locals

feb 16-20th: NM + AZ + UT + NV by lisa waud

from santa fe to salt lake city, my friends isabella and simeon joined me from detroit. we made it to the grand canyon for sunset on our first night all together and then stayed in a cabin up on the border of arizona and utah—where our airbnb host provided us with the most delicious fresh eggs. i’ll never forget those eggs.

we explored zion national park, finally found michael hiezer’s iconic land art ‘double negative’, hit ugo rondinone’s seven magic mountains, cruised the vegas strip, and hiked water canyon with our local hiking expert friend julie.

solid crew.

and that double negative—it really got me. the volume of earth moved. that absence can be a sculpture. really makes a girl want to learn how to run a bulldozer.


feb 10th: a little west, a little north by lisa waud

day twenty: marfa to santa fe

adventures
the drive from marfa to las cruses, mew mexico was surprisingly beautiful and exciting, and not just because i was used to seeing the horizon in every direction for the past 10 days.

in las cruses, i stopped for breakfast with family friends karen and tom, who’ve been living there for years. after talking to them and feeling the warm sun on my skin, i could almost understand why. after our catch-up over delicious huevos rancheros, friday and i headed back on the road, pointed north.

the view was stunning as we drove down from the organ mountains. the whole “missile range” thing was a little disconcerting, but the view was stunning nonetheless. our afternoon adventure was white sands national park, and it was a joyful place to run free.

the trip up to santa fe from white sands was quite lovely. and you know how when you are on a long drive and keep passing a certain vehicle? i had a penske truck friend. i keep seeming to pass it again and again, so i snapped a polaroid on a wide-open road, thinking that i could give it to them if we both stopped for gas. i figured, if you are driving such a long distance in such a big truck, you’re most likely in a transition of some sort, and it may be the case that you’d want to remember it.

i never ran into them again, so now the tiny photo is mine and i can invent the story behind the penske.

logistics
music—the road trip playlist is ever-evolving

jan 30th - feb 10th: mark making by lisa waud

days nine - nineteen: the longest stay of my trip—marfa, texas.

adventures
this may read more like stream-of-conscience than a cohesive post, but i’ve just spent 11 days in the desert thinking and looking and listening.

i had long been curious about marfa—a declining west texas desert town infused by artist donald judd’s purchases of many buildings and much land beginning in the early 70s. i was nervous i would be turned off by an overwhelming feeling of high art and high snobbery, but i kept to myself most of my visit, so i did not encounter said fear.

i haven’t spent time in the desert for this long of a stretch before. it’s both smallening and biggening, if you’ll forgive my made up words. to see the horizon everywhere you look—the privilege of space.

my house was something from a dream. a diy shipping container home with heavenly natural light inside and more decks than i knew what do to with all the way around the exterior. i unpacked my art supplies and stacks of notebooks and the dog ran free, quickly learning about “goat’s heads” and other things that stick in paws.

my only social activities were art classes and art tours. i only ate one meal out (pozole). i read whole entire books. friday and i hiked at davis mountains state park in the day and explored marfa at night.

my first art class i took while in town was botanical watercolors at workshops marfa. clara williams taught, and with a gentle and encouraging style. during the class, i thought a lot about how challenging it is for me to slow down enough to notice details. i painted a close-up of a fan palm leaf and had a tiny epiphany (with clara’s steering) about highlights. i also had a larger epiphany, realizing that i’ve messed around with watercolors many times before, and i just don’t love them. and that’s ok. (a few days later, after a tour of donald judd’s art collection, i tasked myself with using up all the watercolor paints i brought in my own ‘homage to the square’ series. and by doing so, realized that on the practice of exploring ideas through repetition: i’m a yes.)

the next morning, i toured “the block,” donald judd’s former home and site of architectural projects and installations. my tour guide, susa, from the judd foundation, was so very lovely, and with her guidance, we explored muted, quiet spaces. no photography is allowed, and i was thankful to be free from my phone. i took notes on a small pad, and it’s already enjoyable to re-read them.

that afternoon, i toured the architecture studio and cobb house, which is where judd displayed much of the art he collected and it has remained. (i questioned: what’s the line between hoarder and artist? i think it’s having enough space to display your lifetime of objects.)

the following day, i took another class from clara—kintsugi. i bought a pitcher and a votive candle holder from the local resale shop, smashed them with a hammer, then pieced them together. absolutely cathartic, and oh! the metaphors abound.

