A view of some of the buildings on the property, from the Chile Field
My new band-picture with Froadrick. Fist bump.
Fred (with broken leg) and Francisco the cutest puppy ever.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
visual updates
A view of some of the buildings on the property, from the Chile FieldMy new band-picture with Froadrick. Fist bump.Fred (with broken leg) and Francisco the cutest puppy ever.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Life in Chimayo!
Hello! An update for the curious!
On Tuesday morning, March 29, I departed Boulder, my home of over 4 months, after a filling short stack (okay short is an exaggeration, they were huge) of pancakes from the Village Coffee Shop courtesy of my p-diddy Seth (who also sent me on my way with a magnificent bag of Whole Foods goodies that I will be stretching through as long as possible). Chimayo is in Northern central New Mexico, between Taos and Santa Fe (about 35 miles north of Santa Fe). I took 25 down south to the High Road to Taos, on south to Chimayo.
I am working at El Rincon Farm with the Trujillo family. This farm has been in their family for hundreds of years, but only recently have they reacquired and begun organic farming some of what they own (about 3 of 20-some acres). Their most special product is the Chimayo Chile, a green chile that's one of the best ever. Literally. I'm not much of a spicy person (low tolerance), but these peppers are grand. They use heirloom seeds that go back to when the Spanish conquistadors came up from Mexico, that haven't been cross-breeded, and produce a medium, to medium-hot chile. Such good flavor, I eat it on everything. So they harvest them, roast them, and freeze them in 1lb bags to sell at the Santa Fe Farmer's Market (we went today-which is why I know the spiel). And yes, they ship them.
So anyway, the Trujillos are wonderful, and then there's Mario and his wife and kids and brother-in-law Ramon who are wonderful and are from Mexico so I've been practicing my Spanish (it's a shame I cheated so much in high school--why didn't they tell me that someday I'd be working on a farm with two Mexicans with little knowledge of English??) Kids, eat your green chiles and practice your foreign languages, it's practical, really.
A little about Chimayo, it's a really interesting area. There are a good amount of neighbors, and we're on a dirt road off one of the main roads in the valley. The roads are all one-way, dirt roads, named in Spanish. There are tons of Chihuahuas (don't ask me why, but one was tragically run-over yesterday), Magpies, random dogs without collars (including our own, Whiskey) and old broken down cars in peoples yards. My phone's always dead or out of service (or broken because I dropped it on the floor), only adding to the feeling of being completely lost in Mexico. Two days ago I went out phoneless-dead as usual-to look for an alleged grocery store, only to get lost, find some sort of expanded liquor store where everyone was speaking Spanish and I looked like some weird, sort-of-sunburned white girl that's completely out of place with her own bag trying to buy produce instead of cigarettes. Everyone's really nice, though, and I haven't really gotten weird looks, and everyone waves back when I do that "hey" nod-and-wave. I don't know, I learned it in West Virginia (certainly not in New Jersey). But sometimes I find myself wandering around, wondering how I ended up in another country without my passport. New Mexico is certainly a new experience for me, and I'm loving every minute. Especially riding the two-year-old paint mare they've got, albeit in a western saddle. Always something new. Helmets and appropriate gear are for the birds.
So while it was sad to say goodbye to everyone in Boulder (roommates-thank you SO MUCH Marina, Remah, and Seth, BMoCA-mates, and friends picked up along the way-it's been splendid, and let me repay you in seafood and snuggles), I'm happy to say I'm happy, and really looking forward to my time here. The landscape is so excellent, I'll be excited to start shooting and drawing and brainstorming artistic ways to incorporate it.
My address:
c/o Marisela Trujillo
PO Box 1026
Chimayo NM 87522
Adios!
On Tuesday morning, March 29, I departed Boulder, my home of over 4 months, after a filling short stack (okay short is an exaggeration, they were huge) of pancakes from the Village Coffee Shop courtesy of my p-diddy Seth (who also sent me on my way with a magnificent bag of Whole Foods goodies that I will be stretching through as long as possible). Chimayo is in Northern central New Mexico, between Taos and Santa Fe (about 35 miles north of Santa Fe). I took 25 down south to the High Road to Taos, on south to Chimayo.
