Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween!
Originally uploaded by chacal la chaise.

This building sits across the street from MJ's office. While I’ve never heard if this building is haunted, I know that MJ’s office is. Part of the building is a doctor’s answering service and they have 24-hour shift workers. At certain hours of the night, the operators refuse to walk down the hall, especially if they hear footsteps and feel cold air.
But back to the apartment across the street. It is rare that there is not a car sitting in front of the building, so I was glad when I saw the place all decked out for Halloween. Twilight was ending and no one was on the street. This apartment building has an interesting history for me. Years ago, there was a fire on the top floor. Curtie and her friend Amy were there that day and the girls saved a singed and very scared kitten. Amy kept the kitten, and they named her Whistlebritches.

Earlier this summer, my aunt and cousin came down from Colorado for my uncle's funeral. We reminisced as we all gathered around a box full of old family photos that my cousin secured from her father's house. As we went through the black and white photos, we discussed how my dad lived a block away from this building. His apartment is now the location for Sen. Eliot Shapleigh's law offices. Then my aunt remembered that this apartment building was where she and my uncle first lived after they eloped. She married him at 15 and my uncle was 21. We kept talking, remembering, laughing, writing names on the backs of photos and then, before too long, it was time for them to leave for Colorado. Unfortunately, I wasn't able at the time to find out where their rooms were located, though.

Seems as if everyone I know passes through this part of town at some point. In addition, the apartment is a couple of doors down from the H & H Carwash, and its famous Mexican café.

Amsterdam :: At the mall, by my friend, Urban Chill

At the mall
Originally uploaded by Urban Chill.

This marvelous photo by my friend Urban Chill caught my eye the second I looked at my postage-stamp sized Flickr contact images. Contact images of contacts; contact lenses, contact paper, contact us now....

And while they are not friends in the real flesh and blood sense of the word (we don’t have Meet-ups or Art Mail projects or long telephone conversations), we are compatriots in the global family of photographers. We shoot, we score; we upload, we explain; we comment and we kvetch about world events, family successes, and personal triumphs. We are there for each other, whether or not we know it. We support each other by saying “I am a contact/friend/fellow snapshooter of digital/film/medium format/toy camera pictures. I like your's and you like mine.”

That is why I chose to post Urban's image here. Evidently now, even in Amsterdam, or especially in Amsterdam, photographers are harassed and told “you cannot take photos here!” We are not out to harm anyone. We are there to capture things that interest us. We are there to document our part of the world, which makes us closer to those who view our images. We are cameras. I am a camera. I shoot, therefore I am. The photos of the people are the eyes of the gods.

Thanks Urban Chill, you keep me grounded and attached to the wider world. Thanks to all, for we all work together. Whether Reddirtrose, El Paso Joe, Silvertree, Brenda Anderson, [kren], magic fly paula, ! »☺►/streetart#───█ -_- ©██, foxglove, tchatchke, meowmeow, curtie, LensENVY, Elena777, .natalie, Mr. Yuk, gem66, Santxvike, tejas962002, or one of the others: We share a passion to communicate and share. And I thank you for being “out there” for me.

MSU :: Hubbard South at twilight

MSU :: Hubbard South at twilight
Originally uploaded by chacal la chaise.

Yes, yes I know. Where have all the blog posts gone, long time passing (sorry about that Pete, I could not resist).

Well let's see, there was a death in the family in late June (and I promised myself I would write about its impact, but haven't yet, which must mean something). Then July was uneventful, although the Judge, MJ, and I spent a lot of time getting ready for the August trip to Michigan, which arrived much too fast because…all of a sudden, August was here, and we were gone to take the Judge to college.

While there, I shot many film and digital photos to document her move-in/transition to college life. Along the way, while holed up in a way too small Red Roof Inn, a Starbucks, and the Judge's dormroom. I uploaded the images. Now they are in a set on Flickr. Before we knew it, we were saying goodbyes,and then MJ and I returned home--just the two of us. Que muzak and fade out.

But wait! Immediately upon our return, I began graduate school (albeit a week late) and since then, it's been one long state of panic and terror. No, not really. The terror and panic come on Tuesdays and Thursdays between the hours of 10:30 AM and 5:50 PM. In contrast, I can’t sleep Monday and Wednesday nights in anticipation of the following days' terror- and panic-filled hours. Although, Thursday night is best because I have Friday all to myself.