that afternoon, friday and i drove over to a neighboring town, fort davis, on the monday were in marfa. we went on a hike in the state park, and saw some bones—both gathered and in the wild. passing back through the small town on the way home, i stopped for the most delicious chile rellenos…and was also able to purchase 4 pairs of vintage earrings from the resale shop in the front of the restaurant. this should be more common.

the next day, it was back to workshops marfa for a double-header with clara: mark making and portraiture.

in our exploration of mark making, clara encouraged me to think of anything as a paintbrush—natural items or human-made things or even things tied to fingers. that alone was a nice mind-expander…and then we got into crafting brushes. i was enamored with the process of choosing the materials for the brush, handle, and wrap. the objects themselves are perfect items, and then they become a tool once you fill it with paint. the materials, the idea, the shape.

and our portrait class. what a true thrill to learn a new detailed process. like with the watercolor class, i loved the slowing of time to observe distances and shades and angles. i felt deeply connected to the practice, and can see myself doing more portrait drawings simply for the enjoyment.

diving back into the world of donald judd, i took a tour of the chinati foundation. i appreciated the vast space of the former military base, repetition of shapes, the meditative motion of looking at pieces very similar to one another, and as with the west texas landscape in general, the muted colors and volume. we could take photos outdoors, and a captured a few, but i truly love not engaging with a phone for most of a day.

despite the idea of the chinati foundation being a time capsule, sealed up during a specific time when women artists weren’t given much of the spotlight, i couldn’t help but feel slighted on behalf of all the extraordinary women working during the judd heyday. just one woman’s work is at chinati, roni horn’s things that happen again: for a here and a there. i loved her solid copper pieces—they are heavy as hell, a weight usually reserved for male artists.

one tour bonus—i befriended our guide, matt scobey, who later in the weekend showed me his own art and a terrific local art space called z ranch.

friday and i hit davis mountain state park a couple more times, exploring the skyline and old CCC trails, with immense views and botanical delights. i even identified mistletoe growing in the wild—globs of parasitic foliage, that i used to pay WAY to much for at the flower shop during the holidays. and i loved spotting the rock formations that just the day before were referenced as inspiration for robert irwin’s installation at chinati.

one more class with clara—plaster casting. i was slow to warm up to the idea, but once i did, my mind really latched onto the artistic explorations one can experience with plaster. my favorite objects that i made were simple plaster-wrapped branches and a wide stiff cuff for my forearm. after i painted the cuff black with india ink, it reminded me of when i took archery lessons and had to make myself a leather arm guard to avoid intense bruises.

on our last night in town, friday and i walked around marfa under the light of a monstrous full moon. i also created an installation inspired by my time in marfa at z ranch with logistical assistance from matt. it was composed of foraged dried sotul bloom stalks painted with pink spray and wrapped with orange tie-down rope, both of which i found at the local hardware store. i built it by my car headlights after the moon hid behind the clouds, and had to revisit it at dawn to photograph it. i call the piece mark making.

after i photographed my installation during a rainy sunrise, friday and i headed out of town. there was one last sight to see, a half an hour west of town, in valentine, texas. the prada marfa installation. much like bracing myself when i drove into marfa the first day, i was expecting an involuntary eye-roll at this over-grammed site. but, just like my experience in marfa, seeing it in-situ was better than i expected, and i was thankful that people are out in the west texas desert doing things.

logistics
my marfa airbnb—but don’t you dare book it when i want to go back!

music—things are getting weird on the road trip playlist.

jan 23rd: attitude adjustment by lisa waud

day two: a day in nashville

adventures
after a fantastic travel day visiting serpent mound and mammoth caves, i rolled into nashville excited to land in the airbnb i had carefully picked out for its aesthetics. but when i first walked in, it smelled overwhelmingly moldy. i walked back out to the car and into the cottage again, and it was still there. i’ve always had a sensitivity to mold—when i was a cheesemonger in my hometown year ago, i could always smell when cheese had gone from the good kind of stinky to the bad—and i was a bit devastated that this lovely place was not somewhere i could spend any amount of time. i quickly communicated with the understanding host and booked a new spot—a seemingly tidy but soulless condo on the other side of town.

