#santa fe easel

[desertdollranch]

It’s a beautiful August day, and Saige Copeland couldn’t bear to stay indoors! She brought her easel and canvas outside, with her dog Sam, to put the finishing touches on her latest work. The painting features the beautiful, rugged Sandia Mountains that border the city of Albuquerque to the east. 

While she paints, Saige is going to share some facts about her hometown that you probably didn’t know!

Saige lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The population is around 500,000. That makes it the most populous city in the state, but it is not the state’s capitol. That honor goes to Santa Fe, about 60 miles northeast.

The state of New Mexico was added to the union in 1912, making it the 47th of 50 states. Prior to statehood, it had been a territory since 1848, when the US forcibly seized it from Mexico as a means to repay Mexico’s debt. It was a colony of Mexico from 1821 to 1848. Before that, it was occupied by Spain from 1598 to 1821. No other state in the US has seen three different flags flying over it.

Albuquerque was founded in 1706, which is about 100 years after Santa Fe was founded. But indigenous people have lived (and still live) in the area for centuries prior, living in pueblos, or small densely populated settlements. 

Bordering the north of the city is Sandia Pueblo, and to the south is Isleta Pueblo. Both places have been continually inhabited for close to 1000 years. Pueblos are similar in concept to reservations, but have a few differences. There are 19 pueblos in total in New Mexico.

The Rio Grande (Spanish for “great river”) flows right through the middle of the city. It’s very wide and shallow in this area. It starts in the Rocky Mountains far to the north in the state of Colorado, and flows southeast into Texas, where it forms the border between the United States and Mexico until it ends at the Atlantic Ocean. 

Albuquerque sits at an elevation of around 5,300 feet, a little over a mile high, or 1600 meters. That’s actually a bit higher than Denver, Colorado, which is known as the “mile high city”! 

The weather conditions are near perfect for most of the year, with the city enjoying 310 days of sunshine every year! Spring and autumn are beautiful. Early summer does have a few very hot days, but those cool down closer to July and August. Those two months are the monsoon season, when it rains nearly every day, but rarely last longer than a couple of hours. Winters are mild, with only one or two heavy snowfalls a year and a few smaller snowfalls. 

The Sandia Mountains, which Saige is painting, rise to a height of 10,678 feet or 3,254 meters. That might sound very high, but they are by no means the highest mountains in the state! There are many higher peaks farther north. Sandia is the Spanish word for “watermelon”, because they turn lovely shades of watermelon red and pink when they catch the light of sunset. At the top, you can stand at the scenic lookout point, do some more hiking through the beautiful forest, stop by the cafe and gift shop, and then ride the ski gondola all the way down to the bottom.

That’s right: there’s a ski resort at the top of the mountain! It’s actually on the east side of the mountain, facing away from the city, since that gets colder temperatures and more snow. If you don’t want to climb on foot or take the ski gondola, you can just drive to the top. The Sandia Crest Scenic Byway starts at the bottom on the east side, and goes up 3000 feet/ 914 meters to the top, passing through several different ecosystems. As you go up, the trees change from pine to spruce and aspen, and you can still see snow on the ground as early as October or as late as May.

Both Saige and I love spending time in the Sandia Mountains. Where she is set up painting is part of Cibola National Forest, and it’s set right up against the mountainside. It doesn’t even feel like you’re so close to the city! There are miles and miles of hiking trails and plenty of scenic viewpoints. 

All finished! 

Thanks, Saige, for sharing! Your painting looks beautiful!

#saige copeland #girl of the year 2013

[roshmedia]

DENVER CARICATURE ARTISTS AND THEIR BACKGROUNDS

Background Ideas

Caricature artists bring a unique and personalized touch to events, gatherings, and personal keepsakes. Denver, Colorado, with its rich blend of history, modernity, and scenic beauty, offers a colorful palette of backgrounds that caricature artists can use to enhance their artwork. This article will explore the various backgrounds that Denver caricature artists might use and how these backgrounds are influenced by the local culture and environment.

1. The Rocky Mountains: The majestic Rocky Mountains are one of the most iconic symbols of Denver and the state of Colorado. It’s common for caricature artists to use the picturesque mountains as a backdrop, capturing the essence of the Rockies with a playful or exaggerated twist.

2. The Denver Skyline: The modern and evolving skyline of Denver, with its mixture of historical and contemporary architecture, provides a fantastic backdrop. Iconic buildings like the Daniels & Fisher Tower or modern structures like the Denver Art Museum can be incorporated with playful renditions of the subject.

3. Sports Themes: Denver is home to a plethora of sports teams, such as the Denver Broncos (NFL), Colorado Rockies (MLB), Denver Nuggets (NBA), and Colorado Avalanche (NHL). Sports enthusiasts often request caricatures set against a background of their favorite team’s stadium or arena.

4. Historic Locations: Denver boasts many historic sites such as the Union Station, the Molly Brown House, and Larimer Square. These can serve as interesting backgrounds, giving the artwork a vintage or classic touch.

5. Nature & Parks: The city has numerous parks, including the famous Washington Park and City Park. The natural setting with lakes, trees, and local wildlife can be a serene and beautiful background for caricatures, especially for those who have a special bond with Denver’s green spaces.

6. Local Festivals and Events: The Denver scene is alive with various cultural festivals, music events, and art shows. A caricature set against the backdrop of the Denver Chalk Art Festival or the Great American Beer Festival could be a fun and memorable souvenir.

7. Craft Breweries: With Colorado being a hub for craft breweries, and Denver at its heart, caricature artists often get requests for backgrounds featuring a rustic brewery setting or popular local brews.

8. The Arts: The Santa Fe Arts District and other local galleries are a testament to Denver’s thriving art scene. Backgrounds featuring an artistic setting, complete with easels, paintbrushes, or even the iconic blue bear from the Colorado Convention Center, can be a nod to this cultural aspect.

Conclusion: Denver caricature artists have the unique advantage of drawing inspiration from a city that is a blend of nature, history, sports, art, and modernity. The diverse backgrounds they can incorporate into their art not only make each piece unique but also embed it with the essence of Denver, making it a treasured keepsake for locals and visitors alike.

