The Blumenschein House, Taos

Star Road and White Sun by Ernest L. Blumenschein c.1920, Albuquerque Museum 

Since I've been on this dwelling theme for a while, why not continue for a bit longer, eh?

I was back in Taos over the weekend to pick up Ms. Ché who'd finished her writers' conference, and we decided to stop at the Blumenschein House on our way out of town to compare and contrast it with the Couse House which we'd visited the prior weekend.

Blumenschein, together with Bert Phillips, started the process of making Taos into the place it is today when their famous Wagon Wheel broke a couple of dozen miles from town and Blumenschein won the toss to take it into the hamlet somewhere down below them to get it fixed. They had to wait, as one can imagine there in the middle of nowhere, and so they did.

While waiting, they became enchanted, so the story goes, and they spent the rest of the summer awestruck and delighted, painting up a storm, and pondering their own futures.

Phillips stayed in Taos the rest of his life. Having settled in, there's no other place he'd rather be. Blumenschein went back to Paris where Joseph Henry Sharp had told him and Bert about the enchantment to be found in Northern New Mexico, and one thing led, eventually, to another, and all of them wound up living and working in Taos at least part time, and Blumenschein and his wife Mary settled in themselves, purchasing Buck Dunton's place (or part of it) on Ledoux St, where they set up quarters of a sort and a studio in four ancient rooms said to have been a part of the village defenses against the Indians when time was.

I won't go into that history, but quite a few of the Spanish settlements in Tierra Adentro were consciously built as fortresses, and the village of Taos was no exception. The Indians were wild back in the day, particularly Kiowa, Comanche, Apache and Navajos.

The appropriate tangent at this point is to mention that there are three distinct "Taos"-es. There is the ancient Indian Pueblo at the foot of the Mountain; there is the village some three or four miles south; then there is Ranchos de Taos, several miles south of the village, where stands San Francisco de Asis mission church that's been painted by Georgia O'Keeffe dozens of times and by other painters endless numbers of times.  Side note: Dennis Hopper is buried in Ranchos de Taos, and his grave is a pilgrimage site for a diminishing number of aging Easy Riders.

Surrounding all of this is an amorphous outlying settlement area dotted with ranches and ranchettes and earthships and what have you where by far the largest number of Taoseños currently live scattered to the winds perhaps, but partaking in their own way the essence of that Sacred Placewhere they don't have to mix too much with the tourists.

At least it's not as bad as Sedona.

Anyway, none of the Taoses would be what they are today without Bluemschein and Phillips and the other members of the Taos Society of Artists and their numerous offshoots and successors and the many other influencers who have passed through or settled there since that fateful Wagon Wheel broke in the summer of 1898.

Blumenschein returned to Taos in the summertime for years, but he lived in Paris or New York, making money as a successful illustrator for magazines and books, until 1919 when he purchased "four rooms" from Buck Dunton, another member of the Taos Society, and settled in, or at least tried to. This was like camping out for the Blumenscheins and most of the other artists attracted by the Blumenscheins and others to Taos. The four rooms were built of mud and timbers, some of the structure apparently among the oldest still standing in the village, they had little heat, no electricity or indoor plumbing, and like everything else in Taos they were at the edge of Nowhere. It's hard to explain how difficult it was to get to Taos from anywhere else, and to get from Taos to anywhere else. This isolation was both a handicap and a blessing.

The house as it stands today is a rambling L shaped structure around a lush courtyard, in one corner of which is Buck Dunton's studio -- which he apparently kept even after all the other rooms on the property  had been purchased by the Blumenscheins. This part of the story is a little confusing to me. Apparently Buck bought part of the rambling structure from earlier residents, but most of the structure was owned by and lived in by long-time Hispanic residents who one by one were persuaded to vacate by Blumenschein's offers of cash money. At least that's how I interpret the story of how Ernest Blumenschein eventually acquired the entire property.

This is a pattern that repeats over and over again -- even now --throughout the fancier and more tourist oriented areas of New Mexico. It's a form of gentrification, pushing out the original settlers and descendants to make way for the shiny, sophisticated newcomers. "Sophisticated" is the key.

The Blumenscheins were nothing if not sophisticated, and yet their mud house on Ledoux Street is a curious amalgam of its primitive Hispanic roots and the high style that the Blumenscheins had acquired in Paris and New York. Curiously, there's almost no Native influence in the house at all, though apparently they employed Native servants as well as Hispanic ones (this was typical of the art colony.)

The Couse house shows lots of Native influence or at least artifacts, and Mabel's Place up the road from the Couse House was built by Native artisans from the Pueblo, and of course, Mabel was married to Tony Luhan (who had his own house on the property) who was born and raised (and had another wife and children) on the Pueblo.

