls liked to play in it and hang out in the loft and hang off the beams and goof around.  There was water there, too; placed for a steady supply of well water for the tank. 

I am something of a rustic artist, so I decided to go for that aesthetic and celebrate the shed and also make it clearly made from recycled items, scavenged items and smaller pieces.  It had an overhang all around so I realized I could put straw bales in between and have them still roofed.  I knew that a lot of straw bale places were made this way; post and beam with infill.  I had designed various straw bale construction methods before, thinking about ways to get the electric line and other things into boxes that were part of the “post and beam” scenario.  I also had a few 8 x 8 “logs” left over from my shop project and knew I could continue that construction method; post and beam.  I was also interested in Mike Reynold's “Earthships”, which utilized car tires, rammed with earth, for foundations for houses.  I needed something strong under the bales without making a completely new foundation and that was labor intensive and low cost.  I also owned a small “bulldozer” with a front bucket, so I could easily get the gravel and stuff to ram the tires with.  So I went to local tires stores and they gladly gave me their old used tires, which I stuffed into my Bronco and brought home.  They, of course , were the perfect sized for a straw bale set-up.  I planned the lay the bales not on edge, but the thick way, which was close to the size of a tire.  I also dug trenches where needed and put in gravel foundations under the tires, where I could.  Now, this project was under the radar of the authorities, so “unconventional” was easier to accomplish than in other places.  The building already existed and looked like a now plastered over burro shed that had been there for some years, from the public side, which was the back. 

Pictures of it can be found on my blog:   http://thor-sigstedt.blogspot.com under the architectural slide show category; found following links to another blog or two, etc.   Others are on my Picasa Web Album, I think, which is public.  I can provide others if need be.

Of course, it is important to get dry and mold-free bales, and ones, that are tight enough to not be too goosey loosey, as they are being stacked and need some strength.  They are actually harder to deal with than one might think because they tend to tip over and are not heavy enough  to easily stabilize themselves.  I was surprised at how gangly the whole thing could be.  The sizes are important, too, and the spacing for post and beam if you are going that way.  You can break them apart and rebind them, but it is just more work to do that a lot. 

I invented a way to attach the stucco netting, which we call just that around here.  I also used some chicken wire, but it is weaker and harder to plaster.  I tried lacing tie wire through the bales to hold the stucco netting, but it was almost impossible, so I took old steel cable (and maybe some aluminum I had lying around), thick cable like they use for guying power poles. And cut it into lengths, say about 15” or so (I really don’t remember the exact best length, so you would need to experiment) and then separated the strands and then bend the single strands in half so you ended up with a bobby pin sort of deal with wavy forks.  Then you could just jamb them into the bale and pin down the wire quite easily.  I was truly impressed with myself for this invention.  I used this for both sides as they lathe support system.  You need quite a few to get a good tight fit against the bales. 

Then it was scratch coat of Portland, sand and lime mix on the outside; then a “brown” coat (which has nothing to do with the final color) of the same mix.  The brown coat is floated with a  special sponge to get a stucco type finish/surface.  Then the bank, when they finally agreed to refinance me, made me put on the final stucco coat so it looked finished.  The place looks like a 200 year old double adobe building and it quite attractive in that respect. 

The down side has been that it does attract mice and pack rats.  So I would recommend that special attention be paid to sealing it off really, really well from the outside.  In my case, I left the inside with barn wood siding from the original shed and it has many cracks where critters can come in and out.  I do not believe that the problem is impossible, but I know to be aware of it from the get-go.  I am still puzzled at how they get in.  Of course, they would be trouble in a fiber glass insulated building also, like most homes, so it is not unique to this place; most of my neighbors have had trouble with pests. 

The best features are that the insulation value is stunning for a wall (R40 or more) and the sound proofing from outside sounds is extraordinary (we have a train that passes by a few feet from the building and you can hardly hear it go by!), the looks are stunning. 

It is really important to have dry bales also, especially in an eastern climate.

Well, there is a lot more to talk about here, but that gives a basic overview of the deal as it relates to my experience. 

Good luck…….

      -Thor Sigstedt, Adventure Trails Ranch, November 20, 2011

Keep The Porch Light On ....or not?