[nonbinary-nature-lover-jeri]

Scenes From My Walk - Artists, Walkers and Dogs all enjoying a November day on the El Camino Real Hiking Trail. I met a couple walkers and their cute dog. I enjoy these encounters and the dogs appreciate a friendly hand sniff and petting. The surprise were the half dozen or so artists 🧑‍🎨 👨🏽‍🎨 👩🏼‍🎨 set up beside the trail. It must have been an organised art outing. They brought their easels, canvas and paints and a stool or chair and were busy painting the mountains, the river (or where a river flows sometimes) and the path. Santa Fe is a very art-friendly city with numerous galleries and museums so I guess it’s no surprise to see artists out and about. #ScenesFromMyWalk #ElCaminoRealHikingTrail #SantaFeRiverTrail #Hikers #Walkers #Dogs #DogWalkers #Artists #Painters #SangreDeCristoMountains #SantaFeMountains #SantaFeNM #SantaFe #TheCityDifferent #NewMexico #LandOfEnchantment (at Santa Fe, New Mexico) https://www.instagram.com/p/ClUSVCSP5SP/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#scenesfrommywalk #elcaminorealhikingtrail #santaferivertrail #hikers #walkers #dogs #dogwalkers #artists #painters #sangredecristomountains #santafemountains #santafenm #santafe #thecitydifferent #newmexico #landofenchantment

[pwlanier]

Pedro López Cervántez

Born in 1915 in Wilcox, California.

Died in 1987 in Clovis, Arizona.

Cervántez's maternal grandparents were potters in Durango, Mexico, and he lived with his family in Texico, New Mexico, where his talent was first “discovered” by R. Vernon Hunter, the local director of the Federal Art Project. Through Hunter, in the 1930s, Cervántez worked for the Works Progress Administration in New Mexico, where he reproduced paintings of religious images, participated in mural projects, and later joined the Easel Painting Division. In 1936, his artwork was presented in the exhibition New Horizons in American Art at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, which continued to feature his work in subsequent exhibitions, including the important Masters of Popular Painting exhibition in 1938. Cervántez attended Eastern New Mexico University in Portales for two years, but his studies were interrupted by World War II. In 1940, he enlisted in the US Army and was dispatched to Italy and Germany where he was exposed to European artworks. After the war, he resumed his studies at the Hill and Canyon School of the Arts in Santa Fe, New Mexico, from 1949 to 1952. Although he is considered one of the first Latino artists to have received national recognition, reception of his artwork diminished in the years following the war. In 2002 he was included in the exhibition Sin Nombre: Hispana and Hispano Artists of the New Deal Era at the Museum of International Folk Art in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

El Museo del Barrio

[thepoorgaysheadisspinning]

newsies fic :)

Hey. I’m writing a fanfic because why not. Even though people won’t read it, I’m sharing it anyways. Please tell me what you think!!

warnings: none 

Ships: Javid, Redfinch, Blush, Sprace, subtle ralbert + katherine x sarah?

so far its only javid and sprace kinda

It was a normal, boring day. The temperature outside was shockingly cold for August. A thick fog covered the ground, and the sky was completely hidden in thick, clumpy clouds from the previous night’s rain. The humid, sticky atmosphere outside somehow crept inside of Jack and David’s house. Jack’s own personal room, where he would sit and draw or paint, felt smaller and stuffy.

Jack was struggling to get the last few drops of white oil paint onto his palette, and alas, to no avail. He dropped the palette face-down onto the already stained carpet. He sat down on his black swivel chair and took a deep breath.

David opened the door to Jack’s room. “Hey, Jackie.” He looked over at the canvas standing up on the desk, no easel. “That’s really good.”

“Yeah, you always say that.”

“I’m being honest. I wouldn’t lie.”

“Sure.”

“Santa Fe again?” David picked up the paint palette that Jack had dropped on the floor.

“Yeah.”

“What else would you be painting?”

Jack got up and took the palette out of David’s hands. He started adding small, hard to notice details. “What are you tryna tell me?” He turned to his boyfriend.

“Nothing in particular.” He tapped his feet on the ground. “How are you feeling?”

“Aggravated.”

David went and held Jack’s free hand. “Hey, how about we do something fun? Invite some people over?”

“Sure, why not.” He swished the brush in his paint water cup and dried on a cloth sitting on the desk.

“I’ll just, um, text them.” He slipped his phone out of his jacket pocket and walked out of the room, tapping briskly on the screen.

Jack sat in the middle of his bed, promptly scribbling in his sketchbook. He heard a knock at the door. “Yeah, Davey will get it.” he muttered to himself. From across the hall, he heard the doorbell ring and some faint voices. Then footsteps.

“Jackie’s in the bedroom, doing his own thing.” They were coming closer.

“Oh! And do we know what that is?” Race’s voice.

“Racey!” Spot’s voice.

The door cracked open. “Kay. He ain’t doin’ anything.” Race entered the room, holding Spot’s hand. Davey followed behind them.

k im gonna finish this later

#newsies #javid #sprace #redfinch #ralbert #jackcrutchie #egg #ghdjn vfkd sfj #dszahdh #newsies fanfic

[robbifirestone]

How to Construct your Easel. Creativity Tips, Exercises and Inspirations. from Robbi Firestone on Vimeo.

Artist Robbi Firestone offers "Creativity Made Simple” content: Daily Mindset Tips & Creativity Exercises to inspire imagination, ditch fear and judgement, and make more art; whether you're a painter, singer, writer, chef....or amazingly creative executive ready to leap into greater self expression!

Wanna to paint with me LIVE? Check out our Classes: FirestoneArt.com/Learn

& Check out and buy my art @: FirestoneArt.com/gallery

Ready to Jumpstart Your Creativity RIGHT NOW? My starter program, "21 Days to Creative Freedom" will help you UNLEASH your creativity in infinite ways, in ONLY 21 days, even if you tell yourself, "I'm not Creative~!" Let me prove that you ARE...! firestoneart.com/21_days

Artist Robbi Firestone's work has been featured in the New York Times, Worth, Parade, Los Angeles Travel, Boston Herald, Seattle Times, Huffington Post, etc.

A landscape and portrait artist, Firestone has represented her own work for 20 years.

After creating an art installation focused on IVF and infertility, Hollywood Producer Betsy Chasse filmed a documentary "TheEmptyWomb.com" about Firestone's healing art. This installation premiered at the United Nations (sponsored by the Global Women's Empowerment Network). Due this work, in 2017, "Women's Economic Forum" in New Delhi, India, conferred Firestone with their prestigious award, "Iconic Leaders Bettering the Wold for All."

Founder of Santa Fe Art Classes, Firestone received TripAdvisor's "Best of the Best" art workshop in Santa Fe, NM. With daily YouTube free tips, online and studio classes, retreats and coaching, Firestones entrepreneurial venturers extend from from fine art to fashion to commissioned Portraits and beyond.

Firestone attended Parsons School of Design, Fashion Institute of Technology, and Pasadena Art Center.

Firestone lives, works, skis and hikes in Santa Fe. Inspired daily by New Mexico's stellar sunsets, cultural community, artistic freedoms and unparalleled landscape, Robbi hosts "Spirited Artist" and "Palette + Palette" retreats.

Visit FirestoneArt.com for more....

