Showing posts with label Chaco Canyon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chaco Canyon. Show all posts

October 26, 2018

Angel Sunset/ Shards of Time

Angel Sunset
By Brionna Garcia
Angel Peak
October 17, 2018



The first night we arrived to Angel Peak, our new temporary home for the next busy week, the sky gods left us a gift of inspiration. As soon as dinner was ready, we were spoiled with a breathtaking view of Northern New Mexico. Never before had I seen the gradient of sky colors in collaboration with the gradient of geological time. 

This view became our backyard/backdrop for all of the discussions we had regarding the ugliness of fracking, during most of our meals, and during the entirety of the creation process of our zines to bring awareness to the negative implications of fracking. 





Shards of Time
Brionna Garcia 
Chaco Canyon
October 17, 2018











Kyle and I made the hike to the top of the mesa at Chaco Canyon to view Casa Bonita from a bird’s perspective. On our hike we were stunned by the tinajas that were carved into sandstone by years and years of water erosion. While we were sitting in large tinaja to share rolled cigarettes and stone-ground chocolate, we were playing in the dirt and happened upon these ancient pottery shards. From my background knowledge of Chacoan pottery, these vessels were made from white clay and using a reduction fire process, the glaze painted on the pottery with yucca brushes appears black. It was incredibly fascinating to hold something made by an “artist” long ago. I wondered if they considered themselves an artist, or if they were making this piece for functionality. It made me feel tied to whomever had their hands in the clay. Did they know a thousand years later someone would be mesmerized by their vision of beauty and culture? We carefully placed the shard back where and how we found it sending veneration to the people that came before us.

October 16, 2018

The Tower (Fracking at Greater Chaco)

The Tower (Fracking at Greater Chaco)
By Rowan Willow

few of the fracking wells at Greater Chaco are visible from highway 550. Some of the storage facilities and refineries look menacing, but the wells themselves don’t look imposing at all. If you were to drive by without the knowledge of the current struggle of the area with Big Oil, you might not notice anything out of the ordinary. Such large, oblong, sleekly painted shapes are a staple of highway life in the country, probably other countries as well. Chaco is a monument, ruins that can never be touched. Everything else is just business as usual.

These wells are fracturing communities. They affect the mental and physical health of the indigenous communities whose ancestors grew this land and worked with the magic of this place.

When I think of the fracking in the greater Chaco region, I think of the Tarot Card The Tower. The card is unanimously agreed to be a reference to the Tower of Babel, a tower where we tried to reach God through the heavens, and God- knowing we could not reach Him, made language divide so we could no longer communicate. The story does not communicate a disaster, instead it provides hope. The doorway on the card signifies that people were not forced to leave, they left out of their own volition, because the way to communicate with God is not through unattainable ideals, but through connection and cultivation of the earth.
Maybe our world is set up to make money off its exploitation, and maybe that exploitation will be realized until there is nothing left. But no matter how much we try to build our tower to utopia through oil, we will end up with the realization that we will only attain this utopia through working and understanding the earth and its wisdom.


October 15, 2018

Reality Tour

Reality Tour
By Blaise Koller
Four Corners
September 26, 2018

Things today going on the “Fracking is Fracking Reality Tour” with Daniel Tso

-Yellow Poles: Warning gas pipeline
-Loud, unrelenting ubiquitous motors
-Petrified Wood
-Huge circular pools filled with produced water (In traditional oil and gas wells, produced water is brought to the surface along with oil or gas.)
-Dog tracks
-White PVC pipelines
-Flat soft black plastic tubes
-Workers setting up a well
-Many semi trucks carrying water and other supplies with names unkown to me
-Huge blue storage containers professing “rain for rent” on the sides
-Pools from fracking water runoff
-White and pink tiny flowers on unknown plant
-Yellow and black bold sign “METHANE GAS ODORLESS TOXIC IN OUR AIR”
-Elementary school with very high readings
-Colorful sunset
-Fajada Butte in the distance looking from a fracking site




October 13, 2018

Angel Peak

Angel Peak

This week, I met a great many things for the first time.