 For years, since 1980 or so, we, the neighbors, if you can call us that ‘cause we live so far away from each other, relatively; well…..we helped each other build our houses some and raised our children and horses and dogs together and fell in love with the land in unison; the land and the beauty around us was and is the “great leveler” of our differences, be they political or some other diversity….well, we neighbors have been threatening to “shoot out” ______’s personal streetlight.  That is quite a statement to make and so it begs the question of : why?  I will try to make it clear somehow; shed some “light” on the subject (read as in flashlight…) 

Despite our basic fear of the dark, there is another aspect that bears understanding, which is that lights often glare in our eyes and cause discomfort.  When we are talking in the parlance of these issues, we talk about the viewshed as the basic  common item of interest.  Anything that interferes with the viewshed, or that which we look at, or “pollutes” the charm of the landscape, be it dusk, dawn or the other variations of light quality and quantity….is, in fact, a detriment to our quality of life.  Some of these things shock us into wanting to “shoot” them  out and get rid of the offender.  When the offense adds up by having more and more of them, then you are no longer, for many practical purposes, nestling in the charms of the country; you have brought the city out here with you, often unbeknownst to yourself.  The phenomenon happens in cities in the southwest, like Phoenix, where the people are trying to get away from their allergies of the Midwest of East  but just can’t help but grab that Colorado River water and irrigate and plant…….more flowering plants and trees; bringing, ironically, back to their lives the things they were trying to get rid of.  This is the case with light pollution. 

I had read somewhere something written by  a astonomer.  He or she stated that the amount of light that people have seen through telescopes for all these centuries till now is, actually, measured in lumens or whatever, less than the amount of light that can be put out by a flashlight for a few seconds.  Despite the need to factcheck this is speaks great volumes on the light that is constantly competing with the night skies.

Why do we care?  It all depends on our sensitivities and sensibilities.  In terms of the viewshed, the light from a lone high wattage, uncovered porch light begins to make it so we cannot view the glory of the stars at night or see that sublime line of the mesa as it greets the sky.  We must avert our eyes and in one way  or another we are forced to stare at the light (or have it “stare” at us) all night long.  Put in another way, it is extreme for not much good reason.  It is like the neighbors’ dogs barking all night; they may be used to it but it is, like cigarette smoke, putting to test their right to do something with our right to be left alone.  It tests their “need” for a sense of security and convenience with the greater “need” to keep what we bought and paid for to come out here.  Some things fly in the face of history and reality as we “knew” it, such as the  two lights up on the mesa line now, far away, but perched, for a few years now, on the edge of the mesa.  You would think this is not such a big deal, really, but think of it; there is a line of unspoiled Landscape  of Glorietta/Rowe Mesa that can be seen from Galisteo, past the Lamy turnoff, going north and then past Eldorado and along the Old Las Vegas Highway and up Glorietta Pass and down that long slope to Las Vegas and now, from Galisteo to Las Vegas, these are the only lights (read break and “pollution” of the “viewshed”) that can be seen in that, perhaps, 75 mile run.  Does one person have the right to change that sublime beauty?  I really don’t know, but it does make one wonder.  One could try to reframe it like I did with the constant din of traffic that dominated my friends property near I25 and pretend the vehicles going by are like the ocean with waves constantly coursing and crashing on the beach somewhere.  After a while, though, it just feels like what it is.  Turn it off, por favor.

Grand Opening for Last Gallery On The Right

Roads, Roads, Roads...

One of the neighbors mentioned that  her cousin from New York City (or some such place) was visiting for a while, watching the place while she was gone and seriously asked her, "What is wrong with the people over her; they are always waving their hands at you when they drive past, or am I doing something wrong?"  Which brings up an interesting observation by some of us rural folks around here, which is that people don't hardly wave at each other anymore these days, like they used to (and like they do up around Reserve, I noticed last year).  Must be the city folk out here again, polluting the  beauty of the place, again.  Now I must admit that sometimes some of us go overboard, like my wife who waves at everyone from the passenger seat, confusing even the hardcore finger lifter.  When I got out here many years ago, I developed a system of "waving" based upon some subtle observations and some natural inclinations:  a nod of the head is the basic acknowledgement, then one finger (the pointer) raised on the steering wheel is a friendly gesture like the nod, the hand (still on the wheel) raised is a pleasant hello, two hands is real "hello", the hand and arm up off the wheel is for someone you know pretty well (maybe waving somehow), and the waving hand out of the window is for special friends. The peace sign is to remind us that there was a 60's. There are various variations on these approaches.  To ignore is basically rude in the country (I think).  But, to give a little on this, none of this is obligatory, just cool.

