I drove out to the Gorge today hoping some of the stormy skies over the mountain would offer a seldom view of the canyon, despite the fact they were playing out in the opposite direction.


Walking up to the bridge a woman in a bright yellow windbreaker smiled at me and in passing remarked, "it's sort of freaky!" I thought she meant the power of millions of years of erosion until I stepped onto the structure itself and felt the steel tremble each time a large vehicle went by. Somehow I hadn't remembered this from an early morning visit years before, when I was with other people and it would have been more fun to be afraid.

Despite promising myself I would refrain from dipping onto upaved surfaces in a low clearance station wagon unless my life or livelihood depended on it, later in the day I traveled a dirt road surrounded by sage for no other reason than to be surrounded by it in slanted light. The terrain was much tamer than that on the mesa with Mary Beth weeks back, I’m relieved to report, because I had no one but myself to soothe me through the voyage. Early on I saw a middle aged guy walking along the side of the road in a cardigan and casual trousers, which I took as a sign that at least on the surface, the stretch would be well mannered.



On a more random note, I swooned at signage for New Age Beverages hovering over a Topo Chico display, which made me wonder a couple of things. First, does this signify that some part of me truly misses Texas? The only grocery store I'm aware of that refers to cold brew and fermented delights this way is the Fiesta on Wayside in Houston. And second, if mineral water is new age, then what’s left for crystals?

From Carlsbad, I ventured up through Roswell and then back in to Texas to install Soft Targets at the Amarillo Museum of Art.

I had Sunday to play with while in town and went out to Palo Duro canyon, yet learned upon arrival that all of the trails were closed due to half a year’s worth of rainfall soaking the area over the last four days. When the ranger suggested I take a scenic drive I thought about all of the miles I’d already covered and politely declined. On the drive back into town, I saw what I didn’t realize would be one in a herd of horses marking any kind of business you could imagine—bank, Starbucks, funeral home—all in the same staggered pose.


The current AMOA Biennial, Textile + Fiber, opens October 11th and is curated by Alex Unkovic of the Fabric Workshop and Museum.

Don’t be fooled by this initial install shot—over ninety clusters make up the piece I’m presenting at the museum and I spent the better part of a day on site clustering them into place.

While I was there, it was awesome to see sister Houston artist and friend Claire there in spirit with her contribution, Sprung.



Despite living close enough for a day trip a few times, I never had gone out of the way to the Caverns, something I sought to rectify on this jaunt. Besides the obvious barnacled drip sandcastles and Fraggle Rock episodes, curiously mutated walruses kept coming to mind. As you might imagine, very little justice is done to the big wonder of the space and details with these phone camera snaps.

As I walked back up to the surface against the flow of visitors, someone remarked she assumed I’d gone rogue and left the trail. The climb took about 45 panting minutes—interpreted by the phone as 71 flights of stairs.


I’ve had a thing for El Paso since my time at the Border Art Residency around a decade ago. Finding myself synched with this big cat mural during a recent left me feeling all warm and cosmic. That my lifelong pal Emily captured the glow was icing on the rainbow, considering she inspired this double reunion.

It was fun to wander around with her, visiting some of the spots I’d enjoyed during the handful of times I traveled in from La Union during the residency—the degree to which my homebody nature reigned during that period actually unsettles me a little—but I guess my response to a gorgeous live-work loft space is not to leave it very much. We had a couple of beers at the Tap which is just as red and dark as I remembered and discovered that a baked potato will arrive in a strange and welcome way when you order a plate of tacos al pastor. Not to be content without tacos at every meal, the ones we stumbled upon at Elemi were likely the best things I’ve tasted outside of old Mexico, well worth a taste.


As I white knuckled the station wagon off road, Mary Beth took the pictures. It was the perfect collaboration, since I was doing my best just to stay on two narrow tracks of dried mud. What’s more awesome than this view? A friend like her.

Our mini roadtrip was all the more epic given the fact that this was the first time we’ve gotten to hang out since she moved from Houston to New Mexico early in the year. I’ve loved all of her photos of the countryside, from grandiose landscapes to close-ups of cacti and chamisa and was proud (after the cold sweat had dried) to have been the charioteer for this one.


Also, I had no idea I was actually in need of a golden autumn until the first signs arrived! Of course my initial impulse was to collect every grounded yellow leaf I could find, which very quickly became unmanageable. This was a snapshot aimed for Elisabeth, erstwhile studio mate and friend, because after sharing a workspace, now whenever I see vivid tones of yellow and blue, I think of her canvases instantly. Of course, it got better when the leaves dried out and I had the seldom pleasure of crunching through great heaps of them. Years in the beloved swamps of Houston has conditioned me to associate them with thick wet clumps at best—and the incessant racket of motorized blowers on the other end.