This is a recounting, more or less, of my second trip out to Newt and Cathy’s place in the hardscrabble desert a couple of rises east of Twentynine Palms, California.
They’re both art fucking professors, ok?
Like man, they’re pros, you know what I mean?
The real McCoy.
A couple of high-intelligence, high-talent people who can see right through the kind of bullshit that most people will drink up like Kool-aid.
I’m not quite sure why they’ve both chosen to put up with the idea of having a James MacLaren around their place for a protracted stay, but chosen they have, and I’m at peace with it. So I get to come out here, once in a while when all the planets align just so, and try to learn a thing or two about this very different world from the one I’m used to, the one I come from.
It is a world I fell immediately in love with upon first encountering it.
It has things going for it on so many different levels, that I’m quite certain that I’ll never understand the half of it, or even become aware of the half of it, but for some lucky reason, my gut instantly took it all in and said “This is the place,” in the snap of a finger, and I learned long ago to always trust my gut reactions on Matters of Substance.
I recommend you read the essays from my first trip out here, last year in July, to get yourself a better understanding of these people, the contexts within which they ply their crafts, and just generally give yourself a fighting chance to maybe understand all of the words that follow, ‘cause I’m not gonna go over ground I’ve previously covered, unless I think I have something that’s actually worth adding to what I’ve already put together, be it further explication or a justifiable repetition, ok?
Suit yourself, of course, but don’t come complaining to me if some of this stuff assumes you already know a thing or two.
And if you're looking for pictures, then it's pictures that you shall have.
But not in this essay, nor the next one for June 15.
But after that, starting with the June 16 essay, yes there shall be a full metric buttload of pictures to consider. More than you'll want, even. Click 'em for the enlargements. Collect the whole set. Whatever the fuck you feel like doing.
As far as this year's images are concerned, unlike with the last trip, I've played around with 'em. Exposure, cropping, all that jazz. But as for the actual subjects which the images depict, no. Every last bit of what you see is what was all there around me, and I never so much as laid a finger on ANY of it, prior to releasing the shutter. Just so you know, ok?
And of course there's gonna be plenty of words, too.
How many? I dunno. Somewhere between fifteen and twenty thousand, I guess.
More than enough, right?
Way more than enough, even.
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