[wallpaperpainting]

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COPENHAGEN, Denmark (AP) — One of Copenhagen Zoo’s behemothic pandas able from its asylum aboriginal Monday and roamed the esplanade afore agents were able to sedate it and accompany it back.

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Xing Er, a 7-year-old macho who accustomed at the zoo aftermost year, was apparent on surveillance video breaking out of the anew built, 160 million-kroner ($24.2 million) Panda Abode that additionally houses changeable panda Mao Sun.

Zoo agent Bengt Holst said that on the video agents could see how “the macho panda crawls up a metal pole, which is brindled with three rows of electrical affairs … and afresh crawls out into the garden.”

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He said the esplanade now was attractive at authoritative changes to aegis about the asylum “to ensure that it does not arise again. ”

Zoo agents reacted “quickly and efficiently,” the beastly was corned and sedated with a bound afterwards actuality harmed, he said. Monday’s chance happened afore the beastly esplanade opened to the public.

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“It doesn’t change the actuality that we appetite to abstain that affectionate of bearings in the future,” Holst said.

The asylum to abode the pandas from China’s southwestern burghal of Chengdu, was inaugurated by Queen Margrethe and added dignitaries in April 2019.

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Beijing lends out pandas as a urance of goodwill. Any cubs built-in during the 15-year accommodation aeon are advised China’s property.

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SANTA FE, N.M. (AP) — A brownish chest abounding with gold, jewels, and added backing account added than $1 actor and hidden a decade ago about in the Rocky Mountain wilderness has been found, according to a acclaimed art and antiquities beneficiary who

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[youmiesblog]

Get to know me tag

tagged by @random-hylian 

Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people

I tag the first 20 people who’ll see this post >:3c

THE LAST: 1. Drink: apple spritzer? I hope that’s the english word for it 2. Phone call: my mother called me yesterday 3. Text message: xmangochii :3c 4. Song you listened to: fire emblem echoes opening theme heh 5. Time you cried: a few days ago when my grandmother was buried

HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice: No 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: No 8. Been cheated on: No 9. Lost someone special: Some relatives 10. Been depressed: at the end of my last school year before I got my graduation I felt really depressed because of a few “bad grades” I got. But the thing that made me depressed weren’t the grades themselves: The problem was that I knew exactly that I could’ve done better and my teacher’s “suggestions for improvement” made me just felt worse. And when my mother started chiding me because she also knew that I have had more potential than my grades showed I really got the feeling that I were a hopeless case who can’t do anything right and just disappoints everyone.  But now I see all of this didn’t matter. I didn’t need to show my full potential - I just had to try my best as always and I’m really proud of the result! And now I don’t care that I “could have done wayyyy more better”. I’m happy that I actually got a pretty good graduation! And one thing’s for sure: Grades doesn’t really tell anything about you 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: No, I don’t like alcohol it tastes so bitter 

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12-14: blueee and pastel colours in general

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends: Yes 16. Fallen out of love: No 17. Laughed until you cried: Y E S 18. Found out someone was talking about you: Yeah 19. Met someone who changed you: No 20. Found out who your friends are: ??? Don’t know what this is supposed to mean but no(?) 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: I don’t have a facebook account

GENERAL: 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: I DON’T HAVE A FACEBOOK ACCOUNT 23. Do you have any pets: No 24. Do you want to change your name: Nah 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: I invited my friend group from school and we celebrated my 18th birtday at my house 26. What time did you wake up: 9am now :D 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: sleeping 28. Name something you can’t wait for: the corrin amiibo/fire emblem warriors!!!  29. When was the last time you saw your mom: this morning 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: Don’t know 31. What are you listening to right now: I’m enjoying the pigeons' coo  32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: I think so 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: A certain person from school...luckily I don’t have to see her ever again 34. Most visited website: tumblr 35. Mole/s: None 36. Mark/s: On my tongue. When I was little I fell from a swing and bite my tongue 37. Childhood dream: uhh, having magic powers I think 38. Hair color: blonde 39. Long or short hair: short 40. Do you have a crush on someone: ...nahh 41. What do you like about yourself: err, my patience? My kindness? My ability to calm people down? Sounds good to me 42. Piercings: None 43. Blood type: I don’t know but I think it might be 0 44. Nickname: Ciel sometimes also Cel and Caro  45. Relationship status: single 46. Zodiac: aries 47. Pronouns: She/Her 48. Favorite TV Show(s): Avatar the last airbender, SPONGEBOB :DD 49. Tattoos: None 50. Right or left hand: Right handed 51. Surgery: One three years ago 52. Hair dyed in different color: No 53. Sport: Swimming 55. Vacation: France, Germany, Spain, Italy, Britain, the Netherlands - living in Europe sure has its perks 56. Pair of trainers: shoes? err like 4 I think

MORE GENERAL: 57. Eating: Pizza :DD 58. Drinking: Right, I should drink something... 59. I’m about to: Waste my time on the internet 61. Waiting for: Getting my very own easel this afternoon :D 62. Want: To see my friends from school again, a bit more luck in fe heroes/ a remake of fe6 63. Get married: I’d like to. The problem is finding a partner 64. Career: Industrial mechanic, studying art and becoming a media art designer *-*

WHICH IS BETTER 65. Hugs or kisses: Hugs 66. Lips or eyes: Eyes are beautiful 67. Shorter or taller: Shorter 68. Older or younger: Older 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: Stomach  71. Sensitive or loud: Sensitive 72. Hook up or relationship: Relationship 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Hesitant

HAVE YOU EVER: 74. Kissed a Stranger: No 75. Drank hard liquor: No 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: No 77. Turned someone down: No 78. Sex on the first date: No 79. Broken someone’s heart: I hope not 80. Had your heart broken: No 81. Been arrested: No 82. Cried when someone died: Yes 83. Fallen for a friend: Nah

DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself: more or less 85. Miracles: Yes 86. Love at first sight: Nah, I don’t really know 87. Santa Claus: I believe more in the Easter bunny 88. Kiss on the first date: Nope

OTHER: 90. Current best friend name: Simon!! George!!! 91. Eye color: Blue 92. Favorite movie: Maleficent, A.I. Artificial Intelligence

#thanks for tagging me #about me #tagging meme

[jacxkelly]

AU where David's suitcase and Jack's suitcase get mixed up on accident after a flight because they look the same- leads to awkward questions about what they're travelling with...

Two prompts filled in one day? Heck to the yes!

Also I got a little carried away with this one but it was fun 

Jack hovered around the baggage carousel, though he wasn’tentirely paying mind to the passing luggage. His gaze kept drifting over the peopleand the entire airport, stubbornly landing back on the guy standing not a fewpaces away from him. They had been on the same flight, Jack had seen him acrossthe aisle.  He wanted to know his name,wanted to know why his attention kept sticking to this one man in particular.

