here are some pics from the trip:
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Ah Marfa.
Town of equal parts romantic desert squalor...
...architectural imperialism...
...frontier whimsy...
...and the epicuriously indigenous.
I slept in "Little Pinky" for the week.
Nothing but a table full of writing instruments and coffee, a fridge full of cheap groceries, and a bottle of Woodford Reserve to sip (not pictured). It was off season and the grounds (and the whole town, really) were deserted. It was way colder than I thought SW Texas could ever be. There was one day where I could sit out on that deck in the sun and sip the Woodford, but most days it was overcast with an icy wind blasting over the Trans-Pecos.
At night, I'd sit at the table writing, the wind howling and rocking the trailer, Santa Muerte candles lit, until I couldn't stay awake. It was fabulous. Next day, wash rinse repeat.
Except I didn't really wash. I had an outdoor shower that was frozen most days. So I stank.
For art.
Aside from a necessary setup day upon arrival, I spent nearly all my time in the trailer. I walked up the road into town only once a day, either for lunch or for dinner. I'd take a break in the middle of the day and go to the one wifi hotspot in the main cabin to catch up on emails and upload any files needin' uploaded in front of the fire.
By the last day, my brain was getting a little soft, so I went easy and spent the last half of the day roaming around town taking photos. I went to the Chinati foundation and walked down a long dirty path to the concrete Judd installation, up a hill to the top of a knoll, where I encountered a family of deer. Or gazelles. Or apes. Maybe they were apes. I don't know.
Friday night, I happened upon an art opening in an old church. It was like I'd discovered a secret society of Manhattan art socialite vampires that only came out on Friday nights to drink Big Bend and look at transgressive oil paintings hung inside former places of worship. I left there and went to a poorly lit saloon called Padre's, where I ate a steer-sized hamburger and watched a Mexican DJ with deformed hands make mariachi beats on a stage.
I stayed there long enough to drink myself nauseous and went to a place next door that billed itself as a "museum of electronic wonders and late night grilled cheese parlour." Inside the small building was an enormous collection of ancient TVs, most of them displaying the black and white face of the owner slowly moving his mouth into various interesting and acrobatic shapes. Transmaniacon MC by Blue Oyster Cult was playing on an 8-track carousel when I arrived, and when I left (not before opting for the "Classic Grilled Cheese" over the explosively spicy "The Motherfucker") it was Iggy Pop's "The Idiot."
Can't say I've ever quite taken a trip like this. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, although I did it not so much for pleasure but to scratch a creative itch.
A band camp, of sorts.
Thanks for the suggestions, errbody. I can't remember who recommended Marfa, but I'm glad ya did!