I met the drilling pads. A flat concrete pad, large metal cylinders to hold the winnings, stovetop pipes sticking out of the ground fanning nearly invisible waves of methane into the air, one or more compressor fans droning day and night. The well itself is a small tangle of pipes, mostly massed invisibly underground with long horizontal legs driven into the broken rock, reaching out to siphon strange blood out of stone. Once you know how to see them, they are everywhere.

Tucked mostly away from the highway, along the side roads you will start to see drill pads behind every hill, around the bend of every mesa, just behind those junipers, just over that rise, right next to that grandma’s house, near the church, next to the cornfield, and alongside the sheep pasture. Everywhere. If you get out of your car, you’ll hear them before you see them.

Or, more likely, you’ll start to feel them. A headache will creep up on you from seemingly nowhere. You will start to feel nauseous, like you can’t get a breath of fresh air, but not be able to figure exactly what’s wrong. That’s what happened to me in just one day spent around the wells. Imagine the situation for those who live every day right next door.

I met a toxic tangle of historical racism, violence, and injustice still playing out today, the ground for dirty industry made fertile by a continuing legacy of fear.

I met guides, protectors, teachers, and activists. People of this place by ancestry, tradition, and spirit, who love its juniper infused vistas, organize their lives around the patterns of the stars seen from within its wide sky, and want good, healthy lives for their elders and children.

Several days in to learning about and meeting these realities, feeling firsthand the keen and vibrant life of the Greater Chaco region along with a fraction of the pain it must be to experience your home being destroyed around you every day, I also met a tarantula.

I had been running down a dirt road, away from other people. Not running particularly well, especially given my bare feet and the coffee cup from camp breakfast that morning that I was still clutching in my hand. I don’t have much practice with bare-foot-coffee-cup-running on sand – I’m sure I looked like a bizarre white scarecrow being chased by invisible phantoms out into the field. That is to say, like a goofball. But I had to run because I was so dang angry that otherwise I would punch something.

Everyone around me at that moment was much too nice to punch, and anyway we had been talking all that week about the importance of peaceful activism. So, I wound up running like a scarecrow just to get out some of that rage. Being an utter failure at sand running, I eventually slowed down and stopped, sat down on the road, and tried to put things in perspective. Why I was there in that place, the responsibility that I felt to try to contribute something positive to the efforts of the protectors – to amplify but not gentrify their work – and what I could do about it. As I sat in the sand, I could see two drilling platforms to my North and Southwest. I could hear another just beyond the rise. I tried to tune them out and focus on the warm sand in the cool morning air, the resilience and beneficence of the plants still thriving in a trammeled land. I calmed down.

I stood up to walk back toward camp, and that’s when I met her. A big, fuzzy tarantula beauty, marching one leg after the other after the other (march march march; march march march; three on each side, all in rhythm!) down the road. We were heading in the same direction, so I joined in. March march march, march march, march march march. I tried to match my two-legged stride to the spider’s six.
Calm, quiet resolve emanated from this determined creature. I don’t know where the tarantula was headed, or really where I’m headed either, but for a while we just walked along the road together. And I thought: this is exactly what we need – this calm determination, this peaceful but implacable movement forward. One step in front of the other, one zine, one letter to a congress person, one protest, one friendship made, one alliance made, step by step by step, by step, by step. Continued, caring, focused, unflappable motion.

Eventually the tarantula turned away, their direction lying more to the North than the road cared to travel. I waved goodbye and said thank you for the lesson, a lesson I will keep trying to hold in my heart and acting out, step by step. A lesson that the protectors of Greater Chaco have already learned and are generously teaching others who also believe in the importance of a living land and sustainable society – step by step, always focused on creating better lives for all.


#FrackOffGreaterChaco

October 12, 2017

I Luv Shadows – photo evidence

By Mikala Sterling
Chaco Canyon, Four Corners, NM
September 24, 2017

Apparently was brought here as a baby and set down in a nicho and almost bitten by a rattlesnake… I have no memory of this! It’s all hearsay-

Mesmerized by Chacoan relationship with architecture and astronomy
Shadow (and light) moments:







-->

September 14, 2014

Musings. . .

Kylie Heikkila

“For myself I hold no preferences among flowers, so long as they are wild, free, spontaneous. Bricks to all greenhouses! Black thumb and cutworm to the potted plant!”