Whoever could still manage to look that put together after anearly seven hour flight was somebody to befriend. The wad of bubblegum rolledbetween Jack’s tongue and teeth before blowing a large bubble. It popped whenhe blinked, dragging his gaze away from the stranger immediately as soon as theobject of his examination looked over.

There was no time for charming anyone in an airport.Besides, there was his suitcase- navy blue with a gray luggage tag. Jackstepped forward and picked it up without further examination, hauling it righttowards the doors to go hail a cab.

Vacation was over, now it wasback to work and reality.

Or perhaps it would have been if the contents of his supposedsuitcase weren’t a surprise when he got home.

Jack stared wide eyed at the open suitcase on his bed. Whatshould be a mess of art supplies, camera equipment, and journals was insteadthe strangest mix of items he had ever seen. Multiple books and beaten upjournals, a few official looking cases with contents involving a mix ofdifferent vials. There was even something that read ‘anti-venom’ which was alittle disturbing. Jack’s morbid curiosity had gotten the better of him and heeven dug through the bag a little, revealing a long, hooked metal rod amongstan assortment of men’s clothes.

Thinking he stumbled upon the suitcase of some mass murdereror crazy-o, he slammed it shut and grabbed the luggage tag.

That wasn’t his name at all.

David Jacobs was defiantlynot his name.

Jack had been two seconds from pulling out his phone anddialing the number on the luggage tag when suddenly the sharp ringtone piercedthrough the air. Not the generic one a cellphone comes with, but one of theother preset options. Something a little catchier, but still said that theowner did not have the drive to download custom ringtones.

He fumbled with the cellphone for a moment before swipingthe answer button and putting it to his ear. “Uh…hello?”

“Yes, uh, is this a Jack Kelly by chance?”

He narrowed his eyes just a little in suspicion, zipping thesuitcase close. “Depends on whose doin’ the askin’.”

The voice on the other end paused, and Jack heard what hecould have sworn was the rustling of paper. “My name’s David. I think…you mayhave grabbed my suitcase? Well, I grabbed yours, I don’t know if there’s athird party involved but this was the number on the luggage tag.”

“…Does yours have what looks like an entire crime labinside? An’ the murder weapon?” Jack joked, laughing nervously and shoving ahand through his hair.

“Those—look, that’s rattlesnake venom, okay? I researchdifferent types of animals just don’t mess with anything. In my defense there’snothing but naked people in this suitcase, so—“

“What, you’se ain’t never head of life drawin’ before? Wait-did you’se go through my books?”

“You went through my stuff, apparently!” The voice soundeddefensive now, and Jack held a hand up in surrender even though he couldn’t beseen.

“Sheesh, thought it was my suitcase so I opened it, no needta bite my head off.” He listened to the silence on the other end, looking backdown at the suitcase on his bed.

“…Sorry, right. Look, your address is on this tag can I just…bringit by, maybe? And pick up my bag?” David let out a breath that Jack heardrustling through the phone.

The artist worked his jaw for a moment, then headed back tothe main room of his apartment. “Sure, yeah. I ain’t gonna be anywhere for theresta the day. Just stop by, last name Kelly, I’ll buzz ya in.”

“Got it, your name is on the tag. Uh…see you then, I guess.”

“…Yeah, see you’se then.” Jackhung up quickly, staring at his phone, then over at the bag. Today was weird,and long. So much for collapsing into bed after a long flight, now he had towait up to get his suitcase back.

It was nearly an hour later before there was a buzz at theintercom.

Jack sat up with a snort, the sound waking him up from hisnap. Letting out a low breath and scrubbing at his face he pulled himself upand wandered over to the door, blindly hitting the button to let his guest up.It took nearly five minutes more before there was a knock on his door, and Jackpulled it open—finding himself face to face with the man he hadn’t been able tolook away from at the baggage claim.

“….You’re David?”He said, obviously stunned.

David was blinking owlish back at him, holding the suitcaseby his side. “Yes, that’s me. Uh…can I come in? Or do you just wanna take yourcase?”

Dumbly, Jack stepped aside to let him in, now suddenlywishing he had tidied up at least a little. His easel was still out from beforehis trip, a half finished canvas sitting upon it. After a moment he cleared histhroat, “Uh, I’se got your case in my room. Gimme a second.”

He started off immediately, mouthing ‘holy shit’ to himselfas he dragged the suitcase off his bag and pulled it back towards the livingroom. There was an awkward stretch of silence, and when Jack opened his mouthspeak, David began to talk at the same time.

He laughed a little when they both cut off abruptly,speaking when David waved his hand to tell him to go ahead. “So you’se…workwith animals?” Jack began, slowly, handing David’s suitcase off to him.

“Yeah…rattlesnakes in Santa Fe, and tarantulas. I was justthere doing research. You?”

“Week of art courses, I draw for the paper. Plus a few daysfor myself, I always wanted ta maybe move out there one day.” Jack shrugged,reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck. “Looks like pretty scary stuff inyour bag for just workin’ with animals.”

David glanced down at his suitcase, then gave a littleshrug. “Its what needed. The right equipment and samples I needed to bringback.”

“So I guess you’se know a lot ‘bout them, huh?” Jack wasstarting to smile by now, studying David’s every movement.

“Well, yeah, its my job.” David glanced up at him finally,meeting Jack’s gaze and holding it calmly for a few moments. Damn he had prettyeyes.

“….Maybe you’se can tell me ‘bout it someday.” His smileslipped into a grin, casually leaning against the arm of the couch. It waspleasant to watch the realization dawn slowly over David’s expression.

“Wait, let me get this straight- We mix up our suitcases,you went through mine—“

“You’se went through mine too.”

“Not the point— you went through mine, and now I’m in yourapartment to pick it up, and you’re asking me on a date?”

Jack shrugged, then folded his arms over his chest. “You’sesaid it, not me.” So he hadn’t immediately rejected him, this was counting as awin already.

David stared at him for a few moments more, and Jack watchedthe cogs slowly turn in his head as he weighed every option. He was the type ofguy that you could see the thought process play out plainly on his face. Somuch expression in small, tiny details that you would have to be payingattention to in order to catch.

Finally, he opened his mouth.

“….Well you have my number now.”

Jack just barely resisted the urge to cheer out loud,laughing softly and flashing him a blinding smile.

“That I do, Davey. That I do.”  

#ficlet #javid #jack kelly #david jacobs #newsies #newsies musical #stage!verse #modren AU #prompt #prompt fill

[sherazipigeon-blog]

Here is another article about my gardens by Rosanna Hardin Hall.