There are a number of other Taos Society historic sites to explore, and eventually we may get to them, or not. I started my explorations of this sort many years ago at La Fonda de Taos where I stopped one evening to take in the D.H.Lawrence scandalous paintings. The ones there now are reproductions, but I saw the originals... and to be kind, I wasn't moved. But it started my journey to learn more about the artistic history of Taos.

It's a story of colonizers and colonization, one that has transformed some of New Mexico yet has left much of the rest of the state practically untouched.

On our way back from Taos this past Sunday we stopped off at the Santuario de Chimayó where a large group of East Indian pilgrims was taking all the Holy Dirt out of the Holy Dirt Pit and transporting it away in gallon containers. There seemed to be none left for the other pilgrims. We sat beside the abandoned crutches and Santo Niño and shook our heads in wonder and wiped the sweat from our brows as the heat and humidity of the day was surprisingly intense. We nodded to the statue of Father Roca in the courtyard. His generosity of spirit will live on....

"Yeah, but will I ever ride a horse again?"

Full day, full week, more than full. August is a whirlwind of things to do or get done. And then there's September.

We've been on the road a lot lately, always within New Mexico, Northern New Mexico at that, but still, much driving, yesterday especially.

There was a stop in ABQ to start the day, then it was out to Cochiti Pueblo for some chili and potato salad and oven bread at the Virgil Ortiz open house, the first time he'd opened his studio to the public. Interesting. Well, his studio had been turned into a showroom for his own works and those of family members.

I mentioned in a post last year that we attended the gallery opening for Virgil's Venutian Soldiers works -- photos, costumes, pottery -- in Santa Fe; yesterday was the debut of his "Evolution" series, which includes some of the Venutian Soldiers material and carries the story further.

The Pueblo Revolt of 1680 is the source point for the whole series and has served as the focus of Virgil's considerable output since he returned to the Pueblo from his whirlwinds among the rich and famous as a Big Time New York Designer, etc. Now the Pueblos have another one, Patricia Michaels, who was also having an event yesterday at Pojoaque, but she doesn't get so much into the Revolt as Virgil has.

There are many things I like about Virgil's stuff, and among them is that Anglos (who are the bulk of his customers and supporters) may have little or no conception of what he is doing or how ultimately subversive it is. Dude is on a mission.

Missing the Old Guy At Chimayó; Then Up to Dixon for the Recuerdos of Another Old Guy

El Santuario de Chimayó from Wikimedia Commons

Old.

I'll say.

We don't often travel very far from home base here in the Estancia Valley, partly because we only have one vehicle, and it's old, and if it breaks down out in the middle of nowhere, we're screwed. Well, someone will help of course, but still.

[A note on that "someone will help" line. When we got back to our little neck of the woods late last night, we noticed sheriff with its lights flashing and a police car were at the park in town, and as we got closer, we noticed an ambulance with its back door open and someone being treated inside. Just barely visible in the dark -- and it is dark out here in the country -- nearby was the silhouette of a helicopter, the kind that chopper patients to the hospitals Albuquerque throughout the day and night.  Emergency services at the ready. When I had a flat tire outside of Socorro one time the people who helped were AMAZING, and when I offered some money for their assistance, they absolutely refused. They said they were just doing what had to be done and didn't expect to profit from it. "Angels," my wife calls them.]

Sometimes we go off on adventures far from home, out to the Bosque del Apache, or to Los Alamos, or wherever, and yesterday we went off on a junket to Chimayó, and then way up the road to Dixon, which truthfully we didn't even remember existed based on the one time we'd been up to Taos decades ago.

We haven't been to Chimayó in at least fifteen years, probably closer to twenty, but because it is sort of on the way, and we really did want to see The Old Guy (Father Roca) at least once more before he passes on to his reward, we thought it wise to visit the Santuario on the way to Dixon where we planned to attend a staged reading of a new play based on the works of another Old Guy we've come to know and enjoy, Nasario Garcia.

Father Roca greeted us at the door to the Santuario when we visited that time before, and he was so warm and welcoming and helpful and open that he made it seem like we had (finally) arrived at the place we were meant to be. There weren't a lot of people at the pilgrimage site that day, so he walked us around and showed us some of the features of the little chapel and the graveyard in front, encouraged us to take a little vial of holy water with us and visit the sanctuary of the Holy Dirt. Take some if we wanted. If we had any questions, he would be available. We were welcome to look around, to pray, or simply to observe. God's home was our home. The only restriction was that we were not to take any pictures inside the chapel. "Take all the pictures you want outside!"

San Miguel

I took this picture of San Miguel Mission Church/Chapel in Santa Fe in May of 2004 during one of innumerable vacations in The Land Of Enchantment over the last thirty years or so. I've always liked the picture -- despite the primitive digital camera I was using at the time -- because of the massing of the building, and the dove seen in flight just above the cross. Mirable dictu et stupor mundi, eh?

Yes, well. These things happen in New Mexico, more often than you might think.

