so, what about now? the then, constructed from fragments of fleshy and amorphous silica memory remains. it stands in each accretionary flow of now as a splinter of ... glass ... that distracts with an acute and heart-shimmering intrusion deep into souls that only somewhere wish to be there, then. speaking to a screen, there is a deep form of silence that no intensity of dialogue might remove. it is not a meditative silence but rather a reverberatory one ... in a glass house.



Karen is back home after her first trip to China, so she and Ron pick me up at Greg's for an over-night at the cabin south of Florissant. beautiful place! a great dinner that Ron concocts. and fine company, neighbors. and the wet weather continues in one form or another. Pikes Peak gets plenty more snow above tree line.

after a breakfast burrito and a couple hours going through the GHS 1976 images at Todd's to stir our memories, I head south from Fort Lupton to Manitou Springs slowly. pick up that roll of Tri-X film at Reed -- the one that sat, undeveloped, for almost a decade. the last roll of black-and-white film shot before shifting to the Sony DCR-PC100 video camera. it turns out to be a full roll of images, and thankfully without fogging despite sub-optimal storage. will scan the mystery shots when I get back to Prescott shortly. I've no idea what they are of.

taking in the way on the way. road trip images and sounds. these days, I usually stop for scenes that I perhaps previously would have driven by while noting in head shoulda stopped. I figure these days that I should be making images to somehow -- at least conceptually -- counter-balance my use of hydrocarbons. that and simply extending the practice of image-making which is so habitual now it risks becoming a stale rather than a vivifying practice. documenting the West as I see it and as I transit the spaces. the faux-windmill-water-station in Ft. Lupton, a darkly amusing iceberg-tip of impending global water issues; the green space appropriately called Greenland; the B-52 bomber at the Air Force Academy looms in the midst of a gathering storm; and sounds that augment a feel for the place.

the weather is strange.

I chill in a cafe in Manitou, catching up on work. it closes, so I head across the street to The Keg Lounge, definitely a local bar and grill (with wifi!). normally I'm not too chatty in such a place, but started to talk to the bartender, and then a young (obviously military) guy comes up ordering some beers for his friends playing pool. turns out he and the friends are deploying to Afghanistan in three days, to some obscure valley in one of the hottest Taliban-contested areas. I believe, without any empirical evidence, that only those who serve at that boots-on-the-ground level in the military have any clue what war really is like. I certainly don't. war is a black box that I can only assume is full of terrors that only the young are able to flexibly absorb and at least partially master. I buy them a round of drinks and talk with them for awhile. one fellow, an ancient 26-years-old, is on his fifth deployment. he was scheduled to have reconstructive knee surgery in June, but the Army canceled that in order to deploy him. he figures he'll be crippled by the time his deployment is over. they routinely carry 130-pounds of gear under extremely harsh conditions. a couple of them are first-timers. they harbor a certain bravado, innocence, and apprehension. embodied. I can't say the encounter made my day, but it felt right in the pit of the belly and in the heart. the War(s) are so invisible to all but those directly involved -- the legacy of illegitimacy and the fanatic regime that started them.

Greg gets back in from Boulder later so we hang out with his girlfriend, catching up on the pathways taken in the last years gone. hang out in his funky flat on the top floor of the (national historic register) Nolon House including the distinctive round tower. then they are away until tomorrow...

whoa. 50% of the DA-40 Board. this crew in one place at the same time. look out. late night for some, not for others. thanks gents for a stimulating evening!

Prof. Fred Henderson III of Mount Princeton Geothermal, LLC, meets us in the late morning (thank goodness!) for a briefing on the geothermal development that he is overseeing in the area. the ultimate goal is a heat-exchange/re-injection power plant based on several high-flow wells into the hot spot that drives the hot springs. he then takes us on a two-hour tour of the area mapping out the geological regime and sharing some of the development info for the geothermal prospect. the major problem in the valley (of Chalk Creek) is the complexity of property ownership and the density of residential development. this entire area is carved up in relatively small lots with homes and is a very desirable location, so people will fight any drilling, piping, whatever is necessary for the plant, this, knowing it is an alternative energy source which will offset some of the coal-fired electricity production that the West is so dependent on. the coal plant that supplies them with electricity is out of sight, though, and there are sure to be a minority who will resist anything remotely industrial in appearance while the mountains fade into the growing coal haze.

the last stop is at a recently completed well that officially has the highest recorded heat gradient in the state of Colorado. I do a portrait of Frank and his wife there, it's on her property.