#article #feature #gardens #afghan garden #santa fe #baro shalizi #pearls of wisdom #nonfiction #travel notes at the easel #rosanna hall

[desertdollranch]

This is a nice idea! I could see Saige doing something like that. And it’s something I wouldn’t even need to edit together any pictures, since I could just take her to a park next time I’m in Albuquerque. Public parks in NM usually use native landscaping instead of decorative flowers in order to conserve water, but that can be done creatively and beautifully. 

And! She could do that and still go to art camp in Santa Fe later on in the summer. I’m envisioning her with her little easel and brushes, painting the mountains at sunset.  

[7r0773r]

Absence by Peter Handke, translated by Ralph Manheim

. . . But I don’t want to know anything. I don’t want to go to museums, and I don’t want to learn a foreign language. I like to see pictures by chance, without planning to, no matter where, and I can only be myself and act like myself in my own language. I can’t love in a foreign language. Knowledge would destroy me the same as work, it would make me cold and stupid. When I was a child, the moment you people started lecturing me I stopped my ears. One reason why I was never able to read your books of knowledge was the way the sentences are constructed; all I could get out of them was the droning of the lecturer. You lecturers are sucking my blood. Your knowledge shouldn’t be allowed. Your knowledge is taboo. Admittance to knowledge should be prohibited. You clever people should keep quiet about  your knowledge and come out with it only in cases of urgency, and then in the form of poems or songs . . . (p. 30)

***

“. . . Whenever in my life I have thought I arrived, at the summit, in the center, there, it has been clear to me that I couldn’t stay. I can only pause for a little while; then I have to keep going until the day when it may be possible to be there somewhere else for a little while. Existence for me has never been more than a little while. There is no permanence in fulfillment, here or anywhere else. Places of fulfillment have hurt me more than any others; I have come to dread them. It’s no good getting used to staying in one place; wherever it is, fulfillment can’t last. It loses its magic before you know it, and so does the place. It is not here. We are not there. So let’s get going. Away from here. Onward. It’s time.” (p. 50)

***

When I was a child, I could see a plain from our window. It was a large plain, all fields and meadows. I wished it were full of houses all the way to the horizon, white, modern houses with flat roofs. I wanted our village to become a big city. Day after day, I looked out impatiently, to see if they hadn’t started building somewhere; the few wooden farm shacks didn't count. When at last would the name of our village be known throughout the world like Buenos Aires or Hokkaido or Vladivostok or Santa Fe? My wish has almost come true. The village has not become a city, but the plain is covered with housing developments named after the former owners of the land, and all look equally suburban. ‘North,’ ‘South,’ ‘East,’ or ‘West’ has been added to the name of the village and that makes the scattered developments sound like sections of a city; there’s even a peripheral highway and a feeder road leading to the expressway, where the traffic roars just as it did in my childhood visions. A toolshed has become a telephone booth, still roofed over by the same arching elder bush. Beside the roadside shrine stands the kiosk I longed for, with stationery, newspapers, and even a few books for sale. Only in the pictures my father paints is the plain as empty as in my childhood. He says he works from nature; every morning he sets up his easel in front of some new building, but what appears on his canvas is always the empty landscape. He says all he needs is a little space here and there between the houses; in those small gaps the old open spaces burgeon, and he has only to transfer them to his canvas; he says the paint he uses is like that bacillus which dissolves otherwise indestructible things into air. Which reminds me of another, very different idea I had in my childhood: when I walked across country in those days, I was convinced that the stones in the fields were growing just like the grass and the grain, and that in time they’d get to be as big as houses. I didn’t think of them as having roots; I endowed them with an inner force and regarded them, unlike the plants, as living beings. I was sure that if I measured them, they would become appreciably larger from measurement to measurement. All day today I’ve been thinking through my father’s pictures, step by step and degree by degree, as in a circle: the cliffs in this country have taken the place of my big-city houses. It's only my father that I miss. I’ve never missed him as much as here. Father, I miss you. I've always missed you, I’ll miss  you until I die: I miss you because you despised my suffering; I miss you as my authority, my storyteller, my withholder; I miss you as a home, as the hand on my head in dreams, as a smell, as my soul; I miss you to the point of blindness, enough to make me pull a knife, to make me scream. Father, appear!” (pp. 85-87)

#peter handke #book quotes

[iowamusicshowcase]

Written by Chad Taylor. Originally appeared on the Culture Myth website on March 22, 2016.

We haven't even gotten the New Tour Smell out of our clothes yet, and Sara Routh and Rae Davis already find themselves in the middle of the longest, hardest stretch of the whole thing. Leaving Omaha on the morning of day three, they drive eight hours to Oklahoma City for a show that night, then pile right back into the car for another seven hours of driving to Santa Fe where they grab a few hours sleep before playing an afternoon show in Albuquerque, followed by an evening house show back in Santa Fe. Everything after this is cake. Once everybody is awake and showered, Routh and Davis make the drive to Canvas Artistry, in Albuquerque. Set in the middle of a block of shops and local eateries, Canvas Artistry is a bar, diner, and queer-positive art collective that features painters, jewelry makers and DJ's. When the ladies walk in to start setting up, there is a woman in a black t-shirt that reads "END WHITE SUPREMACY" aggressively painting the SHIT out of a canvas set up on an easel in the corner. Another 20-something woman lays out hand made jewelry; Routh will eventually buy a necklace on the way out the door. There is a waitress who is the spitting image of Jennifer Beals. But the main attraction on this day is set up directly behind the space where Routh and Davis will be playing: Sundays at Canvas means it's time for Dance Brunch, featuring DJ's spinning all the Pitbull you could care to shake your rumpus to. Shortly after we arrive, the air fills with a heavy techno beat, and the place slowly starts to fill up with pairs of beautiful lesbians in love and looking for early afternoon mimosas. And now, a small moment of digression to discuss Albuquerque, and the great American southwest in general: Austin, TX is an overrated blowhard of a city. Don't get me wrong, Austin is a great town, and home to some of the most vibrant art and life happening in an otherwise bleak, right-wing pustule of a state. But Austin has built so much of its national and global reputation on being "weird." There are even bumper stickers and t-shirts emblazoned with the "Keep Austin Weird" slogan. But you know what? The whole southwest is weird. Gloriously so. As the warm weather and cool ocean breezes continued to draw America's young and incredibly attractive to LA, and the tech bubble forcefully evicted most of the slackers from San Francisco, the country's artists, hippies, spiritual wanderers and general burnouts gradually found themselves migrating to odd little pockets like Moab, Utah and points south. So, sure, Austin is weird. But is the town any more artisticly motivated or more full of delightfully strange people than Moab, or Santa Fe, or the 'Que? I'm putting dollars down on "no." Austin just has better marketing. So, yes. Albuquerque is weird and beautiful and full of art, and the atmosphere at Canvas as the DJ starts spinning is loud and vibrant and fun. Everyone is clearly enjoying themselves, including Davis and Routh, though it might be a little hard to tell. In between chatting with the regulars and hugging old friends, there are secret furtive, slightly bewildered looks. This is clearly not a typical gig. How is this crowd going to respond to a couple of acoustic singer songwriters shoehorned into the middle of their dance party?