While this is a bit of a histrionic and stratospheric POV, I wouldn't have done it any different—except I'd try to be more organized. And write more blog posts so that I don't have to sound like I'm apologizing for something. And read my journal articles before class begins. And get out and take more pictures downtown like my friend Mondo Loco. And, and, and...

RIP Luiz Jimenez :: Sculpture entitled The Sodbuster

RIP Luiz Jimenez :: Sculpture entitled The Sodbuster
Originally uploaded by chacal la chaise.

Sometime in the late 80's, Luis Jimenez loaned his sculpture entitled The Sodbuster to the El Paso Natural Gas Company for display. While I did not see it on display (photo by my boss at the time, James Dean) I found a wonderful 8x10 print in the files at the company when I worked in the PR department a decade later.

Sadly, Luiz Jimenez died yesterday and the world has lost an incredibly gifted and innovative artist whose sense of fun and irony permeated all his works, including his most controversial, "End of the Trail (with electric sunset)."

Article Launched: 06/14/2006 12:00:00 AM MDT

Accident kills creator of plaza's 'Lagartos'
By Daniel Borunda / El Paso Times
El Paso Times
Luis Jimenez, the El Paso native whose fiberglass sculptures made him an internationally prominent artist, was killed Tuesday morning in a freak accident in his art studio in Hondo, N.M., authorities said.

Jimenez, 65, was the most famous artist to come out of El Paso, with his work recognized from barrios to President Bush's ranch home near Crawford, Texas.

Around 11:50 a.m. Tuesday, Jimenez and two of his employees were moving a large statue piece with a hoist when the piece got loose, struck Jimenez and pinned him to a steel beam at Jimenez Studios, Lincoln County Sheriff R.E. "Rick" Virden said in a news release.

Jimenez received a severe leg injury and died at Lincoln County Medical Center in nearby Ruidoso.

The death of Jimenez created a shock as it spread by word of mouth through the arts community in El Paso, where Jimenez's "Vaquero" and "Plaza de Los Lagartos" sculptures have become civic landmarks.

Jimenez was a major figure in Chicano art and a pioneer in public art. His vibrant fiberglass sculptures are found in parks from Albuquerque to Fargo, N.D., home of "The Sodbuster" statue.

Last week, the Cleveland Plain Dealer newspaper reported he was working on a Cleveland Firefighters Memorial that was to be ready by the fall. The statue was supposed to be finished by the end of 2004, but the date was pushed back in part because Jimenez had suffered two heart attacks.

"He was one of the most original artists on the planet," said Becky Duvall Reese, the former director of the El Paso Museum of Art. Jimenez's "Vaquero" -- a 20-foot-tall statue of a Mexican cowboy on a bucking horse -- stands in front of the museum.

Jimenez's work often reflected his border and Southwestern roots. He often said he was inspired by his sign-maker father, a Mexican immigrant.

"I have a way of looking at the world that is somewhat unique, that is not maybe totally mainstream," Jimenez said in a 1995 interview with the El Paso Times. "I would hope that I've helped people have insights into the world we are living in."

Art gallery owner Adair Margo said Jimenez will live on in his work, including the "Texas Waltz" lithograph purchased by first lady Laura Bush that is now at the Bush ranch home.

"I think Luis shared this border region with the world. Those images will continue to live on," Margo said. "You look at the images he left us, you realize he was a voice that mattered, that gave form to this region and communicated it with people. He was a man of just incredible talent, but he also had great generosity of spirit."

Daniel Borunda may be reached at dborunda@elpasotimes.com; 546-6102.

El Paso Times reporter Adriana M. Chávez contributed to this report.

Photo by James Dean

Heavy Cloud, No Rain

Sadly, if you drive along the newly completed section of Loop 375, you can see those who are most likely to care less whether downtown is revitalized or

not—the northeast, far east, and Mission Valley areas of town. And why? Well, IMHO it's because they believe we have no mass transit to get the homebodies into and out of the downtown/entertainment-to-be districts.

Yet last week, The Judge and I had a good time, driving from I-10 West/Transmountain, through the mountain, gliding past Parkland Middle School and over Dyer Street, onto the newly refurbished Loop (by Ft. Bliss and Airport land.) Around the bend, flying over Montana, we then headed onto the newly completed eastern Loop section, which was the reason for our adventure. And as clouds followed and surrounded us the entire time, we hoped for rain.

