Observations (in the raw)
I look out my studio window and there is a hole in the sky. Or maybe it's more accurate to say, there is too much sky. The big pinõn tree is gone. The one that was infected by bark beetles. The one doves rested in. The one redwing blackbirds flocked to this summer and made their water sounds. The one that helped me decide where to build the studio. It's gone.
It took the gentleman no more than an hour to remove it. He had it loaded on his truck in pieces and the air smelled like a Christmas tree lot. Now I notice birds fly through the empty space and hesitate, as if confused. My memory does the same.
Pat Greenwell is an artist. A painter and sometimes poet, he has been searching the New Mexico desert for a couple of years now, looking for lost possibilities and probable intentions.
"...mostly stream-of-consciousness stuff, you know...