When Davis takes to the mic, the crowd is clearly curious. As she sings, curiosity turns to enjoyment. "Hallelujah," Davis' ode to a spectacular orgasm, is what wins them over for good. But then, just as soon as everyone is on board, Davis' set is done, and Pitbull is back in full effect. The DJ spins dance tracks for another 15 minutes or so, before cutting again and ushering Routh to the mic. The difference in the room, as the thundering bass cuts and the little guitar begins is deafening. But, again, the curiosity gives way to approval, and Routh's banter helps ease everyone into the swing of things. When the show is done, there is only a brief window of time to sell some CD's and commune with new friends before everyone has to pack up and sprint back to Santa Fe to get ready for show number 2. Since arriving in the wee hours of the morning, Routh and Davis have been staying with Davis' friend Tamara. She's a force of nature: tall, rubenesque, completely giving of herself, and in possession of the most gentle spirit you'll meet. And chickens. Tamara has three adult chickens in a coop in her back yard, and two spirited chicks in a warming box in her bedroom. They prove to be quite a popular distraction. Tamara regularly invites 20 or so friends into her home for regular house shows, featuring a variety of musicians and artists. As Routh and Davis unpack their car from show number one, a stream of people begins congregating in Tamara's back yard. Hotdogs are grilled, food and beer is served, and everyone chats pleasantly and mingles for an hour or so before piling into Tamara's front room.

There, she has assembled 15 or so chairs, as well as pillows on the floor. A couch in the next room serves as a final row of seating as everyone gathers around and Routh and Davis take their seats on a small stage in the living room. Playing with no amps or mics, the two sit together and take turns round-robining their songs. Back and forth, back and forth, banter and laughter serving as punctuation here and there. The cool (cold) desert winds waft through open windows. The crowd, predominantly women, listens attentively. For nearly 90 minutes, the two musicians ply their trade, letting people come and go as needed, filling the house with strong, lilting voices. It is the most sublime point of the tour thus far. The longest day on the tour ends. There is still plenty of tour left, but the hard part is officially behind them. An off day in Phoenix is immediately ahead, and everything from here on out is a short series of road trips up I-5, and the slow circle back home. But for now, there are soft blankets, one last drink, and fluffy yellow chicks to say goodnight to. Miles traveled: 1,200

On or near the 10th and 25th of every month, we reprint a post from Chad Taylor's blog, Culture Myth. Chad Taylor was the music reporter for Cityview magazine in Des Moines, and has also written for other publications like DSM Magazine.

The Culture Myth website: http://culturemyth.net/ Rae Davis (Fehring)'s home page: https://www.raedavismusic.com/ Sara Routh's home page: http://www.sararouth.com/ Other IMSC posts featuring Culture Myth: http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/search/label/Culture%20Myth Other IMSC posts featuring singer/songwriters: http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/search/label/singer%2Fsongwriter Other IMSC posts about performing: http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/search/label/performing PREVIOUSLY ON IOWA MUSIC SHOWCASE: PLAYLISTS: The Uncertainty Music Festival 2018 http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/2018/04/playlists-uncertainty-music-festival.html IHEARIC PODCAST - Episode 2 (10/29/2017) https://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/2018/04/ihearic-podcast-episode-2-10292017.html JAZZMAN JOE VIDEOS: Foxtrot Hot Shots at Noce Jazz Club in Des Moines on Mar 3, 2018 http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/2018/04/jazzman-joe-videos-foxtrot-hot-shots-at.html IHEARIC PODCAST - Episode 17: March Concert Recap with Michele Guild (04/01/2018) http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/2018/04/ihearic-podcast-episode-17-march.html YOUR OWN PRIVATE IOWA - Episode 27: Wiitch Tiit http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/2018/04/your-own-private-iowa-episode-27-wiitch.html One week ago... IHEARIC VIDEOS: A Cover of Philip Glass, A Wind Trio, and Some Funk - http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/2018/04/ihearic-videos-cover-of-philip-glass.html Two weeks ago... IHEARIC VIDEOS - Lwa Live and in Pitch Darkness at The Englehart Theater in Iowa City on Oct 25, 2010 - http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/2018/03/ihearic-videos-lwa-live-and-in-pitch.html One month ago... CULTURE MYTH - Day 2: Omaha - http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/2018/03/culture-myth-day-2-omaha.html Three months ago... YOUR OWN PRIVATE IOWA - Episode 16: Sisko Diq - http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/2018/01/your-own-private-iowa-episode-16-sisko.html Six months ago... IOWA MUSIC SHOWCASE PODCAST - Episode 52: Happy Hawkeye Halloween 2017, Part 1 of 4 - Killer Cows and Other Iowa Furry Monsters - http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/2017/10/episode-52-happy-hawkeye-halloween-part.html One year ago... PLAYLISTS: Random Iowa Music SoundCloud Playlist 3 - http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/2017/04/playlists-random-iowa-music-soundcloud.html Two years ago... OTHER SOURCES: Locusic - http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/2016/04/other-sources-locusic.html Three years ago... IOWA MUSIC SHOWCASE PODCAST - Episode 8: Iowa City Children's Album - http://iowamusicshowcase.blogspot.com/2015/04/episode-8-iowa-city-childrens-album.html OTHER IMSC WEBSITES AND LINKS: Feed: http://feeds.feedburner.com/IowaMusicShowcase Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Iowa-Music-Showcase/364796883703114 Twitter: https://twitter.com/iamusicshowcase Instagram: https://instagram.com/iowamusicshowcase

#Iowa #Iowa Music #Music #Midwest Music #Midwestern Music

[helenshideler]

Assembling my new Santa Fe II easel Gary is assembling and I am helping ... um supervising. My broken easel is in the background. Cannot wait to get paint on this new dream easel! #easel #canadianartist #studio #letspaint #artistsofinstagram #newtoy

#letspaint #canadianartist #newtoy #easel #artistsofinstagram #studio

[steve-mcelroy]

A Steve McElroy oil on panel white orchid painting floating on acrylic easel in the old Georgia O'Keefe Estate for the fantastically talented designer @ericaortizberke of @neubleuinteriors for Santa Fe Design House 2017. . #santafedesignhouse #georgiaokeeffe #interiors #design #art #stevemcelroyartist #stevemcelroy #modern #orchid #interiordesign #contemporary #painting

#interiors #orchid #georgiaokeeffe #design #art #modern #santafedesignhouse #contemporary #interiordesign #painting #stevemcelroyartist #stevemcelroy

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: The Open-Ended Narratives of a Small Museum

Arthur B. Davies, “Heifer of the Dawn” (c.1905), oil on canvas, gift of Helen Farr Sloan, 1975 (All images by the author for Hyperallergic.)

