When I first heard about the artist Georgia O’ Keeffe, I was a young man’s fool, and laughed at the crude jokes made about her paintings of flowers resembling vaginas.

Honestly, I still chuckle about it, but I like to think one changes with the passing of years, and with that mindset, I went out to the place Georgia called home for many years ( and where the inspiration for her American Modernism art and love of the American Southwest started), Abiquiu.

Set up in the northern New Mexican mountains, I climb the dirt roads to the adobe silence. No movement except for the passing of clouds. I see a lone figure in the distance struggling with a load upon his back, climbing the mountainside. I as get closer, I see the figure is stationary, the Desert Christ. It is a surreal image.

The town is full of empty and abandoned shacks, trailers littered with hordes of junk, a few beautiful homes. The catholic church from when the town was first started still remains. As I admire the structure, a nun in full dress, driving a Toyota Rav 4, pulls up beside me. We chat for a few, she inquires if I would like to enter the church, I politely decline.

It is the only human encounter I have.

Heading down the dirt road to the Rio Grande river, I find tranquility in the afternoon sun by a lone tree. My skin turns red, my tongue savors the last drops of water from the bottle I carry.

It is here that I find the connection to Nature that inspires artists like Georgia O’ Keeffe.

At least that is what I choose to believe.

One Reply to “Abiquiu”

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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