I am working at El Rincon Farm with the Trujillo family. This farm has been in their family for hundreds of years, but only recently have they reacquired and begun organic farming some of what they own (about 3 of 20-some acres). Their most special product is the Chimayo Chile, a green chile that's one of the best ever. Literally. I'm not much of a spicy person (low tolerance), but these peppers are grand. They use heirloom seeds that go back to when the Spanish conquistadors came up from Mexico, that haven't been cross-breeded, and produce a medium, to medium-hot chile. Such good flavor, I eat it on everything. So they harvest them, roast them, and freeze them in 1lb bags to sell at the Santa Fe Farmer's Market (we went today-which is why I know the spiel). And yes, they ship them.
So anyway, the Trujillos are wonderful, and then there's Mario and his wife and kids and brother-in-law Ramon who are wonderful and are from Mexico so I've been practicing my Spanish (it's a shame I cheated so much in high school--why didn't they tell me that someday I'd be working on a farm with two Mexicans with little knowledge of English??) Kids, eat your green chiles and practice your foreign languages, it's practical, really.
A little about Chimayo, it's a really interesting area. There are a good amount of neighbors, and we're on a dirt road off one of the main roads in the valley. The roads are all one-way, dirt roads, named in Spanish. There are tons of Chihuahuas (don't ask me why, but one was tragically run-over yesterday), Magpies, random dogs without collars (including our own, Whiskey) and old broken down cars in peoples yards. My phone's always dead or out of service (or broken because I dropped it on the floor), only adding to the feeling of being completely lost in Mexico. Two days ago I went out phoneless-dead as usual-to look for an alleged grocery store, only to get lost, find some sort of expanded liquor store where everyone was speaking Spanish and I looked like some weird, sort-of-sunburned white girl that's completely out of place with her own bag trying to buy produce instead of cigarettes. Everyone's really nice, though, and I haven't really gotten weird looks, and everyone waves back when I do that "hey" nod-and-wave. I don't know, I learned it in West Virginia (certainly not in New Jersey). But sometimes I find myself wandering around, wondering how I ended up in another country without my passport. New Mexico is certainly a new experience for me, and I'm loving every minute. Especially riding the two-year-old paint mare they've got, albeit in a western saddle. Always something new. Helmets and appropriate gear are for the birds.
So while it was sad to say goodbye to everyone in Boulder (roommates-thank you SO MUCH Marina, Remah, and Seth, BMoCA-mates, and friends picked up along the way-it's been splendid, and let me repay you in seafood and snuggles), I'm happy to say I'm happy, and really looking forward to my time here. The landscape is so excellent, I'll be excited to start shooting and drawing and brainstorming artistic ways to incorporate it.
My address:
c/o Marisela Trujillo
PO Box 1026
Chimayo NM 87522
Adios!
Friday, March 11, 2011
ART!
Sometimes art is too much for me to stand. Last night I was able to go to a preview and opening at the Denver Art Museum last night with a few people from BMoCA. First off, the new exhibition is awesome, it's all electronic and time-based media which excited me because my friend Liz organized a time-based media art show in Charleston, SC, which is currently happening called Receiver Fest. So you should check both of those things out.
I found myself wandering alone through DAM, long after my colleagues had left, walking up to the third and fourth floors where the permanent collections are (alone, mind you) which just happened to include works from so many artists that I'm familiar with (Louise Bourgeois! Arshile Gorky! Barbara Kruger! William Kentridge!) as well as other amazing pieces that I wasn't familiar with.
I'm a big fan of evening events at museums because:
1. Drinks! And free ones if you have a VIP bracelet like I did last night (no, I'm not an important person, just a pretend one)
2. Art! In quiet places where people haven't thought to gather! A museum is so much more quiet and peaceful when it's at night with a huge crowd of people on the main floor. Maybe it just seems more quiet because you have loud noise to compare it to, but I'm convinced something magical happens in galleries in the night. I've experienced it in the Philadelphia Museum of Art, BMoCA, and now the DAM as well.
3. People! There are tons of people to talk to or not to talk to! The possibilities are endless.
Anyway, it might have been the wine, but I had a really good time and didn't even stress out about my lack-of-transportation home. I wandered around Denver, asked people, found the bus station and exchanged my ten dollar bill for ten one-dollar coins.Monday, February 21, 2011
photographs!
