Tabatha Deans

ART AND NEW FRIENDS

Having received a few positive responses to query letters from local magazines, I decided it was time to get out and cover a story to submit. I wasn’t super-excited when I left home to catch the train to the First Friday Art Walk in the Santa Fe Art District. It’s not that I don’t like art, more like I don’t really know a lot about it. I’ve been to a few formal museums, and although the first ten paintings of saints and baby angels were cool, after about an hour of more of the same I got a little bored.

Today’s art walk included a free shuttle, with a very pleasant and informative guide. Our first stop was the old bolt factory, which has since been turned into artist studios. My first reminder that I was no longer in Utah was when I walked in the door of the first gallery and was immediately greeted with smiles, introductions and a glass of wine. My opinion of art was shaping up. By the time I’d toured the first section of the walk and got back on the shuttle, I was getting excited about the tour. There was only one other couple on the bus, and we began chatting.

I immediately confessed that I wasn’t a natural art lover. That’s when the woman, named Lisa, informed me that she was a painter. Her husband Tom organizes art exhibits. But they didn’t hold my ignorance against me. In fact, they insisted I tag along with them for the next part of the tour, and introduced me to Jack and Georgia, two wonderful people who played an integral part in reviving the once “bad hood” into one of the largest art districts in the United States.

I sat on the top patio of their home/store/gallery, chatting with my new friends and getting the scoop on the neighborhood. Every person I talked to, every shop I went into, was pleasant, welcoming, and amazingly diverse. I started in a gallery with paintings, and ended up in a shop full of yarn and sewing goods. And every bit of space, the walls, the streets, the alley ways and the storefronts were covered with some kind of artwork. The neighborhood was built on teamwork, humanity and common courtesy, and it was thriving. Georgia, who spoke with a heavy accent, (a combination of Moroccan and Canadian) shared with me the history of the building of the neighborhood, as well as some of her ideas for a book. I regretted having to cut my evening short, as my new friends had a lot to offer as far as stimulating conversation and interesting stories. But I had to catch the last shuttle back downtown, and didn’t want to be walking home too late.

I guess I’ll have to take back all the bad things I’ve ever said about art.

THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD

I headed out this morning for a job interview, Google directions in hand, and my interview outfit, including my new shoes, stuffed in my backpack. After a 30 minute bus ride into the neighboring town of Broomfield, my directions indicated it was about a 1 mile walk from the park and ride to the business I was going to. The bus dropped me off at the park n ride alongside the freeway, with a shopping mall on one side and a barren field on the other.

I headed for the mall, and after nearly 30 minutes of wandering, stopped and asked directions. I was informed that I needed to be on the other side of the freeway, in the barren field. I had left two hours early just in case this happened, so I trotted back under the freeway and headed up a winding country road that ran along the railroad tracks. I walked, and I walked, and I kept walking, even though I was sure I’d walked more than a mile. About 20 minutes into my walk I saw a building up the hill, on the other side of the tracks, that was a Hunter Douglas building. My good friend works for Hunter Douglas, so I stopped to snap a picture and send her a text.

Then I continued walking. Up the hill, around the corner, past little farm houses, small, run down businesses, and eventually ended up back near the freeway, but what I assumed was a town or two from where I began walking. I debated stopping and calling to cancel the interview many times, but I rationalized that if I did get the job I would be able to find some way to get there. Finally, ten minutes before my scheduled interview, I broke down and called. I confessed I was horribly lost, and requested to reschedule, but the gentleman was very kind and insisted I wasn’t far, he would come fetch me.

So I ducked into a tire store, changed into my interview clothes, and met him in the parking lot. We wound through town and finally arrived at our destination. Which was the building right next to where I had stopped to snap a picture. A mere 15-20 minute walk from where the bus dropped me off. Of course getting there meant crossing the tracks and taking the walking path, which I had neglected to do. I felt a little foolish, having walked at least 5 miles out of my way, but felt better about the whole thing once I realized I could indeed get to and from the building if they offered me the job.

The interview was actually entertaining. Perhaps because I haven’t had really engaging conversation with other writers for a while. I interviewed them as much as they interviewed me, so I’ll keep my fingers crossed and see what happens.

August 12, 2011 - Posted by Tabatha Stewart | Uncategorized