-Edward Abbey

But Ed Abbey!


My internal battle . . .

To love plants and flowers in openness and freedom vs. the strong desire to cut them down in their prime and arrange them!


Forget Me Not . . .


C H A C O C A N Y O N
Heat. History. Sand. Sky. Sage. Gluten. Nausea. Ravens. “Do Not Step Beyond This Point.”

E L V A D O D A M
Bones. Iced Coffee. Rattlesnakes. Mud. Wood. Indian Paintbrush. Spiders. Clouds. Stones. Water. Cabin.


Yeee-haw!

September 12, 2014

Trip 1: Part 2 -Chaco Canyon to El Vado and Bill’s (Country Bunker) Cabin.

Amanda Stuart

Chaco Canyon (via Walmart)

My presumption that the second flying swoop for supplies at a more regional temple of Walmart would be kinder upon this mountain hardy Land Arts crew, would prove to be hopelessly wrong. I watched helpless, as my campanieros circled endlessly in a morbid trance through this labyrinth of impossible consumption, fighting to keep their souls anchored.

This place messes with your mind.
Did I really need that acme semi-inflatable, reversible decoy fishing jacket and matching broncos cheerleader parachute leisure-suit with optional gaiters?
What was I thinking?

Jen and Ryan enroute to Chaco Canyon

The prize for holding fast through this purgatory madness was well worth it.
Two words…Chaco Canyon. We rolled in late Monday afternoon and set up a now increasingly streamlined camp. Words can’t suffice so I resort to imagery to convey something of the magic and privilege of experiencing this sacred place…imbued deeply with the culture of its custodians, the Hopi, Navajo and Pueblo Indian peoples of New Mexico. A World Heritage Site since 1987, Chaco is now tightly managed by the National Park Service.

Chaco Campsite



Tara, Noel and Staci hit the upper mesa

The Crew


The ruined whispers of past great cultures (over 1000yrs old) stand solidly silent in this high desert landscape, with its striking sandstone mesas shaped by wind and water and embroidered with petroglyphs. I am humbled by its stark beauty, its overwhelming sense of space, which teems with life despite the harsh climate.

The crew have been deeply moved by Chaco and a sense of wonderment resided over the camp as meals and fires were mustered. We were treated to some spectacular sunrises and sets (which got me channeling my inner Clint Eastwood) and the waxing moon gave way to a session of stargazing. Locating Antares and the constellation Scorpio got me thinking about home. It was the first time I’ve been able to get my head around the northern hemisphere cosmos.


Things begin to make sense, when you stop trying to make sense.

Part 2: Bill’s Cabin

Increasingly for me, America is a country of stunning contrasts.
From the lush Rio Grande headwaters to the arid heart of Chaco Canyon (via Walmart) and all of this within one days’ drive.

And so to Bill’s Cabin.

Nestled within what were once waterfront views of the El Vado Reservoir, (about 2 ½ hrs drive NE of ALBQ), this rustic cabin retreat owned by much respected Land Arts elder Bill Gilbert and family, became a working home base for our intrepid crew.



I experiment with traction and scale in drawings, inspired by the howling coyotes heard at Chaco Canyon and El Vado.

(Amelia in my heart, feet and mind)


We explored, got wet, unleashed some enterprising (nay balmy) ideas and to generally got to probe the boundaries of creative enquiry. I’ll let the pictures do the talking, but suffice to say a magnifico loco time was had by all, under a glorious fattening moon. Many a great meal was imbibed and fertile idea sown…. and we concluded this first Field trip on a resounding and resolute high.

‘Til Soon, campanulas XXX




Canyon echoes for HQ XXX (photo credit Tara Marshall Tierney)

The Journey

Wayne Nez Gaussoin

As I began to awake by the increasingly glowing orange dew soaked rainfly. I am trying to make sense of where I am. An increasingly loud roar comes closer and closer from the distance at a rapid pace. My heart starts to increase, it pulses at the same rate now the object that was in the distance now feels like it skimming the roof of my tent with all its muster and power. I am fully awaken now and remember I am in an alfalfa field south of the Albuquerque International Airport.