For all ya'll itchin' to see my photographs thus far in Boulder (I admit, I've been pretty bad at getting them uploaded), check out my flickr page, I just added a bunch (no, not brunch!).
http://www.flickr.com/photos/wesleylaudeman/
hope you enjoy, and hope I add more at some point.
have a wonderful day
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Balancing between Perfection and Peeta Binnochi
I've been working pretty regularly at the Boulder Museum of Contemporary Art, every weekday (and some weekend days as well) organizing, researching ad rates, updating online calendars, typing up documents, making labels, getting signatures for a petition, aaall kinds of stuff. The museum is currently closed, in between exhibitions. The next show is two different installation sculptors that I'm REALLY excited about. Jessica Moon Bernstein is a local artist, really a nice woman who makes sculptures with recycled bicycle tires/tubes. Henrique Oliveira is an AMAZING Brazilian artist who makes these fascinating undulating wood installation sculptures.
So the preparations that go into the next show are both office related and physical-space related. For the past two days, I've been focused on the "physical-space" aspect, i.e. painting white walls white. In the gallery/museum world, walls are never white enough. You must coat and re-coat until your eyeballs fall out from staring at nothing but white walls (is that a shadow or a line is that a shadow or a line is that...) and your brain explodes from the fumes. I jest. The idea is to fill in holes, sand them, paint over places that got scuffed up or otherwise drawn on. Also, in our case, to paint the walls again because they were painted black for the last exhibition, and the first few coats of white peeled and cracked immediately. I had a lot of moments where I had to pause and consider the Peeta Binnochi effect.
For those of you scratching your head at this reference (and also title of this post--specifically Peeta Binnochi, although the word "perfect" in anything related to me is questionable as well) I'm going to have to take you on a trip to the College of Charleston Studio Art Department. Barbara is the printmaking professor, an incredible woman, short with a huge personality. She hails from Brooklyn, so she's got a bit of an accent, loves to do the NY Times crossword during class while we're scraping and sketching (yes, we're allowed to give answers). She's very honest about your art and has a standing rule that if you're late to class, you bring snacks the next class. She also tends to go off on tangents and tell stories in the middle of demonstrations. One day, while showing us woodcuts and giving us tips about the delicate nature of woodcutting, she came out with one of my favorite stories.
Apparently, back in Brooklyn as a child, Barbara was in her bedroom after school and looked out her window and to see her neighbor, Peter Binnochi, painting his garage door. One of the pitfalls of living near creative-minded children is that a single inane day in your life could live on in infamy. So anyway, good ol' Peeta (remember, when she pronounces "Peter", it's with an accent) was painting his garage door in square panels with a couple different colors. He must have gone out of the lines, though, and was attempting to correct this minor, nearly imperceptible mistake. He proceeded to make a huge mess, way worse than the original mistake, and ended up painting the whole garage door a single color after hours of struggling.
Barbara was quite fond of using Peter as an adage, in life and in art, and it's something that's stuck with me. I catch myself saying, "No, no, don't Peeta Binnochi this" and receiving really strange looks (may be also because I talk out loud to myself, but I digress). This doesn't happen to me too often, not because I'm perfect and never make mistakes, but because I'm not a perfectionist and usually "quit while I'm ahead" rather than nitpick (okay, I'm lazy). Anyway, I invite you, my readers, to use this adage for yourselves. If you find yourself painting white walls white and wondering whether you should climb up there and grab that little spot, remember Peeta Binnochi. Just leave it.
So the preparations that go into the next show are both office related and physical-space related. For the past two days, I've been focused on the "physical-space" aspect, i.e. painting white walls white. In the gallery/museum world, walls are never white enough. You must coat and re-coat until your eyeballs fall out from staring at nothing but white walls (is that a shadow or a line is that a shadow or a line is that...) and your brain explodes from the fumes. I jest. The idea is to fill in holes, sand them, paint over places that got scuffed up or otherwise drawn on. Also, in our case, to paint the walls again because they were painted black for the last exhibition, and the first few coats of white peeled and cracked immediately. I had a lot of moments where I had to pause and consider the Peeta Binnochi effect.
For those of you scratching your head at this reference (and also title of this post--specifically Peeta Binnochi, although the word "perfect" in anything related to me is questionable as well) I'm going to have to take you on a trip to the College of Charleston Studio Art Department. Barbara is the printmaking professor, an incredible woman, short with a huge personality. She hails from Brooklyn, so she's got a bit of an accent, loves to do the NY Times crossword during class while we're scraping and sketching (yes, we're allowed to give answers). She's very honest about your art and has a standing rule that if you're late to class, you bring snacks the next class. She also tends to go off on tangents and tell stories in the middle of demonstrations. One day, while showing us woodcuts and giving us tips about the delicate nature of woodcutting, she came out with one of my favorite stories.
