The Southwest is my mistress.
When I was younger–much younger–I lived in Alamosa, Colorado, which is just about as far south as you can get in that state before you hit New Mexico. As the sun rises, the rugged Sangre de Cristos greet the light, bordered on the south by the massif Blanca Peak, and in the west, the San Juans rise to cradle the sunset as it moves to sleep below the horizon. The air is crisp in the evening, the smells sharp and the chill somehow comforting.
Adobe is the chosen material everywhere you look, exemplified by Ansel Adams’ most iconic image, “Moonrise, Hernandez”: adobe, desert and the moon. Look closely at the paintings of Georgia O’Keeffe; the warm adobe light informs much of her work. Thus, it was no wonder that when I saw the late afternoon adobe glowing in the Santa Fe sun, its sister, the moon, traversing the deep blue sky, cushioned by wisps of clouds, I was overcome by the need to make an image, once again to indulge in my adulterous, amorous art.
Succumb I did.