Hey, Everyone. So I normally post on Thursday. But, in all the chaos of moving my office to the Casita, etc. I managed to convince myself that yesterday was Wednesday. (Yikes) So I didn’t remember to post. Sorry about that.
But here’s the piece that was supposed to go up yesterday. And I should be back on track come Sunday. -mjt
Okay, so last time I had just gotten the artist Donald Judd to Marfa.
It was exactly what he wanted. It’s vast, austere, empty spaces were a perfect backdrop to his equally austere minimalist works of art -- some of which are enormous. He worked, for instance, with great, clean shapes of concrete. Moreover, the empty buildings of the old military base were equally well-suited for his smaller works, most of them in metal.
You wouldn’t have thought that a New Yorker, and one with strange ideas about art, would be particularly welcome in Marfa. But, it seems, he was accepted by the locals without a murmur. Say what you like about the problems of small towns, sometimes...not always, but sometimes...they can be surprisingly open to “eccentric” people.
Particularly if...well...how to put this? Maybe just coming out and saying it would be best. Particularly if the eccentric people in question bring money...
And he did. Partly that was in the form of the cash he used to purchase the Fort, but mostly it was in what came afterwards. By opening his studio here, and turning the spaces around it into a vast open air sculpture garden, he turned Marfa into an art-lovers destination. Art-tourism is a thing, you see, and Judd brought many a well-heeled art tourist to town. People came from the United States, and, indeed, the world over to see what the Master of Minimalism had wrought, and, if possible, to meet the great man himself.
Moreover, he attracted like-minded people. Other artists, some Minimalists, some otherwise, followed his lead. They, too, came to Marfa, in search of inspiration ...and cheap studio space. They found both, and today the town has a thriving, industrious, and sometimes successful colony of artists and bohemians. Somehow they all mix and match with the long-term residents, the locals, and the ranchers. And, too, for equally mysterious reasons, they all seem to get along.
About the photos: Two today. First, a shot from downtown Marfa. This is actually a shop but also a work of art. You see that combination a lot in Marfa.
Second, a close up of Martha (not Marfa) here in Georgetown a few months back. I believe we were having lunch.
Which is sort of how David and Emily entered the scene. As I say, they are both artists. They are influenced by Minimalism. And they both love the Southwest, and Western Texas. Emily is, of course, a native Texan, and she discovered the town on one of her many rambles in that area.
David found out about the town through her. One year, before he started graduate school, he planned to bicycle to Marfa from his Grandparents’ house in Albuquerque. He almost got there, too. He made it all the way down to the very Southeastern-most edge of New Mexico, but then he injured his knee and couldn’t make it all the way. But the happy part of the story is that Emily was living and working in Marfa at the time, so she drove over to pick him up, and they spent some important time together in the little artistic city on the Texas range. It would be the first of many such joint visits.
And that’s how they became involved with Marfa, and how Marfa became what it is today. It is why when they invited us to join them there, we were flattered.
So, for much of December, we prepared. We got the car serviced. Martha made reservations at hotels she found along the way. There were the usual disasters and sitcom screw-ups. We discovered that we’d had the dates wrong and had to cancel and then rebook all the hotels. Then there were problems with the clothes and packing. All the little joys of travel. More fun than a barrel of piranhas, you betcha.
As I think I said before, we had a nice quiet Christmas. The kids sent us lots of pictures of the grandkids doing Christmas things. Which was nice...if not as good as being there. (Insert grandparently grumbling here.)
Then, on Thursday, December 28, 2023, we were finally on our way--though, of course, only after a few more screwups and delays, and we almost left the grandkid’s Christmas presents behind (YIKES). But, finally, at 1:30 pm, or just about four and a half hours after we’d planned to get away, we were finally in the car, down the driveway, and on the road.
Whew! we said. Now we can sort of relax, we thought. The hard part’s over, we agreed. All we have to do now is drive. Piece of cake. Easy peasy. What could go wrong?
In case you’re wondering, that’s known as foreshadowing.
But, before we get to the (minor) disasters along the way...
We learned all about Judge Roy Bean. A.k.a., “Law West of the Pecos.”
A man who, surely, even more than most Texans, was a man who straddled that thin line between rugged grandeur...
...and pure madness.
More to come.
Copyright©2024 Michael Jay Tucker
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~mjt
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