From the highway, we saw miles and miles of tract housing stretching out

eastward, surrounding Montwood High School, a place which when first built, used to be in the middle of undeveloped land. We continued and drove past the eastside manufacturing and call centers, then drove along the newly constructed section with its elaborate bridge details at I-10 east at Avenue of the Americas. Finally, we began our count of high schools that lie along the Ceasar Chávez Border Highway, which is the southern stretch of the loop—Del Valle, Riverside, Bowie.

Approaching the downtown area and Segundo Barrio, we saw the elaborately tagged and graffed boxcars stopped next to the border near South Florence and made the final and semi-hazardous 45 degree turn to the right onto Santa Fe Street. Approaching Paisano, we saw a halfway demolished Tampico bar and

upper tenement apartment building (across from the now defunct fire station whose number escapes my memory, but one thought to be haunted).

Turning onto Paisano we headed for home and by the time we past Asarco’s tower, we had logged about an hour since we began. Sadly, my odometer is on the fritz, so I don't know how many miles we traveled. Yet, in that one hour we saw “heavy cloud and no rain*” views—lots and lots of anonymous plots where people live individual stories that we will never know or appreciate. And while we don't have lightrail, a third rail, or non-stop a/c'd super trollies, we do have a mostly completed loop that is a near circuit around the city--and it will help. In fact, someone from the hinterlands near Montana could conceivably drive non-stop to the downtown area in about 20 minutes. And I think that's pretty slick.

*Heavy Cloud, No Rain
Sting, from the album Ten Summoner's Tales

Turned on the weather man just after the news
I needed sweet rain to wash away my blues
He looked at the chart but he look in vain
Heavy cloud but no rain

Back in time with Louis XVI
At the court of the people he was number one
He'd be the bluest blood they'd ever seen
When the king said hi to the guillotine
The royal astrologer was run out of breath
He thought that maybe the rain would postpone his death
He look in sky but he look in vain
Heavy cloud but no rain

Well the land was cracking and the river was dry
All the crops were dying when they ought to be high
So to save his farm from the banker's draft
The farmer took out a book on some old witchcraft
He made a spell and a potion on a midsummer's night
He killed a brindled calf in the pale moonlight
He prayed to the sky but he prayed in vain
Heavy cloud but no rain

Heavy cloud but no rain

The sun won't shine till the clouds are gone
The clouds won't go till their work is done
And every morning you'll hear me pray
If only it would rain today

I asked my baby if there'd be some way
She said she'd save her love for a rainy day
I look in the sky but I look in vain
Heavy cloud but no rain

Reflections upon a favorite story

Frontpiece illustration
Originally uploaded by chacal la chaise.

For Curtie's birthday, we sent to her the copy of Sara Crew, or What Happened at Miss Minchin's by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Years ago, when we lived in Santa Fe, we found the book, which was a shortened precursor to Burnett’s book, A Little Princess and bought it for her. This book, published by Scribner’s and Sons in 1888, is a romanticized remnant of its time and place. It also remains a sentimental favorite for both Curtie and me. Overall, it is the quintessential stoic Victorian child's story—a glimpse at their view of childhood. Along with Little Lord Fauntleroy, and The Secret Garden, the books epitomize how the British Victorian middle-class doted and romanticized their heirs.

Yet the irony of it all was that while all this doting went on at one level of society—while children were presented with such extravagance as Sara Crewe and her doll’s matching ermine-trimmed coats, silk stockings, and satin day dresses—the streets of every large urban city like London and New York, teemed with abandoned urchins living “hard-knock” lives. One only has to read William Blake’s The Chimney Sweeper from his collection of poems entitled Songs of Innocence and Experience to taste and feel the grim work such children toiled at for their so-called "betters." So much for thinking, that all Victorian children were a Fauntleroy, outfitted in blue-velvet breeches, or a silk-stockinged Sara.

Although, Burnett’s princess embodies both sides of this realm’s coin as it were for she describes with envious detail the sumptuous clothes, food, and education Sara received—that is however, until her father’s fortune was lost and he died greatly in debt to his daughter's headmistress. Now, the second existence jolts us into the reality of so many other children, the scullery maids, the chimneysweepers, the little ones begging in the streets.