Apparently, back in Brooklyn as a child, Barbara was in her bedroom after school and looked out her window and to see her neighbor, Peter Binnochi, painting his garage door. One of the pitfalls of living near creative-minded children is that a single inane day in your life could live on in infamy. So anyway, good ol' Peeta (remember, when she pronounces "Peter", it's with an accent) was painting his garage door in square panels with a couple different colors. He must have gone out of the lines, though, and was attempting to correct this minor, nearly imperceptible mistake. He proceeded to make a huge mess, way worse than the original mistake, and ended up painting the whole garage door a single color after hours of struggling.
Barbara was quite fond of using Peter as an adage, in life and in art, and it's something that's stuck with me. I catch myself saying, "No, no, don't Peeta Binnochi this" and receiving really strange looks (may be also because I talk out loud to myself, but I digress). This doesn't happen to me too often, not because I'm perfect and never make mistakes, but because I'm not a perfectionist and usually "quit while I'm ahead" rather than nitpick (okay, I'm lazy). Anyway, I invite you, my readers, to use this adage for yourselves. If you find yourself painting white walls white and wondering whether you should climb up there and grab that little spot, remember Peeta Binnochi. Just leave it.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
a few of my favorite things
Museum
So I kept pestering the Boulder Museum of Contemporary Art (BMoCA-sounds like a cool drink) until they called back and told me to come in. I've been going in weekdays from 10-5ish (give or take an hour, depending on what I'm doing) and helping to organize things, hand out cards for their exhibitions, host at-risk-of-dropping-out high school students, and make phone calls to other venues to see how our private party rental fees measure up. The last project is the most challenging, because I hate talking on the telephone to begin with, and in this case I had to pretend to be a mature adult and ask all the right questions (to get specific prices on EVERYTHING you can think of in terms of a 100-150 person private party with catering, sound, dancing, etc). I had to make a "presentation" for the boss with all of the information compiled, so he can see how BMoCA's rental prices look in comparison to the other Boulder venues.
Since I'm not actually planning a party, I have to redirect questions like, "Well, what type of party is this?" and since I sound so sketchy and nonspecific, one woman said to me:
-You know, we're okay with all types of parties. I know a lot of people don't want to mention if it's a sorority party. We're okay with everything; same-sex weddings, birthday parties, greek life. We don't have any neighbors to complain about noise.
-Um, that's great. Yeah, it's just, you know, a party.
So anyway, I finished that today and it felt gooood. The women I work with are all really nice and sweet and welcoming. It's pretty cool to see how much work goes into a small museum, and it's kind of fun to pretend to have a job and learn to talk on the phone.
Library
I have spent a lot of time at the Boulder public library, which makes me want to write about how amazing libraries are. FREE BOOKS! For real! It's crazy, nothing's ever free anymore, and libraries have such an incredible collection of books from all over (times, places, thought spaces). I have read so many great books, mostly from the library, but also from the used bookstore here (oh my, don't even get me started on that place!). I've read Haruki Murakami (Kafka on the Shore, Sputnik Sweetheart), Margaret Atwood (Handmaid's Tale, Oryx and Crake, currently The Year of the Flood), Virginia Woolf (currently To The Lighthouse). I can't remember what else I've read since I've been here, but I've been reading like a crazy person and I love it!
Go to your library!
FOOD
The last section of this post and most important. 1. I LOVE FOOD. 2. This could get a little gross, so a warning to small children and people that don't want to hear about my body (although that's an inevitable risk in reading any of my posts). Seth and I started a cleanse this past week. It's called "The Master Cleanse" and you have to say it in a big evil-man voice every time you talk about it. This cleanse consists of, basically, fasting for 10 days. The only things you "eat" (for lack of a better word) are drinks made of freshly squeezed lemon juice (2 tbsp), grade B maple syrup (2 tbsp), and some cayenne pepper, mixed with 8oz of water. You pretty much drink as many as you want throughout the day, plus plenty of water. At night I drink an herbal laxative tea (eeeww poo) and get this, it's called "Smooth Moves" hahahah oh boy. In the morning I do an "internal salt water bath", which means that I drink a quart of salt water and that reaaaally clears things out. I told you to stop reading, so don't get all bent out of shape because I'm talking about poop (again.. I'm pretty sure this is at least the 3rd post to mention it). Anyway, I am finishing up the 5th day! Yes folks, I haven't eaten food in 5 whole days. It's a miracle, especially considering my irrational obsession with food. I wouldn't be able to do it alone, it's really nice to have someone with whom to commiserate. Especially when, like today, I had to walk around to all of the restaurants downtown to get signatures for a petition. Torture, absolute torture.