That vacation also included my first trip out to Chaco Canyon. Stupor mundi, indeed. I would go back any time, but the opportunity doesn't arise as often as I'd like.

It's quite a way out to Chaco from our place in the East Mountains, though not as far as many places are from practically any place in California. But that washboard road from the highway at Nageezi is something of a deterrent. People arrive at the Chaco Canyon Visitor's Center in full dudgeon because of "that road", yowling their heads off because "it practically destroyed" their car.

Yes, well. It's New Mexico. Take it slow and easy, you'll be fine. And so will your car. Drive around Santa Fe on a sunny day and you'll find that many residential streets aren't paved. Go out of town any distance, and you'll find unpaved roads everywhere.

It's not so far to Santa Fe from our little place in the country and the highway north runs through spectacular mountain scenery; the road I take into town from I-25 (Old Pecos Trail onto Old Santa Fe Trail right to the Plaza at La Fonda) goes by all the historical sights. Well, most of them. It goes right through El Barrio de Analco where San Miguel is located -- said to have been built as a mission church for the salvation of the Tlaxcala Indians who accompanied the Spanish when they decided it was time and the opportunity was ripe to settle New Mexico. According to the stories, San Miguel was the first church built in Santa Fe, and for some time it was the only church in Santa Fe.

Given the disputatious nature of the settlers, however, San Miguel's first incarnation had a rather dramatic conclusion.

Relations among the civil authorities, the military, and the clergy were frequently stormy, and in the late 1630s, with the governorship of Luis de Rosas, the trouble was brought to a head. Attempts to resolve the problems had been in vain. When Fray Bartolomé Romero and Fray Francisco Núñez were sent to Santa Fe in 1640 to meet with the governor and attempt a reconciliation, he verbally abused them, beat them with a stick, and had them imprisoned. The friars were later released, but the church was closed and its bells removed.

The culmination of the disputes between church and state was the razing of San Miguel in 1640, the adobes presumably taken down with the vigas and reused in other construction. The drama did not end with demolition, however. Late one night Nicolás Ortiz discovered his wife in Governor Rosas' house, which precipitated a turmoil that resulted in the murder of the excommunicated former governor some weeks later. Rosas was absolved of his activities against the religious by a priest named Juan de Vidania, who was arrested later by the Inquisition but escaped while en route to Mexico. This complex, fascinating, and bizarre chapter in New Mexican history brought into high contrast the chronic antagonisms within the civil administration and the church as well as those between church and state. ^{-- from} Sanctuaries of Spanish New Mexico. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993

How can you not love New Mexico with stories like that abounding?

San Miguel was rebuilt, but like most of the churches in New Mexico, it was burned during the Pueblo Revolt. It was restored not soon after the Reconquest, reopening for services some time around 1710, and it repeatedly fell to ruin and was rebuilt thereafter. The current appearance of the church differs significantly from its historic appearance(s); photos taken in the 19th century show repeated transformations.

1872

1880

1884

As far as I can tell, the current appearance dates from about 1955, though most of the elements of the present appearance were in place prior to then.

Not all of New Mexico is as determined as Santa Fe to enforce Colonial and Pueblo architectural styles, so parts of the built environment of the state seem strangely out of place compared to those areas which do maintain Colonial and Pueblo styles, as if contemporary parts of Texas and Colorado had been plopped down on in the midst of the ancient mud and stone buildings (or their ruins or their imitations) that seem to have grown out of the land itself.

John Gaw Meem is the godfather of the contemporary New Mexico Pueblo-Colonial architectural style, and he's both beloved and hated for it. He's been criticized for slavishly following the styles of the past -- which is not what he did at all. His Zimmerman Library at the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque is an example of how he adapted the styles of yore to contemporary requirements, and it is hard to find anyone who's experienced the Zimmerman who is anything but delighted by it.

This is obviously not a copy of anything built in the past, and the interior is just a brilliant reimagining of New Mexico's spirit of place and its traditional architectural values

1938

and as seen in this video:



The residences and other buildings that Meem designed are treasured by New Mexicans today for their simplicity and beauty and how naturally they seem to integrate with the land and nature, in stark contrast to most contemporary architecture that seeks an almost desperate contrast with nature. By evoking traditional style without copying, and by adapting New Mexico's traditional architecture to contemporary needs, Meem found the contemporary truth within tradition styles.

San Miguel is considered somewhat anomalous compared to most of the mission churches in New Mexico because it doesn't quite follow the pattern of many of the others, yet its cubical masses seem to have had a strong influence on what came after.

The anomaly is the Romanesque stone Cathedral Basilica of San Francisco de Assisi in Santa Fe, beloved in its own right, but almost as alien to the landscape of New Mexico as a Texas suburban ranch house.


But in his brilliance, Father Roca adapted the style of the Santa Fe Cathedral to New Mexico's native architecture at the Santuario de Chimayo.


So it all fits together in the by and bye.

Land of Enchantment, indeed.