Smoke (anyone)?

Here, at our elevated altitude, we are accustomed to sparkling, crystal-clear views. An outbreak of humidity, rain, snow, or mist is a rare event, and provides a curious experience, where the landscape is altered, becomes dimensional, reveals unexpected depth.
But smoke?
Same effect in terms of revealing the depth of various layers of different land forms, but somehow less convincing as a healthy and beneficial, even if controlled and managed, event. This, below, is allegedly that.

A controlled and managed "burn".
Some of the biggest and most devastating fires in our area resulted from controlled and managed burns.

Renewable recources

This is about a quater of my fuel supply for this winter.

I do feel a tinge of guilt plundering the forest like this. A small tree, that has grown for decades is barely enough to keep us warm for a couple of evenings. The disproportion is staggering. How come is it that I deserve to benefit from the energy which this creature has gathered by some miraculous process, which I do not understand, do not have a close connection with, do not aid or support*. I don't actually commit the cruel murderous act of selecting and bringing down the poor little living things. The forest management agencies, whoever they might be in various locations, have a program of thinning the forests to allow for healthier growth of more widely separated individual trees and to prevent horrendous and destructive forest fires which occur when the growth is too dense.

Still, I do feel undeserving.
I really should live in a city where unseen, barely smelt substances travel in pipes under sidewalks and don't even glow within sight as you crank up the thermostat on a chilly evening. It must surely be comforting to realize that you are abusing non-renewable resources since this gives being, and being comfortable, a bracket in time, a defined schedule for this civilization with a calculable deadline for decline and fall.

*I remember now: its the Judeo/Christian ethic -- "man's" dominion over all. Just say no! to chilly evenings...

Cañon, New Mexico, USA.

Cañon sits at the Southern end of the Jemez Valley (San Diego Canyon, as it appears on maps), just North of the Jemez Reservation. The United States soft Third World underbelly.

I drive through Cañon with a heavy "filter" duck-taped to my senses, so I felt it to be appropriate to heavily apply Photoshop to these images.

The heavy application of Photoshop only becomes apparent if you click on the images.

Bomb! Terror!

 Yesterday I made a furtive trip to WalMart. I have to be furtive. What if someone sees me? I did drive a little classic (well, mid-70s) convertible Italian sports car to the venue, though I otherwise kept a low profile. But, what a surprise. I had one more isle to go when a harried looking WalMart guy shouted over to me: "Sorry sir, you have to leave everything! We're evacuating the store!" I whined a little, put some more nuts in my basket, but eventually obeyed and followed the throng. Once outside we were shuffled across the parking lot eventually ending up against the walls of MacDonalds. Suspicious package. Terror. Bomb. Muslims, they hate us for our parking lots, no doubt.

We milled anxiously in the restaurant parking lot -- some went inside to get even fatter and perhaps loose even more mobility.

"Hey mom! Guess what! I'm in a bomb scare!


The cops begin to swarm:

They quickly secured the area: giant traffic jam spreading across Rio Rancho and Bernalillo and a miserable group of would-be shoppers corralled in a fast food restaurant and its parking lot.

Other crews arrive (this group looks a little uneasy) :

The media:

And finally, the white trailer!
(Someone near me hissed: they're bringing in the robots. here come the robots)

Once parked it draws a group of odd looking individuals...:

...who appoint one of their kind with the the gruesome task of opening the side door of the trailer:

Only to reveal: ahhh...look at that. Sooo cute! That is just the cutest little robot guy you have ever, ever seen!

This turns out to be the "good" robot after all. The seeing-eye robot, the self-sacrificing little guy (a mere camera on caterpillar tracks who clears the path and makes sure that all is safe for the big "bad" robot.
Big bad robot emerges down a ramp at the back of the trailer:

 

 Meanwhile the little one is boldly trekking down the emptiness in front of the store (see the little dot on the road on the left?):

 

What? Where? (This might be one not to click on):

There! Bad robot following in the trail of his brother:

I guess he (this one has to be male) blew up whatever it was that seemed so threatening in the parking lot and trundled back to his masters. Big cheers from all that gathered, no obvious signs of a mushroom cloud, interviews are given...:

  

You may resume your shopping!

We happily waddle back to our interrupted task (Three hours in the blazing New Mexico sun. Nonetheless, our oppressors were merciful. The fire crew brought out canopies for those needing shade, shop employees kept appearing with shopping carts filled with cold water and Gatorade. There was a definite WWII London in the blitz kind of feel in the crowd).

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, let me see....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

a difficult moment this
blog?
might have to rethink the whole premise here.
"reflections on the process of making art" That can stay.
Perhaps.
The "process" has changed though.
The mechanical routine of attending for regular sessions in the studio is not the same as as making art.

Metaphor:

Climbed up the side of the Mesa looking for the cat (named Cat) at dusk tonight. Sun set suddenly. Wine, Bourbon, Beer, dope itself, set in just as I heard from down below: "oh, here she is....!" Almost all the way up the steep slope I stop, linger. The light is fading fast, but I feel safe here, amidst the crags, with the drop below me. I lie down. The slope is so steep that I feel as if I am standing up, almost. I fall asleep. When I wake up, it is completely dark. A fragment of the moon is shining in a corner of the sky; a few distant houses in the landscape have light, or reflection or refraction of a distant source looming faintly -- perhaps a microwave door open, a monitor with the the desperate appeal of Active Desktop Recovery blazing in the darkness. I crawl through the murk on all fours, grasping at Bear Grass, at Juniper and Pinon branches, edging North and up somewhat, proud to remember that ahead lies a path that will take me down safely. But, when I reach it, I notice that standing up is not quite a normal condition for me. I stagger down, sitting and groping when the slope becomes too steep 'till I reach the house...
The computer is still on.
I make this entry.
Goodnight.