The things I've learned recently about myself, specifically from this "job" and my cleanse are that I need to be challenged by someone else in order to do my best work. I tend to let things slide by, do things halfway, and don't really stay on top of completing projects unless I have someone to whom I must answer (i.e. lazy). This is definitely not a new development, because all throughout school, I've been able to get by without reaaally trying (with the exception of some art classes and film classes in college that really made me stop and think). If I'm doing something just for me, I tend to be satisfied with a mediocre job, but if I'm doing something with or for someone else (i.e. a boss or a friend who is holding me accountable) I tend to be more aggressive with completion. For whatever that's worth.
This was long.
Monday, January 17, 2011
blogging from unemployment-dom
It's been quite a while since my last entry, and I hope everyone had a great holiday season (all of 'em). I went home, enjoyed the life of leisure and a break from my, well, break. And now I'm back in Boulder, where it's currently 55 and sunny and I'm bored.
This past Thursday I had a job interview at a consignment store. I thought it went well, although it was my first, yes first, interview ever. For anything. My body had an interesting reaction where my right eye started twitching slightly and my brain went blank for moments at a time. I thought I kept it cool and the managers seemed to like me and they said they'd get back to me this weekend. As in, the one that just passed. So while waiting for their callback, I promptly went out, had a few beers and left my phone under the table of a really stinky, divey bar for good measure. I let it get all stomped upon for a few hours and returned the next morning to pick it up (luckily it hadn't gone home with anyone, apparently Envy's aren't as hot as I thought).
It's not broken and I haven't gotten a call. I've drowned my disappointment with two matinees at the nearby movie theater- yesterday I saw The King's Speech (excellent) and today I watched The Fighter. I'm a big fan of half priced movies, and so today I bought a soda in celebration (of filling out an application to the movie theater) and it was $4.50 for the smallest size. Four and a half dollars. I almost pooped myself. The movie was only $6.25, and if I hadn't already poured the soda I would've saved it and watched another.
The good news is that I filled out a volunteer application for the Boulder Museum of Contemporary Art, basically pleading with them to let me do anything, at any time, for any amount of time, for free. It's been a week, I'll let you know.
Anyway, I can't imagine anyone actually wanting to read this thrilling update, but I had to get back into writing at some time.
In other news, this seems like the worst idea ever.
This past Thursday I had a job interview at a consignment store. I thought it went well, although it was my first, yes first, interview ever. For anything. My body had an interesting reaction where my right eye started twitching slightly and my brain went blank for moments at a time. I thought I kept it cool and the managers seemed to like me and they said they'd get back to me this weekend. As in, the one that just passed. So while waiting for their callback, I promptly went out, had a few beers and left my phone under the table of a really stinky, divey bar for good measure. I let it get all stomped upon for a few hours and returned the next morning to pick it up (luckily it hadn't gone home with anyone, apparently Envy's aren't as hot as I thought).
It's not broken and I haven't gotten a call. I've drowned my disappointment with two matinees at the nearby movie theater- yesterday I saw The King's Speech (excellent) and today I watched The Fighter. I'm a big fan of half priced movies, and so today I bought a soda in celebration (of filling out an application to the movie theater) and it was $4.50 for the smallest size. Four and a half dollars. I almost pooped myself. The movie was only $6.25, and if I hadn't already poured the soda I would've saved it and watched another.
The good news is that I filled out a volunteer application for the Boulder Museum of Contemporary Art, basically pleading with them to let me do anything, at any time, for any amount of time, for free. It's been a week, I'll let you know.
Anyway, I can't imagine anyone actually wanting to read this thrilling update, but I had to get back into writing at some time.
In other news, this seems like the worst idea ever.
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