I will travel to see art. In 2015, I began travelling for specific art "things." Very depressed after an unexpected and dramatic breakup, I decided that if I looked at enough art, I would feel something again. I dragged myself through day trips to New York, visiting galleries and museums, as well as trips to DIA: Beacon, Dia Bridgehampton / The Dan Flavin Art Institute, Storm King Art Center, the Hirshorn Museum, MASS MoCA, The Art Institute of Chicago, Frank Lloyd Wright houses in Chicago and Pennsylvania, Taliesin West, and Marfa (twice). I enlisted others (well, some friends and family were quite willing) to join me at LACMA, Crystal Bridges Art Museum, a Frank Lloyd Wright skyscraper (The Price Tower) in Oklahoma, the Hollyhock House in LA, the Dallas Museum of Art, Kimbell Art Museum, The Georgia O'Keeffe Museum, the Tate Modern, and Yorkshire Sculpture Park. The turning point of my art quest was a trip to Art Basel in 2017 (and Kunsthaus Zürich, Vitra Design Museum, MAMCO Genève, Kunsthalle Basel, Fondazione Prada, Dan Flavin's chapel, Chiesa Rossa, and Triennale Milano). That was my first solo international trip. Besides seeing all the art, I found some freedom in being alone, abroad. I hadn't "seen enough," but I had developed some opinions about art museums and what they can or cannot bring to the art, as well as when you do and do not need to see art. Since 2017, I have continued to seek out specific museums and exhibits. For example, I planned an entire trip to Japan around a visit to Naoshima.
Walter De Maria's The Lightning Field (1977), a remote land art work located three and a half hours southwest of Albuquerque, had been on my list for years. That's about the same amount of travel commitment required to visit Marfa (a connecting flight through DFW, and a long drive). Two years ago, I decided to start emailing for tickets. You must submit an email request at midnight MT on February 1st. You can request dates, but you're not guaranteed anything. Only six people can stay at the cabin per night, from May to October. Since my schedule is somewhat flexible, I offer wide availability, but I'd prefer something from May to August. The first year I submitted a request, the proposed date didn't work: graduation. This year, I was offered Memorial Day Weekend. I knew I could make it work; all I needed was someone to go with me. My first choice made complete sense, and I planned the trip with her endorsement. But when it came to flights, I never heard back. So, I booked my flight and decided to ask my friend Aaron. He started van life in early May and could be in New Mexico by late May. I had already planned the trip: two nights in Truth or Consequences (for a visit to White Sands), a stop at the Very Large Array on the way to The Lightning Field, one night at the field, and one night in Albuquerque. We had gone to the eclipse and Big Bend National Park last year, so I knew we could easily handle this road trip and have a good time.
Aaron picked me up in the van he drove from PA, at ABQ, on a Thursday afternoon. After a stop for a green chile cheeseburger (I remain vegetarian at home, but NM is pretty far away) at The Owl Bar & Cafe in San Antonio, NM, we continued south to Truth or Consequences. I had been there once before, on one of my last trips before the COVID pandemic, during the first week of March 2020. The town had aged and declined even more in the previous five years. However, the brewery was still there, and a new pizza place had opened. The next day, we drove to White Sands, with stops in Hatch, Las Cruces for Mexican food at La Nueva Casita Café, and PistacioLand for ice cream and snacks.
We arrived a few very hot (90 degrees) hours before sunset at White Sands National Park. I wanted to see sunset over the dunes. I'd been to White Sands twice before, both during the day. I relaxed and took photos from the original MCM picnic shelters in the parking lots (I'm obsessed with their design), while Aaron made some repairs on his van. We walked out on the dunes before sunset and wandered. We both take photos. I had never seen the park so crowded. Both of my visits had been in March, and the park had been empty. The clouds were just right for a sunset. Indeed, I saw the cotton candy, pastel clouds of the southwest that I hoped to see. They just don't make colors quite like that on the East Coast.