Farmland, Junkyard, Alfalfa, water treatment plant, Rio Grande river, ducks, port o potty, cottonwoods, allergies and of course the mosquitos, yes the evening attire for all, mosquitos. All of these elements are what have influenced surrounded and engulfed what is now called the Valle del Oro.


Starting out in the element with a group of only a couple familiar faces this was the beginning adventure of a group of strangers whom were about to engage in a 2 week journey together, living, learning not only each others pace but the environments we were about to explore.

During our journey there we decided collectively that it would be best to evacuate the beating Albuquerque heat and escape under the large cottonwood trees near the River to reflect, observe and learn to take serious notes about the natural world we were going to embark on. Not only the natural world but how as humans have we learned to adapt and in some aspects dominate and how we affect that as humans and Artists. Therefore like all humans before us we started with the creation of fire! Our good mentoring visiting guest Joel not only showed us the tools to staying warm and alive but invigorated our mentalities through teachings that he has learned from the ( tribe ) that he shared with us. Being who I am, it was a little hard to swallow at first judging his sincerity, which actually ended up being completely honest and actually we continued the morning practice the rest of our journey every other morning...for awhile.


As, our time there closed and it was time to move on up north
this part of the trip entered into a new world...


Rio Grande Headwaters


Visceral sound echoing through the canyon of a permeated history, calming the mind and displacing time making one feel micro to the cosmic universe. Time spent here puts a pause on constant email and social media addiction. Instead the rushing river and wind are the new ipod beats as I walk through the aspens. The fire we make at night, just to keep us warm for a bit is also the evenings Netflix choice. It is a real treat to be in such a visually attractive place. My only gripe that has been increasingly growing is...the constant annoyance of getting out of the way of serous faced ATV Users. The more time spent here and hearing the ruckus in the distance tearing through the mountains. This is a personal inner conflict, I am starting to realize. An inner battle and reminder of attributed carelessness of our connection to the land and the true appreciation of what gives us life. At the same time, I know it is fun ripping through the forest in a Jeep or ATV, using natural resources to our demand and pleasure, this is the world we have created for ourselves... When a group of us hiked up the Pole Creek trail and climbed to the top of a steep hill that over looks a massive waterfall. This definitely gave a contrasting feeling as I overlooked the massive valley and realized its immense power making feel micro. This was a fortunate opportunity to feel so small. This space allowed us to to gain a healthy aspect of the land and each other where we able to start to actually use found elements in sculptural ways. I felt that this process was a healthy way of being able to just see... and know that art is a true practice that has to be worked on continuously and changes continuously.




back south we traveled...


Chaco Canyon (National Monument)


We are not the first and we will not be the last... We are only in the 4th world.

Being a resident New Mexican, I can’t believe that I have never visited here before. I recommend this to all my NM people. This is a must it is a place that places you in a timeline of history, simplicity and beauty. It made me think of what a little ...complainer, I can be in life. Looking at all the symmetry of the precisely stacked walls and how the entire place was put together by bringing trees chopped with handmade stones and carried somehow about 30 - 40 miles away.


It made me think how much love there was for this place for so much work and detail to go into this massive place, where we would drive from Kiva to Kiva to reflect on spaces for ancient meditations. The little walking that I did in this vast area felt like I had walked for days. The sun was so very powerful showing its strenght as my little brimmed had did its best to hold back the UV’s. I feel I could go on and on about all the questions I had about this place and the curiosity of my own human DNA rooting these walls to an ancestrial past time telling stories that are whispered through the walls. This location is still puzzling archeologist a thousand plus years later. If anything.. some of these ideas might pop up in my work later...?


El Vado Lake
North East of Chaco - North West of Santa Fe / Albuquerque
Our last trip on Journey I .


In this spot, I was able to come more clear of my ideas in how my thoughts and creations started to collide with the land. On our way there we luckily ran into the man named Mike, who told us all about the Reservoir as much as he knew, and boy...most of it was over my head. CFC and what not. As I started to grasp the ideas it started to make sense to me in terms of Water Pressures and Levels.


Through the observation of the reservoir and the high desert landscape my ideas started to formulate with my own sense of curiosity.

