Indian Market

untitled,  1991,  monoprint,  22 x 30

untitled, 1991, monoprint, 22 x 30


This coming weekend is INDIAN MARKET in Santa Fe.

It almost makes me WANT to be in a wheelchair.

It is THE best people-watching event one could ever hope for.

I have not attended in many,  many years because the crowd is too much for me to negotiate;  physically and energetically.

My heart always hurts a bit.

Picture this:   bright red lipstick,   ten-gallon white hat with a few feathers,  mini-skirt,   dripping with turquoise and silver atop 4″ heels..

Now,  THAT’S a memorable sight,  I tell you.

No judging here… but curiosity?  Indeed.

I am,  by nature,  a voyeur.

Human lives and choices facinate me.

The Native American population has some secrets AND WE WANT THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

White people want Indian secrets real bad.

What,  exactly is it that we think they’re not telling?

What knowledge do indigenous populations carry that the rest of us seem to know we need?

We either want to kill them or bow to them.

This weekend,  I think I’ll make that my quest as I look at the 50,000 people in my town for the week as they buy expensive stuff,   dress so they feel close to the clan,  stalk prize-winning artists so they can have stories to tell when they go home.

If I was in a wheelchair,  I could drop down closer to the land where,  I think,  alot of these remarkable artists draw inspiration from.

I could bypass the heady,  ego-driven posturing of a culture lost in performance mode and position myself in that inbetween place where it’s quieter,  a little more respectful.

I bet I could even see the art.


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