(noting that the Chalk Cliffs for which the canyon is named are not actually chalk but rather hydrothermally altered Precambrian granite which in places will crumble in the hand, while those unaltered are hard as ... rock!)

after the tour, a last slow soak with those rust-e folks still left, then reluctantly descending from the mountains, in conversation.

up to the hot springs with the rust-e crew on a business/pleasure trip to nail down details on the sustainable creative practices conference/festival next February. we have a substantial cabin to hangout in and passes to the Hot Springs pools. the resort hasn't changed too much since the last time I was there twenty years ago or so. the weather conforms to the springtime-in-the-Rockies norm: changeable. with a tendency to unusually wet and cloudy which no one complains about. too much water is rarely even a nuisance in the West. the 14'ers, Mt. Princeton, and Mt. Shavano are mostly invisible, but when the peaks appear, there is plenty of fresh snow above tree-line. no motivation to do any serious climbing between the tight schedule of meetings and mandatory soaks in the hot water.

first we have an orientation meeting with the resort management who are really enthusiastic about the conference plans. to be sure, February probably isn't the busiest month up there. there are a few ski areas within 50 miles, but weather conditions can be severe at any time, and the hot springs aren't right on a major highway.

the afternoon is spent up in St. Elmo being introduced to the Ghost Town Guest House bed-and-breakfast with one of the owners, Sharon. along with her husband, they have just recently finished a fantastic place right in the town, and are currently the only year-round residents.

the evening starts with a long soak followed by a sumptuous dinner that leaves everyone ready to crash after suitable aprés aprés. Chalk Creek can hardly be called a creek this weekend, with all the snow-melt and fresh precipitation, it is raging and fills the moist night air with a power that erases all other sounds.

the day's activities are interspersed with memories of trips to Tincup, over the pass from St. Elmo, and jeeping with Collin, Joe, Mike, Chris, Cindy, and the usual eclectic posse that would converge at Joe's family cabin there. ages ago. another life.

head down to Denver to meet Jim and Dona for a trip to DAM. I also called Dave to come by as he's a former employee of the museum where he worked as an installation manager. the art forms a backdrop for stories, reflections, and dialogue.

after lunch we head over to the MCA for a walk-thru. I'd never been there and it turns out to be quite a nice space -- the rooftop bar and garden has a nice vibe to it. then back to the house to check out some of Jim's recent Director-based media installation projects. and more...

Trade ye no mere moneyed art
-- James Johnson

then on to an IMax theater to meet Sally and Montse for the new Star Trek movie which was not very good. 'nuf said. busy day. sonic documentation to come some future day as with many more past days. never the time to do the processing of files. accumulating faster than processing, a common problem for an archivist. what about being more exclusive? to choke the acquisitions process down to a manageable level. or more aggressively carving out processing time each day? that would come at the expense of sleep, methinks.

the work for the Williamson living room is finally finished and gets installed the day before I arrive. it works out quite okay for the space (opposite a huge picture window looking out on North Table Mountain). the Center hasn't manifest itself at quite this scale before. the process was time-consuming, but Cyndy, a customer-service rep at Reed Photo where it was printed and mounted made it fairly painless. a good exercise to run through with digital scans of some of the black-and-white negatives scans I've been making. not too expensive, and quite spectacular quality on Fuji papers. mounting is expensive, however. but the whole process seems ripe for exhibition development of works that I started sketching 20 or more years ago -- in the form of (long)tall scroll pieces that have multiple images on a single hanging piece of paper. gotta get to it!

a slow day recovering from the long day before. Rick briefs me on the spike in activity surrounding the recent shale-gas plays in North America. missed that development in the last years, totally. StatOil alone plans 15,000 wells in the Marcellus formation of Pennsylvania and New York states. holy cow!

