It’s Only a Canvas Sky, Hanging Over a Muslin Tree
At Colorado Springs, we encountered the first real snag in our cross-country journey to Santa Fe –new truck tires. This meant a slight delay and one that I could not afford to take. Without hesitation I continued on to Santa Fe in a rental car, leaving both traveling companions behind. I had an immovable deadline and a difficult task – photographing and processing twenty-nine degree scenes in seven days. There would be no stage crew or wardrobe department during each photo shoot, just Jo and I. We were up against the wall.
It was during my drive from Colorado to New Mexico that I finally felt able to breathe again. It was the mountains and the fall colors that energized my core. At the first glimpse of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, I finally felt that my soul was whole again and I was at peace. Every time I visited this area of New Mexico, I pondered how soon we could move here. I really am living in the wrong region, I thought. Picking up a handful of the area’s colorful dirt urges many to contemplate its ancient inhabitants; this is the inspiration that calls to many artists. It pulls at your soul and begs you to stay in the arid desert, capturing the vivid skies and tumultuous rainstorms. It makes me want to hike ancient trails and paint age old scenes.
During my week in Santa Fe, Jo and I worked non-stop, scheduling three photo sessions a day with a new groups of models for every shoot. Luckily, I ended up staying at Jo’s home so that we could “work” before work at the Scottish Rite and “work” after work at the Scottish Rite. We had been unable to secure enough volunteers from the Santa Fe Scottish Rite Reunion, so Masonic men were scarce to act as models. Jo brought in a variety of local residents and friends who added to our workload. This meant new people and meeting a variety of fascinating local artists and photographers- many who were transplants to the region from various areas across the globe. Even my traveling companions came into help for two days and once again, Andrew was handling the lines and Christee dressing people in wardrobe. Thank God for their help as I was starting to burn out.
As wonderful as the landscape and people were, I needed to be in a Scottish Rite theatre again. Every time I step onto a Scottish Rite stage, I experience a moment magic. The stage and painted scenery collections become living entities. It is something that passes on Masonic messages to each new generation and I find tranquility. I used to compare it to “coming home.” I step on a Scottish Rite stage, look up at the wooden battens, and become part of something greater than myself; it gives me purpose. Whatever I may have experienced at the Minnesota Masonic Heritage Center, it had nothing to do with the Fraternity or Masonic principles. It was devoid of this magic. Standing under the stage lights, I realized that I would continue my calling elsewhere; seeking peace on other fraternal stages steeped in history.
Throughout the entire shoot, Jo and I recognized that we were involved in something groundbreaking, standing on the edge of a precipice that contained something truly unique. Many historical painted scenes had been photographed throughout the decades, some even with costumed participants in static stage pictures. But we were Photographing 1912 degree productions with a contemporary photographic style where Jo activated various areas of the composition to suggest the life on stage.
To be continued…
