I scratched Zackdog behind the ears in his favorite place and watched his eyes glaze over in bliss. The he went off to be by himself and do his own gazing, at late afternoon walkers, the neighbors going to the dumpster, a car driving by, ever watchful for the odd bunnie that might make itself visible and then freeze (as if that were some brilliant defense mechanism).

This is my idea of a good time and it’s when I fall in love with Marfa again. At times, something deep inside us guides us without our conscious awareness and we are compelled to act. We owe it to ourselves at these moments to listen deeply to ourselves and not the noise around us, or the well-intentioned advice of friends or colleagues or lovers. To be selfish.

Yes, on days like today Marfa is a piece of heaven. Don’t move here.

Idee Multicolr Search Lab Flickr Set

Thanks for turning me onto this, Canton.

Compared with last year’s open house, this weekend was blessedly not a circus: the puberty patrol was abated (no free Sonic Youth concert) nor did we see parasitic galleries sprouting in every available empty space to sell dubious wares.

Basically the weekend sorts itself into two crowds: the Judd aficionados and those who come to party. One camp doesn’t exclude the other.

The high points for me were seeing the luscious colors of Olle Baertling’s paintings at Chinati, the brilliant installation of Judd, Flavin, Chamberlin and Ruff at the inde/jacobs gallery still under construction (and I’m not saying that just because I happen to exhibit there), and the show at Waypoint with work by Leslie Wilkes, Ben Meisner and Charles Fresquez.

Hope to post some pix here soon from the weekend. Meanwhile, I’m enjoying the peace and quiet.

As a word lover, I am naturally enthralled by the group names for birds. Many of these are noted in James Lipton’s book, An Exaltation of Larks. What is intriguing about the English language is how it evolves through usage, how malleable it is. Most of these group names can’t be found in the dictionary, but have been adopted through use by birders with sources as far back as 1440.

Here are some of my favorites:

• A building of rooks
• A charm of finches
• A company of parrots
• A cover of coots
• A deceit of lapwings
• A descent of woodpeckers
• An exaltation of larks
• A murmuration of starlings
• A murder of crows
• A parliament of owls
• A pitying of turtledoves
• A sord of mallards
• An unkindness of ravens

If you want more, check out the Baltimore Bird Club website, where I uncovered this list, and the handy table at Nutty Birdwatcher.

Background: Erika heard a lot of thunking under the floor of her house and a funny smell. At first, the thought was ‘mice,’ but there was much too much noise happening below decks for a creature that small. So Erika took position after nightfall outside her house and watched as, one by one, four baby javelina emerged from the crawlspace under her house.

After a short time, four baby barn swallows could be seen peering over the edge of the nest. Then the feeding began. The mom and dad, from daybreak to sunset, spent their days flying back and forth without stop to feed their babies. As they approached the nest, the four babies set to screeching as if saying “me, me, me,” their mouths gaping. How did mom and day know which was the next bird to feed? Of the four babies, one was smaller and always in the back of the nest. Don’t think it got it’s fair share.

About a month later, I was about to walk out onto the front porch when I noticed about five birds flying back and forth just in front of my door. The babies had learned to fly!

If you work in front of a computer all day as I do (and even if you don’t) what a gift to witness this.

Other news on the Marfa wildlife front: a mountain lion and her cubs spotted by my neighbor in the field across from my house; the first tarantula of this season spotted today as it booked across my front lawn; one of my cactus chomped, probably by a Javelina.

Barn Swallows

(2) jingle bells, one metal and one plastic
(1) wine cork of ancient vintage
(2) pieces of violet-colored glass and (1) cobalt blue pottery shard (discovered by Lisa of Austin Street Cafe)
(1) spring from an old clothespin
(1) small white shell

and a bit of red plastic tape with the word ‘Warning’…hmmm.

The leaves are beginning to bud, the grass is sending up new shoots, I’m getting restless. Sitting at the computer gets more difficult with each new, warm day. That said, a site I designed for Getting Sites Built launched yesterday and I’m thinking it looks pretty swell: The Asia Foundation.

Now that’s done, I have plans to get back into the studio and do some new work (my gallery will be glad to hear that).

There are rumors floated around town as to why the shelves aren’t restocked which I won’t repeat here. Rest assured they are appropriately juicy and sordid, as all good rumors should be.

As to the shelf dates…if you find yourself in Marfa and MUST shop at our local grocery store for anything other than non-perishables, check the shelf date! A good samaritan friend of mine recently cleaned out my fridge (because I do it about once every six months or so…which appalled her) and we discovered a bottle of ketchup I had recently purchased from aforesaid store that was more than one year beyond its ‘best if used before’ date.

Driven out of a crazy work schedule to ‘shop locally’ (I usually do my grocery shopping in Alpine) I rifled through the steaks to find one that didn’t have a greenish cast, finding one that had actually (or reputedly) been packaged that day. Steak for dinner! Yippee. And I didn’t even have to drive 48 miles roundtrip to get it. Well, not so great. When I opened the package there was the distinct smell of Lysol. Being of a certain pit-bull mentality, I went ahead and cooked it. My first bite confirmed what my nose had warned: Lysol.

Lucky for us a new grocery is supposed to open soon (and it can’t be too soon). Meanwhile, a short road trip to do my shopping doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

So why should it be such a surprise to me that each and every Februrary I inevitably hit the proverbial brick wall? And yet it is a surprise each time it happens. I carefully construct a supremely elegant picture of who I am and what it all means when, smack! Who is it that’s left when all the things you do fall away?

When asked what we do, we answer ‘I am…’