It is this mirror image of Sara’s riches to rags story that shows how extremes can became but a puddle of debt due to mismanagement and lies—bad investments on the part of her overindulgent father. Helpless as we read on, we see her adrift, making her way in our minds—as she is lead away, wearing torn and ill-fitting clothes, cleaning the rooms of her former classmates—both rivals and friends. On the whole, we could see it as the dichotomy of Sara Crewe—a stoic little heart, an immense amount of patience and intelligence, grace, temperance, and logic—an exemplum for any young girl. And 'though she smiles though heartache, she finally breaks down from her malnutrician and maltreatment. Just in time, however, a new benefactor emerges to rescue her, saves her from the evil Minchin, and deposits her in his rooms next door. He reveals it was she whom he had been looking for all along and notes the irony that while seeking her in other locales, she only “on the other side of the wall.”

Many a modern YA reader today probably scoffs at such neat and tidy endings because there are no grey areas with Sara—she is not cranky or ornery like Mary of Secret Garden fame. Sara, no worse for the ware it seems, is still good and knowing. Although, The Little Princess is a true Victorian sentimentality, Curtie and I cherish the story for its metaphor of childhood imagination and story invention. In it, I believe we acknowledge Sara’s strength through improvisation—she is a Scheherazade for us and for Becky, her scullery-maid cohort.

We suspend belief that a Sara could have ever existed and while we try to forget that the world is over populated with too many Beckys. For us, it is the writing; the storytelling that helps us evolve; this I believe, allows us to accept the book and its sentimental look at children and their parents and lead us to more tales of a wider world, opening doors to worlds we never dreamed existed.

curtie in the flowers

curtie in the flowers
Originally uploaded by chacal la chaise.

and now, for something completely different.

curtie is 30! here is a true fact:

on the friday, may 21, 1976, my ob-gyn, dr. charles gunter, told me to go straight to bed and stay there because he didn't want any deliveries that weekend. i did what i was told, went home, and stayed in bed. on monday, i went back to his office and he told me to check myself into sierra medical center on tuesday morning.

i did what i was told, and curtie was born late in the afternoon on may 25.

but if i hadn't, if mj and i had gone out and partied or something over the weekend, curtie would have been born on like, may 22 or 23. therefore, she would already have turned thirty, and all the stuff i sent would have been late!

happy birthday, michaela!
hugs and love...

Final Dance Recital :: Something for Cat

Final Dance Recital :: Ballet
Originally uploaded by chacal la chaise.

Note: First of all, a big thanks to Curtie for the shout-out on her blog. What are we coming to when we greet and read about one another via our blogs? Well, I don't care what others may think, in fact, I think it's fun.

Parting is such sweet sorrow...And so it goes, the final recital and a short but sweet visit from Curtie—all a memory. Whirlwinds (literally and figuratively) may blow into and through your yard, your home, your dreams, but they always tend to dissipate just as fast as they materialized. Soon, all that's left is a pile of sandy dreamlike images and sounds.

Yet, it is in the memory of those few crazy-busy days where events can rest to reside and last longer than the actual events themselves: the judge's recitals with her marvelous tap choreography and Pointe technique, my graduation with its strobe lights and last hurrahs, talks as Curtie sorted through LP's at the Headstand...and now it is midnight, and I watch as she puts the finishing touches on a knitted baby sweater for a friend.

Quick...lights out because now it is already 1:30 in the morning. Transitions from one life to another.

Today, I drive a daisy to the doctor and hear good news this time. It sounds like the pneumonia crackles have dissolved and so too the need for doctor visits...for the moment.

It rained the other night and we all took a turn on the patio, sitting, smelling the air, feeling the humid shift of the wind’s caress from dry to moist...chains of light torch the sky as we sat and watched the rain, and in the darkness, saw the birth of a new memory.

Graduation May 2006 :: Pomp And Circumstance

Graduation May 2006
Originally uploaded by chacal la chaise.

A big shoutout to Dr. Johnson. He stepped out from the darkness that was the long line of professors, so he could shake my hand during the recessional. Did he say this is what he wanted me to know...this ceremony, with all its lights, theatrics, applause, cheers, and tears? Yes indeed, I was very happy and surprised.

Now graduation was an amazing thing. Not so much the anticipation of walking across the stage, although I watched how people took the diploma, shook hands with Dr. Natalicio, then walked a little further to shake hands with Dr. D., and off again. But at then end of the thing itself--the lights, Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance* playing, the excitement that it was over (and something new about to begin.)

