After months of woodworking in my garage (ventilation level: functional in the short term) and after days of hectically rescheduling the work days I would miss in Boston, I left my house at 3:30 in the morning on September 22nd. I left for the Taos Paseo with one giant suitcase and one giant duffel bag, both full of wood (thanks for not checking, TSA). I had already shipped two boxes of wood to my parents’ house in Albuquerque.
My flight arrived at 10 a.m. in Albuquerque, and for two days, I shuttled back and forth between Albuquerque and Taos for install. Actually, “shuttled” sounds hectic. My drives between Albuquerque and Taos were the most relaxing thing to happen to me in months. I drove alone, listened to music and audiobooks that other people wouldn’t have wanted to listen to with me, and relished being in the desert again. August in Boston is not a happy time for me; every second away from the deathhumidity was a second I could feel like myself again.
Fast forward six days. I left Taos again, only this time, I would also leave Albuquerque and fly back to Boston a few hours later. I would arrive in Boston at 1 a.m., with work the next day. The Paseo was behind me.
This is the kind of hectic schedule that artists know well. You find an opportunity. You prepare. You go somewhere totally new (even if that place is familiar, each opportunity should be unique and new in some way). You make the art happen. You get so inspired that you think your brain will fall out. You network, socialize, drink lots of wine and beer to celeberate/decompress. You go back home. Your bedroom is just as chaotic as you left it, with sheets overturned and sawdust on the floor. Nothing has changed, except that some of your green chile has gone bad (luckily, you brought back more).
I think that my life as an artist will feel like a constant flow between stasis and change, with every opportunity changing me fundamentally, while something else fundamental within me stays the same and gains conviction.
I’ve tried a few different times to write about what happened in the span of those six days. First of all, to see the full breadth of the Paseo, you should check out the Paseo website. You can also follow the Paseo on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Youtube.
http://www.paseotaos.org/
https://www.facebook.com/paseotaos
https://twitter.com/ThePaseoTaos
https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCWVOk0EoA1jwAjSVovZpRbg
My own experience that week has been hard to put into words. So instead, I’m going to put it into pictures, and add a bit of gratitude.
To the Volunteers:
As I installed, you helped me problem-solve. You held ladders, fetched materials, cut fishing line, spotted me as I climbed window grates like Spiderwoman. You brought me food and pointed me in the direction of more food. You gave me honest feedback about the visuals of the installation. You introduced me to your kids. During the festival, you learned all about my work and were there to greet viewers as they came by. You talked enthusiastically about the installation, talked about it better than I did, and helped viewers engage when I couldn’t be around to do so. Thank you for making my piece successful.
To the Staff:
Thank you, first and foremost, for the opportunity. Thank you for always answering your phones when I called with dumb questions. You were constantly needed, constantly stretched thin, and yet you remained 100% enthusiastic about the artwork. Thank you for being communicative, for making me feel welcome and supported. You’ve made the Paseo so much more than a weekend festival: thank you for after parties, STEM workshops, ongoing community engagement, Pecha Kucha night, radio interviews, and all of the planning minutiae that I’m not even aware of. I can’t wait to see what you bring to Taos next year!
And lastly:
To the kids who ran up and wanted to touch all the letters.
To the people who took the time to puzzle over the text and piece out the words.
To the people who could read and understand it immediately.
To the people who took fliers home for their writer friends.
To the people who told me about their own poetry.
To the woman who recited a poem for me.
To the boy who told me about his grandfather’s carpentry.
To the local artists who stopped to give me business cards, who were so excited to potentially collaborate and continue the conversation.
To the people who wanted to geek out about D.H. Lawrence.
To the guy who heard me on the radio and rode his bike out just to see my piece.
To my former UNM professor, who made my day by stopping by.
To the family that read my entire poem out loud together.
To the people who told me that my piece was their favorite in the entire festival, which blew my mind.
To the barista who made the best Americano in the history of Americanos.
To the security guards who let me park in parking spots that definitely weren’t parking spots.
To my friend’s dad, who brought me juice and an awesome hug.
To my little sister, who made it to the Paseo through convoluted means in spite of having a rugby match in Colorado that weekend, and who helped me de-install in under an hour.
To my big sister, who lives in Germany and still managed to record my entire radio interview.
To boyfriend, who picked up my Kinkos orders and experienced all of the amazing Paseo installations alongside me.
To Mom and Dad, who brought my dog up for the weekend and made the Paseo a family experience, who bought me books and breakfast and made everything possible, as they always have for me.
“you are what i find and what i found / along the road / in the tumbled shadowed white”
Thank you all so much.
Nerveless Taos 