Starting here maybe we can move into a few basic categories to look at. They fall basically into this, for some of us: Roads, Roads, Roads.  Then there are Lights, Weeds, Noise (music), Water (creeks), Floods (flash), Manners (needing help), Style, Animals (pets and livestock), Wildlife, Fences, Aesthetics and Attitude.

Roads:  Driving on and maintaining a dirt road is an art.

1. A dirt road is a very changeable thing.  It is very sensitive to anything that you do or don't do to/with it.

2. Anybody that drives on it can positively or negatively affect it; sometimes it is just one driver at one time that can help/hurt it.

3. A dirt road can be maintained just by certain ways to drive on it.

  So here is the basic scoop:  To start with we need to understand the bumps and dips in a dirt road.  How they are or grow is of great interest to us who drive on it.  Now you may have noticed "potholes" or dips in the road.  These look like the road sunk in there, but that is not the case, really.  A pothole is often created by a simple depression in the road.  Then it might fill with water or get muddy sometime.  If a vehicle drives right over the pothole that is a little pond or muddy, then the wheels and weight and speed will cause the water and some mud with it to "splash" out from the little hole, making the little hole just a little less full of water and mud.  The dirt that is splashed out is now on the road and the pothole is bigger.  Once it is bigger, then it holds more water (creating more mud, etc.) and will splash out more stuff and the pothole gets even bigger.  It does not take long for the little depression to become a huge road event.  So, how do we prevent this?  It is easy: just don't drive through the pothole when it has water showing in it or is wet or muddy and, especially, do not drive fast on it.  Sometimes, when it is wet around the hole, you can drive in a way that pushes some dirt back into the pothole, helping to close it up.  A little gravel in a bucket , put into the hole can help a lot. 

Now that brings us to another scource of dirt roads: washboard roads (sometimes called corduroy roads).  They are the little series of bumps in the road that  look a little like lines across the road or a series of road waves.  They are really irritating and are caused by ignorant people in their sometimes silly cars.  I call it the "BMW and Empty Pickup Truck Syndrome" , having watched it first up in Tesuque, in Pacheco Canon, thought about it and then did some research.  It is sort of like this: a little high torque (spinning out) car whips up a dirt road, spinning out and pushing away little divits of dirt (or a truck with no weight in the rear) and it also starts small and gets reinforced once the problem starts.  It often happens on during drought conditions, they talk about,  I guess because the dirt can be spun out all the more easily.  Those little ripples somehow are like big waves and they go DEEP and are very hard to get rid of.  So, if your in a hurry neighbor is scooting along in his city car or non working car, you can bet they are creating the washboard effect.  That is why we talk about driving slowly on a dirt road.  Then, probably few people know this, but one can "work" on the road just using a vehicle, if, again, you catch it in time.  When the road, often in the spring or after lots of rain,  starts to get rutted,  then one can, first, try not to drive in the ruts, or wait till the road is frozen (both sides of a winter day)or less goopy to drive on it (plan things out) or wait till it is just starting to dry up and one can drive just at the edge of the rut and "push" the dirt into the track with the wheels. Or, if you have the right conditions and/or a 4 wheel drive, one can break down the ruts by zig zagging across them, again pushing the dirt into the ruts. 

As Andy Rooney Might Say....

As Andy Rooney Might Say…

It finally occurred to me that the TEA people and people like me (a progressive rural liberal) have something in common that may be at the root of their disgruntlement. I do not like the policies and personalities of those people, as far as I know them and would not like to have them as leaders as they vilify some of the most important safety nets and aspects of our security and the progress that has been made (at high cost) to make this country so great. My thinking, in so many ways, goes against the grain of those naysayers; they are just too damned backward, it seems. So before I digress and get angry, I will let you know what the commonality is, though.

I am tired of the rule makers and the rules…..in general.

By that I mean that there are far too many people around who are far too interested in creating enforceable rules and regulations. These rule makers are super tenacious (read vampires and killer octopi) in their need to control the world around them. Because of that tenaciousness they tend to impose themselves and interject themselves into every aspect of our lives. In the guise of doing good they have created, as a cultural storm, so many controls and naysaying that it has become difficult to maneuver around our planet. I include many of the so-called environmentalists who would gladly and did completely kick out the aboriginal residents of all of the major “wilderness” and park areas; not wanting them to, god forbid, touch the land and actually live on it and use it (as they had for tens of millennium; making their first mistakes that they learned from thousands of years ago, I am sure).