One of two projects that I would say were of curious study was the question of ... now how do I take a nap in this blazing heat with no trees within 50 yards and only boulders to lay on. This was the birth of the Kite Camp.


Now, while I was up at the Head Waters I had discussions with Jenn Hartmann about the concept of home and one instinctually creating a space to inhabit it. The couple of tools I had with me were my hiking sticks, tarp and a couple of bungees. I had tried in numerous amount of ways to make it work but the wind just wouldn’t have it. An old Aikido philosophy that had actually come up during Joels talks was the concept of working with the elements and not working against it. Therefore, my tarp that was flapping in the wind was transformed into a kite. The tarp kept wanting to take that shape anyhow and all I had to do was figure out how to harvest the wind that would keep it up above my head and anchored to the ground. My hiking poles began to act as a steering wheel navigating the air that it would catch and all the boulders I was sitting on easily kept the back corners anchored to the ground..after that, it was smooth sailing.


I soon took down my kite camp and started to head back as it was starting to get late and I didn’t want to travel back in the dark. I was observing how dry the outer perimeters of the lake were, where it once was. The patterns of the cracks created a beautifully eerie feeling, as the hard dirt below rumbled and cracked below my feet. The concept of water has always been a mystery to mankind. It gives us life, we are constantly learning from it and often we think we are trying to control it by placing dams on it. Water is something we are always learning from. It made me think of the Ancient symbol of my pueblo pueblo. “ Avanyu” ( Tewa ; meaning water serpent). This serpent like figure is an ancient figure representing a connection to water, rain, rivers above and below ground. Growing up in New Mexico this depiction is found almost everywhere now days starting from ancient cliff walls to pueblo pottery and even mugs and t-shirts in tourist shops. I started to think about what it meant to me, as I started to draw out my own interpretation lines in the dry dirt. The area I chose was on a slight lean toward back to the reservoir. The deeper and deeper lines I began to draw as it became a slow addiction, as I am sure there was a little smile to my face like a kid drawing in the beach sand. I eventually made the lines deep enough that they started to look like little rivers to me. I decided what would the relationship if this was a performance like piece and I decided to take water from the reservoir and pour into the lines of the large drawing ( about 50ft) that ended up pouring back into the reservoir.. so I decided to try it. ( stay tuned as video should come later...)




Land Arts... I was curious how it would change my style or make me think about the approach to my work... So I tried. check back for more adventures.

NM

Noel Mollinedo

So haven’t worked too much in composing music of my own. Somehow at this time it seemed appropriate as the way of cataloging these rapid and full experiences. Each place has a song or two.


Headwaters CO

Wander


River Song


Chaco Canyon NM

Ruins


These are the main song structures. It would be great to put audio recordings from the places themselves into the songs. Sounds of wind, crickets, water, laughter.
Less as adornments, I would hope they’d become part of the song.

Theres a song that still needs to be put together for El Vado as well.

Big Skies in the Desert.

Cristine Posner

Where I’m from, between the humidity and the tall buildings, the visibility is nothing in comparison to the South West. I never knew the sky could look so big. The clouds wisp in an endless sea of blue over the golden-lit desert. We had the most beautiful day to explore Chaco Canyon. There is so beauty and fascination but not nearly enough time to soak it all in.






Chaco Canyon echoes.

Staci Page

A day of walking into bright heat, peering into the past, and then waking to a chorus of coyotes before the next dawn.






In Ruins

Geneva Boliek-Poling

After spending five days with pines and aspen and damp earth, coming back to the desert was a harsh change, but it definitely felt like home (thanks, New Mexico, for being consistently hot and dry). The sky opened up to beautiful blue and the sun beat a little stronger. But when night came and the air cooled off, it was the best feeling. The sunset lit the sky with pink and purple, silhouetting the mesas against the slivered moon and stars.


To me, the desert is still. It’s quiet. There is something about walking around the ruins that makes me slow down and feel everything that is preserved in the rocks around me. The desert changes slowly and doesn’t forget much, so I definitely feel traces of the past when I sit for a moment in the shade with my back to a wind-weathered rock face. Things like this always seem to keep me coming back for more.