Golden High School graduation at Brooks Field on the School of Mines campus on what starts off as a dreary and chilly morning with uncharacteristic clouds sticking to the foothills. Holly is the Valedictorian. the weather clears up by the end when Montse and I head back to the house for final party preparations. I take the opportunity to get the whole Williamson Clan together for a group portrait.



fourteen hours later, celebrations finally end with a round of toasts for the graduate.

Dear Holly. What a pleasure to be here to celebrate this time with you! The teacher who spoke at graduation is precisely right that whenever two humans cross pathways they are both changed in ways that are not (always) immediately apparent. This is a powerful principle of life: when we realize and take to heart that this occurs, we may intensify the outcomes of these encounters through open, honest, and unfettered engagement. This engagement should be attentive, concentrated, and focused. Through this, any other human encountered becomes a collaborative partner in a dynamic creative process that is the essence of life. As is taught, the next person you encounter may be the Buddha, and thus, how you engage governs the potential for enLightenment. I wish you all the best in your near and far future; that the pathways you walk will be full of those transformative encounters; and that the transformations bring the breath-taking inspiration that makes life joyous.

Life is a phenomena! You are phenomenal!

At any point you have questions, answers, observations, or discoveries to share, I am happy to give you my attention.

Thank you for being you!

oxoxox
jh

day starts in a noisy campground, packing up, rolling out, the ritual stop at the Center of the Universe where there are further changes -- someone has brought in a larger iron tank for the artesian well and an even larger one sits next to it. they have changed the flow of water such that the artesian flow is saturating the ground, making a significant area that is salinating the surface soil. the weeds are cut close to the ground. the two large wooden posts that I used to sight through the windows are lying on the ground. change. I expect that someday soon the Center will be destroyed. what then? as with all documentation, that which is documented passes away.

on to the Sand Dunes Swimming Pool (aka, the Hooper Pool) to get cleaned up before returning to civilization. it's way too hot to do any laps, that and along with a couple school busses full of elementary school kids. end up having a long conversation with an elderly Latina woman baby-sitting her grand kids, a local to The Valley. I catch a group photo of a group of students from La Jara Elementary School.

on down to the low-lands, Golden. the big event, the main reason I schedule the trip for this time-period, Holly's high school graduation (and Party!) approaches. I arrive at the house late in the afternoon to find Natalie and Cassie making brownies for the party. they promptly head off to a sleep-over, leaving me to watch the oven. Holly gets home, and then Sally, and Rick. Montse comes by as well. much work to be done prepping food. another trip to Costco accentuates the challenge. then the task of making two large salads. it's a team effort late into the night, and I've never quartered or halved so many cherry tomatoes before.

a much longer ramble with a heavy wind at my back until it's time to turn around. the dunes are located here for a reason and that reason is the frequency of very intense winds being funneled across the valley into Medano Pass where the sand generated by the Rio Grande out wash in the valley is dropped in large quantities against the Sangre de Christo mountains. it's a marvelous phenomena. today, I follow the base of the dunes along Medano Creek which is flowing with copious quantities of chilly snow melt. the intersection of the dunes with the creek and the mountain terrain is rich with variable riparian regimes and provides shelter from the wind which is carrying plenty of grit up to about 3 feet off the dune surface. the air is charged with particles, it is charged.

He wha tills the fairies' green
Nae luck again shall hae:
And he wha spills the fairies' ring
Betide him want and wae.
For weirdless days and weary nights
Are his till his deein' day.
But he wha gaes by the fairy ring,
Nae dule nor pine shall see,
And he wha cleans the fairy ring
An easy death shall dee.
-- Scottish, traditional

solo hiking in the park is discouraged because of the risk of mountain lion attack on lone (prey) animals. this puts a certain edge on movement into more isolated areas. most visitors stick to the dunes themselves and the beach-like intersection of the dunes and Medano Creek that is car-accessible. I didn't see anyone on the whole hike except on the way back a couple group of partiers hanging by the creek in the dunes. a hunting knife on the hip is probably no real protection, nor is a hiking staff. imagining an encounter is difficult and doesn't simulate the effect of the full-body adrenaline jolt that would surely ensue. recalling the speed of a mature house cat and mapping that onto a 150-pound body evo-tuned for carnivorous survival is, well, uff! the presence of deer is both reassuring and threatening -- are they there because there are no lions around, or is their presence an attractor? whatever, eyes stay open, and occasional backward checks, standing silent, scanning with binocs, not much else to be done. how effectively would a lion stalk a single human? they are ambush predators and will wait, hiding, on known game trails for a quick launch and a specialized deep bite into the cervical vertebra to quickly render the prey helpless. yikes!