Anyway, the less rigid people could actually be in the majority. There are many of us that belong to the “live and let live” category. Maybe we want to build our own home, for instance, and have issues with the codes (important as they are) or engage in a variety of activities that we think should not be overseen to any great degree. Riding around in the back of a pickup truck, for instance, always seemed like one of the pleasures of life. Even the birds and insects have the freedom to construct a place to live and fly around without interference from the “nest police”. The more easy going people just want life to be more “free” and not to have to think about all these controls so much of our valuable time as we are enjoying ourselves and doing our work. It is a matter of degree, I guess.

That is not to say that regulating the bankers and hedgefunders, for instance, is a bad idea; that is a good idea because the potential damage is so great. Those rich computer-fingers are not my idea of “easy going” people; quite the opposite as they wreak havoc on our civilization with their reckless nano second algorithmic viral surreptitious mentalities.

So the obsessive rule people tend to win the day, like many fundamentalists, also, because they are, yes, so obsessive and tenacious in their need to control. They make life miserable for the most of us (with all of their “musts”) as we don’t wish to be locked into a bunch of rules; good as they may be. It just doesn’t feel like we are free or able to move (you know; like the Sundance Kid talking to butch Cassidy when he is trying to show him how well he can shoot and keeps asking, “Can I move?” because he clearly can only shoot well when he is on the fly and diving and putting his full personality into it).

And now one of the people I thought I liked the least shows up this week and writes about the local people taking over the reins of the forests to protect their surrounding lands from catastrophic fires and starting to do grassroots forest tending. I agree with him on this and wish it were someone else sending the message, but it isn’t. Paradox pie. If only the obsessive environmental left could decide to be more in touch with forest management through action not litigation. I admit it; I agree with Steve (see link below) although suspect he would be less careful of the forest in general.

So that puts me, once again, in the Obama camp where he is trying to work “with” the conservatives in order to solve problems. Now I only wish Barry Obama knew how to use a chainsaw and came from a forest products gathering background (but not wielding one like Bush who brought his chainsaw into the kitchen with him). I shook Ralph Naders’s hand once, also, and discovered that he was lily handed (as I suspect Barry is too, as well as most of those rule makers, including Steve Pearce). You cannot have everything and I would rather have Barack than most others…..as long as he doesn’t add too many more rules. I agree with my friend, Jess, who says that there ought to be a law that says, “For every new law or rule that is created, the governing bodies must get rid of two old ones!” Enough Already.

http://www.santafenewmexican.com/Opinion/Looking-In--U-S--Rep--Steve-Pearce-Work-together-for-common-good

Guy

When I first saw him he was playing with a large pig

Then he tipped his hat to my wife

Then regaled us with talk of roping elk, riding elk and chasing burros

For only twenty something I think he was quite a guy

In fact I think his name was Guy

He could live here too and take a cowboy dip at the falls

Or he could be driving the crawler around the ranch fixing things

Or taking Belle out dancing and two-step, polka, waltz, schottische, pretzel

Or making a table or set of shelves with all those tools, or less tools

He could be drunk in a bar, staggering all over the place

Wrapped around the toilet after closing time

He could be getting a divorce from his Anglo wife or his Spanish one

He could be talking to cops because his son turned him in for child abuse

He could be crying like a baby because it is all so beautiful and yet so sad

He could be writing a story of how he dumped the 1010 off the back of the truck

Or drove it off the mesa with no brakes with the 1010 and wife aboard

Or lifted it with a crane with neighbors and cops everywhere

Or hugged the bulldozer and then the crane guy for good measure

Or picking peaches with Fernando and supporting apple branches with sticks

Or walking in the river bed looking at rocks, beautiful rocks

Or making art, rustic and textural, pouring bronze or melting glass

Or wondering where the next dollar was really coming from

And worrying whether he was taking too long or charging too much or too little

And  bringing children onto the land so they could scamper around day after day

All summer long

Or catching rattlesnakes with a long pole and loop, dropping them into the dynamite box

