goodbyes abound

Yesterday was an emotional day on many personal levels, but surpassing all the rest, was the memorial/celebration for Charlie Strong, artist, curator, bon vivant, dapper dresser, and friend.

He left behind hundreds of pieces of his art and a hole that can never be filled in quite the same way. His widow Lyn (married for less than a year) will carry on in his name. 

The memorial celebration was held at the Harwood Museum of Art and about 200 people showed up to sit under the tents and the trees to listen, to speak, to eat and drink and honor Charlie. It was a perfect Taos early September day. He would have liked it. Blue skies, white coulds, 75 degrees, gentle breeze. Perfection. I was asked by SOMOS to speak on their behalf and, I admit it, I was nervous.

I don't have problems speaking to large audiences under ordinary circumstances, but this wasn't ordinary.  Still, I managed. I knew Charlie well. He was a complicated, talented man. We ate, drank, and laughed a lot with him for many years. He became an icon of art in Taos.  He brought his San Francisco smarts, his commitment to art (and writing), and raised the level of the Harwood Museum while inspiring many creative individuals to be what they could be. I was able to speak about his directorship of the Foundation that funded the anthology I edited, but I could also speak to a personal relationship that spanned more than twenty years. Ron was not able to attend, but I represented him as well. He and Charlie had a relationship that was often artistically contentious, but also included mutual birth dates, families, and Margaritas.

John Nichols read a wonderful piece he wrote about their relationship with a guitar and closed his segment by playing (over the top) his own rhythm and blues improvisations which he said he hasn't ever shared with an audience as he usually sings and improvises in his kitchen at 3 AM. He brought the house down, broke the tension and sadness that had been gradually building. Others stepped up to the mike, told their stories. Maria Fortin, dear mutual friend and long time director of the Mabel Dodge Luhan House....

Bill Davis, photographer extraordinaire....

So many others. The whole event made me grateful (again) to live in this amazing place where there are so many talented people who have chosen to live here -- sometimes they're not even sure of what compelled them to stay in the first place. It's a common Taos story and one that I can relate to. A place so far from where I lived my life for more than half of my life and where I expected to remain. In my east coast mind, New Mexico was a desert where people wore blue jewelry and that was all of it. I was wrong. At least about northern NM. But there it is and it's what makes the place so special. There are few rules here as people live the way they wish to. It's liberal politically, and all ways of thinking and living just get integrated into the whole. I often call it an island of misfits, in the best sense, which ironically fits (except for the island part). But in a way, a wide valley is an island, too, isn't it?.

To add to the fullness of the day, the old cat Snowshoe (because he had six toes on each foot) passed on yesterday. He was over twenty years old and was beloved by Charlie.

It's lightly raining now on this evening as I write, the wind is vocally blowing around the house like the voices of the ancestors (not mine) and a drift of welcome dampness flows into the room from the opened door. An hour ago, before the rain came, Taos mountain lived up to its name: Sangre de Cristo, the blood of Christ. The colt is running in the rain.

Dora McQuaid (Taos poet) wrote this morning:
 ...love sometimes comes and lifts you up in ways even the heart simply cannot imagine possible...I hope that love holds you in shelter and grace today, deep and mysterious, as it lifts you up.