make it all the way up to the Medano Creek / Little Medano Creek intersection and beyond a mile or two. have to cross the fast-running on a large beaver-downed aspen log to continue. the wind keeps me in the trees until the walk back where I cut across a large open park at the base of Medano Pass / Big South Canyon. camera gets stowed because of the grit in the air and the need to hold the hat on.

pretty tired by the time I get back to camp, and pushing through the last tree, end up getting smacked right on the bridge of my nose by a branch, getting a nice cut and looking a bit foolish to anybody in the campground who happened to be watching. the Lone Outdoorsman.

early rise. mild temps. hearty breakfast. then off, away from the dunes into the foothills of the Blanca massif and the Buck Creek watershed. going up. high-pitched grade, slow walking. piñon, juniper, small prickly pear, and the occasional mountain ball cactus. on up. looking down. stopping, looking up, around. lunch break upon the discovery of a pair of buck horns (14-point!). Buck Creek, well named. after enough vertical and hitting snow in the trees, a rapid, steep, and unstable descent into the creek bed itself, water appearing from springs and disappearing. some snow left in the darker, more northerly slopes. sound recordings of water, snow-melt. a tongue of wild fire burned its way into the lower parts of the creek, towards the dunes, leaving gray and ragged carcasses of aspen and willow to succumb to gravity in time.

the campground is completely full, mostly with a huge group of junior-to-senior high school students from Sandia Prep. at each campsite there are three tents, two seniors, and six younger students, a food cooler, stove, tarp, and other campsite stuff. the older students organize the cooking and such. there must be 150 kids, teachers, and parents total. they have a raucous Talent Show this evening. (I am so far behind on audio processing, no clue when some choice samples might show up here...)

next movements. north east from here to there. google tells me that going down to I-17 is slightly shorter than going via 89 north to Flagstaff, deciding the final route at the last minute: the most direct to the Great Sand Dunes. distance versus time. distance usually means better scenery: time is usually Interstate.

a slow start, big breakfast, hard workout at the Y, some food shopping, and finally around noon taking off. heavy, heavy wind from the south west. kicks mileage on the truck up to 33 mpg rocketing across the reservation accompanied by wind devils and a haze of atmospheric debris. vehicle travel driven by hydrocarbons. stop to make images that conform to the materializing hydrocarbon system series and the domination of landscape series. make Cortez at sunset. and rocket through the San Juans in the dark, pacing a couple empty semis (they had to be empty to keep up the speeds and momentum they managed up Wolf Creek Pass). short stop in the dark at the Center of the Universe. that has never happened before in the near-30-years of visits. on the west and south side, for the first time ever, there are the crude marks of adolescent love, hardly to be classified as graffiti. too tired after the 12-hour drive to really contemplate it, head onwards to the Great Sand Dunes. the campground is about half full, crowded, I feel spoiled after a number of the previous visits way off-season I've been camping there solo.

month swings into May seeming. no May Day celebrations here. the Red Scare still too enfolded in natal-national psyches. no bonfires like in dark-less high-latitude white nights.

sotto voce: Being fixated on the material aspects and 'things' that spin off from our activated and energized presence in this world is probably where you are going wrong in pondering the "art-or-not" question. Experiencing the energies that arise from creative action -- they may come 'packaged' in a practically infinite range of forms -- it's more a question whether you (as an individual made up of the accumulated life-pathway that you have experienced) have any opening to the energies that are carried by that form. Technology mediates the expression of creative energies (technology is the accumulated set of mediatory pathways for the expression of creative energies). So, it's 'merely' a question of what paths of expression and reception are open between you and some Other with whom you are in creative exchange.