And watching the children dreaming of catching one themselves later that day

And hearing his daughter talk of how the hawk swooped down in a blur of feathers

As she stood by wondering “what the hell” as it tried to get the duck six feet away

Or watching the ducks in water as they freed up that tension in his chest

Just by being themselves and loving water by birthright

Or playing his electric guitar loud and long and feeling the music in his body

Or playing Leadbelly songs on a 12 string Stella

Or going to an iron pour in Denver and playing for everyone solo

As the molten metal was poured into moulds for bowling balls

And sent down the chute spraying sparks and glowing red-orange

Headed for the white pins made of ceramic mold

Or speaking Spanish all day long to his helper, learning about Mexico

And how difficult it is down there and how much poverty and crime

Robos and drogas, gubierno sin mucho ayuda

And how they took the railroad apart for the steel

Or working hard, sweat dripping, arms pushing and pulling

Hands manipulating, making , making, thinking , thinking

Stress and tolerances, level and plumb, straight and curved

All things leading towards a goal, a house, a fixture, a door, a shower

Working for a living like our lives depended  on it

Like a young cowboy, Guy, playing with a large pig

On a beautiful rented ranch above Folsom and east of Clayton

Just a small one, barely 20,000 acres, barely enough to make a living on

Ya gotta give us credit where credit is due

For playing with that pig, alone, with noone watching

Except for maybe a tourist or two or a lessor and his friend

Credit for knowing that a donkey can toss a lady in a creek

If you aren’t careful

Or a sunset is worth taking a camera to, worth pointing and shooting

Give us credit that we got that elk and butchered it and brought it home than lean year

Credit for telling his hunter friends they are full of shit

Cause they don’t know a rat turd from a pinon nut

Credit for tanning the hide or trying to

Credit for buying the gun and chasing the bastard down with it

And going half-crazy afterwards, like a man in war who just shot a guy

Yeah and for saying “Howdy, maam”  and tipping that hat to the lady

And deciding not to get wrapped around a toilet anymore

And learning how to help things cool off

And learning how to type

And knowing how to read a tape measure, by god, and not tossing it into the nearest drink

And write stuff that is important, somehow

There is Irony in the Air

There is irony in the air. Those that understand how we got here are people who have learned that these are immutable truths; that evolution is the way we got here. Period. To call it a theory is misleading to the doubters. It has been proven. Creation theory is not proven, in any sense of the word, as the “word” relates to truth. The irony is that the creationists espouse, more often than not, and without realizing it, what is called “vulgar social darwinism” which is a wordy way of saying that they believe in a spin off notion of “survival of the fittest” as embodied by many conservative notions such as: “freedom” means “unfettered capitalism”, capitalism means survival of the fittest, “socialism” mean “communism” which means that the wealth must stay in the hands of the wealthy or else we are communists, “communism means the devil”, capitalism means survival of the strongest and no government, globalism, corporate strength, freedom to accumulate wealth however you see fit, be the world’s “superpower” (junk yard dog, my way or the highway) and let the weaker amongst us slip off the boat,. It is called “vulgar” social darwinism because it is not only a misinterpretation of Darwin, but a less than pretty way of doing it. Social darwinism relates to the fact that these people have applied to a scientific theory of evolution and mating systems a context that was never intended or talked about by applying “survival of the fittest” across the board into financial, economic and social applications that have no bearing on evolution; in fact, clearly may damage it. The reason why this has become a part of our culture in general and pounded by the right wing (who , again, ironically espouse fundamentalist Christianity...an irony within an irony; Jesus being the blessed are the meek and turn the other cheek and the rich man going to heaven is like the camel going through the eye of a needle sort of guy)..... in such a fundamental way) is that during the Cold War when everything about communism was battled, we became brainwashed (a term usually referring to communism, by the way) by the corporate, capitalist, greedy and selfish Reaganesque people that trickle down was the way to go, that corporations needed to be promoted and that freedom meant capitalism and......yes......Survival of the Fittest. Anything other than this was heading straight for the dreaded communism. So, to reiterate: the GOP and TEA have become, on the whole, the proponents of a vulgar notion of Darwin’s theory, twisting it and corrupting it, but they do not believe in evolution as it conflicts with Christian fundamentalist religion. These are the people that kill people fairly easily (in wars, in the justice system, with lots of handguns, etc.) but would deny a woman’s right to control her body (thus her life). So, to go further, it is clear that fundamentalists want survival of the fittest (men) to control as much as they can (kind of like the islamic fundamentalists,terrorists, with no regulations to stop their free capitalist progress to the top of the economic ladder or their male dominance (quite Darwinian sounding, isn’t it) . If only the irony stopped here, but it does not; the soon to be largest economy and economic strength in the world and to whom we have been borrowing from and buying from and hiring is a godless communist country, China, which has done a great job of learning how to take care of themselves and make things and better themselves (with no help from us to begin with). Ha ha, the joke is on us. And on a less hysterical note; it is becoming more and more clear that non-zero sum actions and realities such as natural and cultural altruism in many realms of biology, including humans; have propelled the most important contributions to civilization so far. So better get with it, ya’ll. You might get left behind, because, like the Neanderthals, you just don’t seem smart enough or well educated enough or kind enough to be a fruitful part of our lives as we work towards a fundamentally sound and balanced understanding of the world around us! The final irony, of course, is that these people will never read this ! They have god and air conditioning and a fascistic government and glocks to take care of any problems that might come their way, like the theory of global warming (which, like evolution is far beyond a theory). Sorry to be so hard on you, folks, but it is time to wake up.