The next day, after a stop at Blake's Lotaburger for breakfast burritos in Socorro, we drove to the Very Large Array. Everyone who knows me knows I have "starred places" all over the world on Google Maps. I "star" all kinds of things, everywhere; whenever I learn about something I want to see, do, visit, or eat, I star it. Perhaps I'll visit that country, maybe I won't, but I've already conducted some research. The Very Large Array, a radio astronomy observatory comprised of twenty-eight 25-meter radio telescopes, had been on my map for a decade. But, despite several long southwest road trips and visits to NM, it had eluded me. Finally, this curious stop was in the trip's path. We stopped and took photos, but we had to arrive at the Lightning Field office by a specific time. We visited the Array the next day as well. I became obsessed with this bizarre spot from the movie Contact, and I have a t-shirt of it, made by a female-run motorcycle apparel company. Learning more about the observatory was super cool. The tone that "science is real" was strong here.
After arriving at the DIA office in Quemado, you leave your car and take a van for 45 minutes to The Lightning Field. We met the three people we'd stay with in the cabin: very lovely, art-interested or art-related people from Brooklyn. In all of the art pilgrimages I've been on, there are always New Yorkers, dressed in black, with fun glasses (often, like on the many trains and ferries to Naoshima, you can tell you're on the correct path by seeing these individuals). I admit, I can look very similar.
The incredibly friendly caretaker drives you to the rustic, original homesteader cabin, and tells you the rules: no photos out of respect to the artist, and don't touch the poles. Dinner and breakfast are prepared for you in the fridge, along with the necessary instructions. There are beds for six. We chose the part of the cabin with a separate entrance, two twin beds, and a bathroom.
Immediately, I wandered into the field. The 1977 work is "400 polished stainless-steel poles installed in a grid array measuring one mile by one kilometer. The poles—two inches in diameter and averaging 20 feet, 7½ inches in height—are spaced 220 feet apart and have solid, pointed tips that define a horizontal plane." The art was intended to be experienced over a long period, in small numbers. This concept reminds me of Donald Judd's philosophy on art: see a single artist's work, all of it together, in a permanent place. By immersing yourself in one artist's work, in the way they intended, you truly experience their art. This site is a variation on that. The importance of "the light" also reminds me of James Turrell's work (he uses light as his medium for a variety of sculptures and installations). His Skyspaces are best viewed in the hour before sunrise and the hour after sunset. So, I knew that those hours would be the best time for The Lightning Field. The starkness of overhead light would not offer much to the stainless steel poles. But I wanted to walk the landscape and experience it as much as possible. The New Mexico sky and landscape have inspired countless artists; Georgia O'Keeffe, for example, would wander for hours and find something for her work (and cow skulls that ended up in her paintings). We went out into the field again before sunset, walking to the very edges. I watched the clouds and knew there were likely to be a few minutes when the sun would peak out and light up the field. Not to sound obnoxious, but photographers are constantly assessing the light, watching the direction of the clouds, and judging time and seasons by the sun's movements. Indeed, the sun came out for less than ten minutes, and "it" happened. The thing I imagined would happen with the field did happen. We walked back to the cabin for dinner and went to bed relatively early.
I made it up for sunrise, barely. I could see the sunrise from my window, and I knew it was cloudy, which meant the pre-dawn hour would be a little less interesting. About ten minutes before daybreak, I walked out into the field. We were all out there, in separate places. It felt like we were waiting for something significant to happen; it makes you understand why people celebrate the light. Indeed, it seemed triumphant when the sun came up over the horizon. The thing happened again, for just a few minutes, before the sun hid behind the clouds. About so much of life, I have adopted the child-oriented philosophy: "You get what you get and you don't get upset." I did not expect that lightning would happen. I know the monsoon season is later in the summer. I would have been happy with any weather. Regardless, I saw the artists's vision, as intended. That was enough. I'd go back in a heartbeat, because each sky, sunset, and sunrise is different. And New Mexico, quite often, has breathtaking ones.
After the van ride back to the DIA office, we drove to the Array, had lunch in Socorro, and checked into our Airbnb in Albuquerque. Aaron chose the 66 Diner for dinner. The staff were all punk kids, but they dressed in 1950s-style diner outfits, creating a very fun juxtaposition.
The next morning, we wandered around Albuquerque's Old Town. I had never been there before, despite my travels to New Mexico. My flight was in the early afternoon. I said goodbye and good luck to my friend. I won't see him again until he returns to PA in December. We had another unique trip in the desert together: many thanks to him for joining my pre-planned adventure and going along for the ride.
I'll continue to travel for art. Art offers wonder and surprise. It kept me alive for many years. In those intervening years, I developed my own art practice in photography. It's a practice that has saved me on many days. And art is something we all may need, now more than ever.
