Santa Fe Tease
Because the distance we needed to travel from Alamogordo to Taos was so great, Mariah and I only allocated a few hours to visit Santa Fe today. This was a mistake. Santa Fe is situated in the middle of crazy natural beauty. The town is so equisite that it almost doesn’t look real. We spent the insufficient time we had touring the Georgia O’Keeffe museum. Each of theIr nine rooms were simply presented, thought provoking, and solely devoted to her work. I was particularly intrigued by a short film narrated by Gene Hackman, which featured archival footage of Ms. O’Keeffe being interviewed in her late eighties, interspersed with a variety of images of her work, friends, and family. It presented O’Keeffe as having consciously crafted her image as a strong, solitary, lone wolf, painting in the desert, in response to her discomfort with Alfred Stieglitz’s (her husband) earlier depiction of her as a sensual woman in his photographs. The film also conveyed O’Keeffe’s view that her paintings were not at all sexual, and that this misinterpretation was made by a public collectively influenced by her husband’s portrayal of her. And yet. Just look at the image from the exhibit at the museum which follows this post. I had never seen her hubby’s photos of her before viewing them today, but the image in THIS painting nonetheless definitely reminds me of something. On our way out of Santa Fe, we stopped to pay homage to the world’s largest pistachio nut. Enough said about that. From Santa Fe we drove to Taos. Oh my. Once past the many not at all helpful signs warning drivers to be aware of falling rocks while negotiating miles of hairpin turns – Taos appears. It is a very cool town. We definitely had our African Queen losing the channel in the Ulanga River moment, however, attempting to locate our accommodations. Our circa 2000 Hertz installed GPS led us down a series of increasingly degraded dirt roads before dumping us off in front of an uninhabitable trailer at the terminus of a narrow dead-end road. It was kind of scary for Mariah and me, as we were unsure how we would turn the car around safely and get back to the main road. We had made quite a number of turns on unmarked dirt roads only to arrive in the wrong place. We cautiously maneuvered our way back to civilization, and, after a telephone call to our host, found our accommodations very nearby. The sensation of being truly lost so near to our Bed and Breakfast reminded me of the wonderful scene when Bogart and Hepburn spend the night on the mud flats in their boat, unaware of their close proximity to their destination. If it happens again, I plan to adopt Hepburn’s accent while lost. Meanwhile, someone needs to call the Sands Motel and provide them with an updated dictionary of American slang, unless they have decided to begin targeting a younger demographic.