Outsiders and Atheists

The line between “outsider” art and the rest of the art world is often quite blurred; no obvious distinction between them, often. This was the case at the SOFA art show in Santa Fe this year. They were kind enough and thoughtful enough to include outsider art this year, for the first time. I was fascinated to see that there was not a clear delineation of the “rows” and that I was not really able to tell the difference between the two at that time. Of course, there were some clear indications such as using recycled materials and such, but even some of the participants even agreed that it was difficult to see the line between the two. Being something of an outsider myself, I was, of course, deeply interested. Like my father quips, “I am self educated, myself”. Having thoroughly enjoyed the Meow Wolf installations over the years, I know that there is a tendency for me to appreciate outsider art. My opinion is like my opinion of a dancer; if they have the guts to get out there and make a fool of themselves, sometimes; they get my vote. Being a custom furniture maker, builder and outsider architect, I know that making those distinctions between craft and art are often very difficult to do. I was taking bronze foundry classes at Highlands University a while back and vividly remember a crazy old woman, retired art teacher who wandered around the studios in sheer see through blouse and odd attire and thinking, “Is she art?” and another professor (“teacher” to me, “tutor” to St. Johns ) overheard me talking about snagging some roots or sticks for my artwork from somewhere that was “forbidden” to remove such things and I invoked “Artist’s License” and he cryptically asked if I had a license. I didn’t like his attitude or that of many artists from academia as they often think they do have a more important license to practice and judge art. Now anyone with any sense in the real world should know that this is ridiculous and propped up chauvinism. Many children do better artwork than most adults, even professionals, naturally; for reasons that are beyond my understanding, but suggest that a license is not required. For someone with decades of personal discipline, attention to detail and countless hours of thought as to the form and shape and function and finish of a piece of furniture or a house to contemplate these questions is natural. Of course, a professional builder of things cannot really slide through their careers, as money is always involved; the success of the piece is always judged promptly. And we all know that in this particular trade, the amount of effort to create the pieces is often not commensurate with the cost to the customer. I know it is important for an “educated” person to use their training and papers to further their careers and do not ridicule this by any means. I honor them and also wish to keep things the right size so that a clear picture is in front of us by honoring also those that did not sit behind a desk and possibly kowtow to a narcissistic, politically tenured or possibly sadistic teacher or institution. This whole situation is a little like coming out as an atheist but still wanting to go to church to talk about deeply important spiritual truths and keep those friends that have shared so much with you over the years; not minding hearing or using the term “god” and also knowing that, in your heart and mind, you know there is none. You still want to play with them and suspect that many of them agree with you but are afraid to admit it. The penalty for being “outsider” does not seem fair, right sized or appropriate. So, as we pass through Santa Fe; noticing Indian Market, Spanish Market and Sofa show and the free music on the Plaza and walk together with each other, I think it is worth thinking about all this. My friends and I recently did a bronze pour together and decided to experiment pouring bronze into a green gambrel oak post carved out with our very first bronze “Artist Licenses”. What fun! Don’t you wonder how they came out?

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"Art Brut", or "outsider art", consists of works produced by people who for various reasons have not been culturally indocrinated or socially conditioned. ...