As my fellow graduates and I sat, wondering when and how we would file out, I soon spied the professors that just as they walked down the aisle, they turned and stood like guards at the end of our rows. Then we, ahead of those with their new advanced degrees, exited from the opposite end and walked between where the professors stood. Awesome.

I lost count of the professors who stepped out to shake my hand and those to whom I said thank you. Beautiful. But Dr. J's was indeed a happy surprise.

Cynics who forgo these ceremonies do not know what they have missed.

*Pomp And Circumstance Marches, Op.39: No. 1 In D Major - Allegro con molto fuoco

Dad's picture taken by his mom.

Dad's picture taken by his mom.
Originally uploaded by chacal la chaise.

The following came up in conversation recently. A friend must consider whether to continue her education and one of her options is counseling students in high school. I told her I thought another good field is caring for those elderly people who are depressed. Yes, Tom — sometimes, ya just need ta take a pill that helps—not a panacea, but a died-in-the-wool medication to combat depression. Whether for post-partum or meds for Alzheimer or cancer patients, chemical therapy is sometimes called for.

My parents turned 80 in December and I’ve seen a mild version of this condition in my father. This is a new growth industry—keep everyone strong, keep heads and hearts positive (as can be expected), and healthy.

For him, it is the knowledge that time is running out. You know, like sands in a huge hourglass. The stream of sand appears to slide so much faster as it becomes more and emptier than when it first was full.

Between classes this week and last, I essentially drove Mr. and Mrs. Daisy around town. It is a new phase of my life. Over 10 years ago, Michael went through the same passage with his own parents.

I drove dad to my doctor for the cold he let slip into pneumonia. He talks as I drive him to the radiologist for chest X-rays. You know, he said, the British editor of the Glenn Miller Society's newsletter died last year...I haven't received one since then; I wonder what will they will do now?

I know what he's thinking as he says this. The brain trust of the music and culture of his youth is turning to dust. I make a mental note about this. We drive further and he says he must get rid of his record collection. I told him not to purge too soon and that I would like to see again what he tucked away. I also say I could help him donate his Benny Goodman quartet Bluebird 78's to KTEP if he wanted. Or the Sinatras, the Peggy Lees, the Doris Days, the Dorseys (both brothers). However, never the Glenn Miller Air Force broadcasts in their beautiful padded cover with sky father clouds and the floating officer’s hat. He appreciates that i put the XMRadio on the 40's decade music channel. He recalls every single singer, every single band that plays...that's Sentimental Journey--Doris Day and Less Brown, that's I've heard that song before Harry James, Now is the Hour by Bing Crosby... every song, every mile from Kerby Street to the Upper Valley in Vinton we drive. Every mile is another song he remembers. He tells me what grade he was in at the time and who were his friends.

Later, after the X-rays we stop for lunch. I take more notes about his family while we eat. He tells me more about his father's failed attempts to inspire his n'er-do-well cousins to make something of themselves. How he tried to set them up in businesses around town. Nothing ever worked and all eventually faded away into oblivion, which is worst than dust.

Later and just before Aesthetics with Dr. Robinson, I walk into the Cotton Memorial Building to talk to Dennis Woo. Would they be interested in a sizable record donation? He says the radio station is land-locked. We would love to take everything, we have the needles, but we have very little space. He shows me his cabinets. There is very little room for 78's...33 1/3's...45's...

It’s all disappearing--like a reel-to-reel tape that wraps its long snake of brown film onto the opposite take-up reel. Soon one will be full and the other will be empty. It’s life. The preparation of dying begins with your first breath.

Approaching St. George's

Approaching St. George's
Originally uploaded by chacal la chaise.

The former St. George Antiochian Orthodox Church, 915 N. Florence, was placed on Preservation Texas' list of historic properties in 2005.

Formerly known as St. George Antiochian Orthodox Church, the 915 N. Florence property faces what the Austin-based organization Preservation Texas calls serious danger. According to an El Paso Times article dated March 28, 2005, its owners (St. Clement's Episcopal Church) want to turn the property into a parking lot. But for now, this mission revival building, constructed in 1910 by renowned El Paso architect Henry Trost, is currently being rented out to a Maronite Catholic Church congregation.

I post this now because the local historical society has applied for endangered status for another building, which is about a mile away. The group and the city met last week to discuss the condition of The Albert B. Hall mansion. All agree the mansion is suffering "demolition by neglect."

Across the street, a house is under renovation; probably conversion into a law office.