MINISTER OF CREATIVITY, copyright 2015 ————
Every morning she walked the old streets of Taos, some of the adobe buildings were being renovated, others were the same as a hundred years ago. From the time she was a child, art surrounded her in galleries and outdoor shows. Creativity was the same as breathing. She heard the stories of writers and artists of the past, and the places where they lived, ate and were inspired, were like sacred ground. The artist’s nude models were almost as famous. It had been an honor to model for an artist. Then the contempory age came into existence with clothes, jewelry and the style of Taos, the “look” instead of the actuality. She was stunned by the fake instead of the real. She walked now as in a memory, in a daze. Nothing was creative, only a partial touch of the past. She had experienced the true creative artists and watched them work while in their studios or sitting outdoors in the woods or on the edge of a mesa capturing the colors of the sandstone cliffs and variations of the clouds and sky. Now the artists asked, “what do the tourists buy the most?” They paint over and over the same adobe and cottonwood trees, the blue framed door of an adobe house, the stylized horse, the Indian woman or child with turquoise jewelry. She walked slowly up the dirt road, now covered with gravel, remembering the people who lived in those homes, now turning into “tourist traps.” Trinkets on chains, lots of crosses of all kinds with postcards of the Ranchos de Taos Church or Taos pueblo Church. Even she was wearing contempory stylish clothes because that’s all the stores offered as she walked up the street, past the memories of yesterday.


Taos street photo by Connie

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