WILMINGTON, Delaware — The quirks, diversions, and counter-narratives offered by small museums often feel preordained to shake up engrained attitudes and assumptions, and so it goes with the Delaware Art Museum, which, to be honest, didn’t seem at first glance to be a such a promising prospect.

Founded in 1912 with a large purchase of work by the Wilmington-based illustrator Howard Pyle, who had died the previous year from a kidney infection, the museum has made a specialty of American illustration and Pre-Raphaelite painting.

This core group, however, is augmented by a substantial selection of American painting, starting with a portrait of George Washington from around 1825-1830 — not by the ever-reliable Gilbert Stuart, but by either Rembrandt Peale or his dad, Charles Willson Peale (the attribution is unresolved) — which a wall label describes as “the first work of art not by Howard Pyle to enter the Delaware Art Museum.”

Peale’s dome-headed Washington, posthumous by a good quarter-century, is much more streamlined and sculptural than Stuart’s gruffly brushy “Atheneum” portrait (the one we think about when we think about Washington), which was begun three years before the first president’s death. The Peale version is currently serving as the co-anchor of a single-room display simply called American Portraits, 1757-1856. 

The painting of Washington hangs to the right of an introductory wall text; to the left, there is a portrait in oil on paper by yet another Peale, this time Raphaelle [sic]. (The ultimate Old Master fanboy, Charles named a third son and two daughters from his first marriage after Rubens, Angelica Kauffman, and Sofonisba Anguissola, respectively. One of his six children from a second marriage was named after Titian.)

Raphaelle Peale, “Absalom Jones” (1910), oil on paper mounted to board, gift of Absalom Jones School, 1971; Rembrandt Peale or Charles Willson Peale, “George Washington, (c.1825-1830), oil on canvas, bequest of Dr. Joseph Pyle, 1919

The second portrait, painted in 1810, formally mirrors the one of Washington: the sitter, Absalom Jones, is turned to the right and Washington is turned to the left. The wall label describes Jones as:

[T]he prominent minister of St. Thomas African Episcopal Church in Philadelphia. Born a slave in Sussex, Delaware, Jones eventually won his freedom, became a founding member of the Free African Society, was ordained the first African American minister of the Episcopal denomination, and helped organize a school for African American children.

The pairing of the two portraits — the minister born enslaved and the patrician, slaveholding president — is uncommonly moving. The curling-over-the-ear hairstyles (Jones’s in black, Washington’s in white), the white collars and black coats, the dignified mien and dark backgrounds split open our embalmed response to the image of Washington by complicating his received context.

Jones, whose right arm cradles a copy of the Bible in a pose that uncannily prefigures that of the Statue of Liberty, is a contemporaneous rebuke to the racist hypocrisies that tainted the Enlightenment principles infusing the creation of the Constitution. Peale paints him with unerring realism, conveying an unembellished sense of strength and wisdom that eschews all trappings of the heroic.

The presentation of these two works couldn’t be more understated or more effective: a curatorial masterstroke allowing the paintings to speak for themselves, with just the right amount of supplemental information. It is also a clue to the openness and diversity found throughout the museum, especially in the postwar collection, which, it can be argued, seems to imagine an American art scene in which Abstract Expressionism didn’t exist, or at the very least, did not play such an outsized role.

The emphasis suggested by the layout of the second floor (where 20th-21st century art is held) is already revisionist, with a large gallery dedicated to “John Sloan and The Eight / Early American Modernism,” and a slightly larger one containing “American Art after 1940 / Postmodernism: American Art since 1960.” In between the two, there is a much smaller room for “Abstraction and the American Scene.”

The proportionately large amount of space given over to The Eight, a group of artists (Robert Henri, Everett Shinn, John Sloan, Arthur B. Davies, Ernest Lawson, Maurice Prendergast, George Luks, and William J. Glackens) who rebelled against ossified academic standards and adopted an invigorated use of paint-as-paint, was made possible by another large acquisition, this time from John Sloan’s widow, Helen Farr.

But this gathering of artwork is also a fascinating reminder of the underground ferment that characterized progressive culture in this country from the very beginning of the 20th century. (The Eight are so named for a protest show they held in New York City in 1908, after their work had been rejected by establishment venues.) The surprise here is the diversity of imagery and technique, given that the work of these artists is often equated with the grayed-down, loosely painted cityscapes of the Ashcan School, a larger group that they joined later on.

John Sloan, “Helen at the Easel” (1947), casein tempera underpaint, and oil-varnish glaze on panel (some Shiva Ponsol colors used), gift of the John Sloan Trust

Sloan, for one, shows an unusually wide range of both subject matter and use of paint, from the Ashcan-y “Wet Night on the Bowery” (1911) to the Impressionistic “Autumn, Rocks and Bushes” (1914) to the quasi-Metaphysical “Evening, Santa Fe, Down by the D and R Track” (1919), not to mention the truly odd portrait he made of Farr, “Helen at the Easel” (1947), which is striated by innumerable, short, thin brushstrokes (which are unexplained by the wall text) streaking across the head, body, clothing, and background, as if the painting were a pedagogical exercise in volumetric form.

This selection of Sloan’s work presents him as a restless experimenter, which may explain why his idiosyncratic and iconoclastic student, John Graham, was so devoted to him. But the room overall establishes the variety of the group, from the faceted brushstrokes and crepuscular light of Arthur B. Davies’ “Heifer of the Dawn” (c.1905) to George Luks’ high contrasts and muscular impasto (“Trout Fishing,” 1919).

There are also moodily gorgeous landscapes by the non-Eight artists Charles Burchfield and Marsden Hartley, as well as an expressionistic bronze head of Marcel Duchamp from 1943 (cast in the 1960s) by Reuben Nakian.

The Duchamp portrait, with its exaggerated, hawklike features, feels out of place in the room, but it is interesting as a link between the first generation of American rebels and the postwar artists who seized the initiative of vanguard painting in the wake of World War II, fueled by European ideas of Cubism, Surrealism, and Dadaism (the last, of course, via Duchamp).

The curious thing about this array of works from the permanent collection is that the trademark moves of those postwar artists, otherwise known as the Abstract Expressionists, are embodied in just two paintings, both by Robert Motherwell — and only one of them is a gestural abstraction, “Je T’aime No. VII (Mallarme’s Swan: Homage)” (1957), which is hanging in the small room reserved for “Abstraction and the American Scene.”

The other Motherwell, in the larger gallery occupied by modern and postmodern art, is one of his majestic “Open” series (“Open No. 12 in Raw Sienna with Gray,” 1968), a long, horizontal acrylic-on-canvas with a gray rectangle floating on a raw sienna field, and sectioned off by vertical charcoal lines.

“Open No. 12” evinces none of the helter-skelter emotionalism associated with AbEx; it is instead an image of serenity and reason, a calm that is picked up by a painting of vertical stripes by Gene Davis and a tall, black, totem-like sculpture by Louise Nevelson. The most conspicuous effect of what we might call Abstract Expressionist tokenism is the absence of a historical center of gravity: instead of all succeeding art appearing to line up or against its influence, the other works seem to float freely in their own orbits.

Like the pairing of Absalom Jones and George Washington, this realignment of aesthetic forces takes its hold on you in its own space and time; nothing is forced or obviously underscored, with content taking a step ahead of form in the way you approach the work.

There’s a wall of New Image Painting, which is not something you find in museums every day, with vintage works by Joe Zucker (“Candle,” 1976) and Donald Sultan (“Hats,” 1979) as well as more recent paintings by David True (“Untitled,” 1987) and Pat Steir (“Little Red Waterfall,” 1994). All of these titles, with the exception of True’s (which depicts a woman wearing a bright red coat lying in a blue, storm-tossed rowboat, while a human-sized artist’s mannikin swims beneath the waves), denote the images on the surface, even if they are partially disguised, as in the Zucker and Sultan. In such a context, the “how” of these images is subservient to the “why.”

Melvin Edwards, “We Know” (1986), welded steel, gift of Mike and Rob Abel, 2006

And the “why” — the desire to plumb the extravisual meanings of the works — increases as the art proceeds generationally from the Abstract Expressionists’ glory days, with an increasing level of racial and gender diversity. One section of the gallery, labeled “Art after 1980: Identity and Politics,” holds three of the most striking works in the collection, all by African Americans: a sculpture by Melvin Edwards and paintings by Robert Colescott and Peter Williams.

“We Know” (1986) is an agglomeration of shapes made from Edwards’ characteristic welded steel, comprising a base, a spike, a hammer or hatchet, a hook, and an indecipherable, candle-shaped cylinder. Edwards’ art, which combines abstraction with found objects that manifest the trenchant material legacy of tools and chains, ripples with uncompromising integrity and intelligence — Exhibit A for a perennially unfashionable body of work that has only grown in strength, decade after decade, while retaining its humility in light of the history it cites.

The paintings of Robert Colescott, who died in 2009 at the age of 83, are most often associated with nasty send-ups of white culture in general and Western art history in particular. But he was also an endlessly inventive colorist, combining the lush and the garish to bracing effect.

Robert Colescott, “Big Bathers, Another Judgment” (1984), acrylic on canvas, F.V. du Pont Acquisition Fund, 1986

His work on display here, “Big Bathers, Another Judgment” (1984), is a parody of the Judgment of Paris, with a multiracial cast of characters — fleshy, awkward but defiantly beautiful nudes, with skin tones ranging from juicy pink to syrupy umber — surrounded by a tranquil but turbulently colored landscape: magenta clouds, cobalt blue sky, violet shoreline, and a gray-green body of water that looks like an acid bath.

The darkest-skinned woman is the most arresting — the deep umber of her body is highlighted with swipes of what looks like red, white, and orange mixed to a burnished glow, and further energized by a shock of alizarin in her hair and the bands of white across her breasts and hips, which could be unnatural tan lines or an exceptionally revealing bikini.

Either way, the painting presents more questions than answers, among them, who is doing the judging? Is it the woman elbow-deep in the water, or the face barely glimpsed behind a rock? Certainly it isn’t the sole male in the picture, a gray-haired nude asleep in the bottom left corner. Mostly it looks as if the three women, each a different skin color, are sizing each other up and, by extension, daring us to examine our own culturally defined standards of beauty.

Peter Williams, “Smile” (2016), oil on canvas, F.V. du Pont Acquisition Fund, 2016

The most challenging work of this group, however, is “Smile” (2016) by Peter Williams, which rivals the Motherwell in size — the most monumental painting I’ve seen by this perpetually unsettling artist. According to the wall text, it was made during a residency at the Joan Mitchell Center in New Orleans, and it consequently “references New Orleans, its history, colors, and architecture and the 1811 slave rebellion—one of the largest in United States history—that took place in the city.”

That’s all well and good, but the imagery is floridly unhinged, a horror show played out on a sunny summer’s day. Done on six panels, each painted a bright color that serves as a ground (yellow, blue, aquamarine, and three shades of orange), the canvases are stacked two by three — yellow over orange, blue over aquamarine, orange over a darker orange — so that the painting overall reads as a triptych, and the images are arrayed accordingly.

On the right, a maniacal caricature of an African American man sits with his legs splayed out before him, manipulating a crane-like structure that seems assembled from an Erector Set. Perhaps punning on the name of that vintage toy, the crane emerges from the man’s groin and stretches across all the entire composition.

The middle, almost abstract portion is taken up by the crane, while in the left-hand section, a large black man, who is just as caricatured as the one on the right, hangs upside-down from the crane as four small, dark-skinned, bare-chested, gremlin-like figures scurry around him.

The upside-down man wears a form-fitted white shirt, narrow black tie, and plaid trousers that parallel the plaid jacket on his tormentor on the right. The imagery is perplexing to say the least — if the picture alludes to the 1811 rebellion, who is attacking whom? It’s a reasonable question given the peculiar racial history of New Orleans, where mixed-race Creoles were slaveholders alongside the whites. A second look at the man on the right reveals that his hair is red, a swatch of Caucasian skin borders his black face, and the miniature profile of a white woman is planted in his ear.

Is he a white man in blackface? His hands and sandal-clad feet, both dark, say otherwise. Is the hanging man a leader of the revolt? His well-pressed clothes disagree. And who are the diminutive figures grieving over him or, in an equally plausible interpretation, assisting in his execution?

Perhaps the key is the rickety crane, which evokes, at least for me, the compromises cobbled together to accommodate the demands of the slave states after the Revolution. These moral failures included the Electoral College, an inherently undemocratic system that has proven its ability — not to prevent a demagogue from winning the presidency, as its apologists have perpetually insisted — but to enable the most vilified and unpopular candidate in recent history to assume power over the future of the planet.

If Williams painted “Smile” (and who could come up with a more sardonic title?) before November 8th, it’s a safe bet that this particular idea wasn’t on his mind. But the deranged imagery and skewed racial dynamics that he superimposes over the history of the 1811 rebellion is grounded in a distinct vision of an America unravelling from the fatal aftermath of its original sin, which no quantity of blood can wash away.

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