when i punched in the door code, i whispered, “please don’t be stinky,” and it wasn’t. it was, however, as i expected, both tidy and soulless. i found myself harshly judging the cheap furniture and horridly neutral decor, and felt, once again overwhelmed—but this time, by my truly stinky attitude. i was frustrated that my plan was taken off course, and that what i expected had not come into reality. i put myself to bed like a grumpy child, and tried to have faith i would wake up in a better mood.

in the morning, i did wake up feeling well-rested, but i also rolled over and rolled my eyes at a cheesy throw pillow on the bed next to me. i did a bit of distracted work on my computer and postponed doing my morning yoga routine until it was time to leave for a tour i had lined up at a local clothing maker, elizabeth suzann.


the space where the company is based out of is so incredibly lovely. i met my tour guide, alexandra, in the staff dining area, which she explained was thoroughly, thoughtfully designed. then she walked me through the entire process of how their clothing is made, from customer orders to cutting to sewing to quality control to boxing and shipping. i found myself inspired in a new way—when i was a small-business owner, i used to see inspirational companies and mine their processes for bits i could integrate into my own. but during this tour of ES, i was just enjoying the aesthetics and systems in an appreciative way. with only online sales and no retail store on site, i wasn’t able to purchase anything, and maybe that added to my pure enjoyment of the tour.

when i left the elizabeth suzann building, i realized it had started raining. my plan had been to go on a hike with friday straight from the ES tour, so i cued up a weather app to see when it would be best to spend time outside. i let out an audible exhale when i saw 100% rain for the next 24 hours, and even said aloud, “of COURSE it’s raining.”

with my wipers beating on the windshield, i decided to visit another business i was told i would love, imogene + willie, and to see if the rain might ease up after a bit. like elizabeth suzann, I+W was also so very lovely, and housed in a former gas station—which was a long-time dream space of mine for a flower shop and plant store.

i have been trying to be more aware of where items come from and purchasing in a sustainable way, so the ethos of the shop was right up my alley. i was surprised to find myself disappointed by not wanting to purchase anything in particular—as if i couldn’t just enjoy the experience like i did at elizabeth suzann without a transaction. i almost bought a pair of socks with lightning bolts on them just to have a familiar interaction. i guess i’ll have to think a while on these themes of consumerism, supporting independent makers, and non-transactional experiences.


it was raining even harder when i left imogene + willie, so i thought it would be a good time to get some groceries. (this trip isn’t about finding the hottest restaurants in the cities i’m visiting; it’s about sustainable, healthy habits. thusly, groceries > restaurants.) as i navigated nashville to find a whole foods, i was once again struck with a feeling of disappointment—how easily i can shop at the exact same grocery story i shop in at home, and how all the businesses along the way are also in detroit and every other city in the US. my visits to elizabeth suzann and imogene + willie were so special, and crafted, and authentic. of course, those words are nearly cliché now, but i use them specifically and with thought here. in the nashville whole foods, i shopped, finding products i buy at home, and was recognized at the register by scanning my amazon account QR code. i shuffled out to the car in the ceaseless rain, and harumphed into the driver’s seat. i took a deep breath, and let out a very different audible exhale as the defeated one earlier after the news of 100% rain. i gave myself a talking to—recalling what intentions i have for this trip and that it’s about sustainability, inspiration, and health and the juxtaposition of movement and stillness. i drove the groceries back to my tidy, soulless airbnb. i found my raincoat and boots, and loaded friday and i back into the car and pointed us to the trail i had picked out earlier, imagining a sunny, warm day hike.

when we arrived at the mossy ridge trailhead, it was raining, and it never stopped for our entire 5 mile hike. it rained while we walked up and down mossy, craggy hillsides, and it kept raining when i got us lost and couldn’t find the car, and it was still raining when it started to get dark and i realized my phone was dead.

when i finally found the car, friday and i were completely soaked and quite muddy, but my attitude had lightened. there’s something about walking, for me, that gives me access to that space where movement and stillness intersect. i don’t sit still very well, so i have trouble accessing a quiet mind. my hack is that if i’m moving to the beat of my own feet, my mind can hop in at double time, be somewhere else completely, or just watch the ground go by. the only photo i took on our hike before my phone powered down was a small plaque, which i found very jenny o’dell, and very apropos.

arriving ‘home’ at the airbnb formerly known as tidy and soulless, friday and i dried off and had dinner. i felt thankful for the warm, clean space, and laughed when i ran across an article in the new yorker, now six years old, that they reposted while i was on my attitude adjustment hike: why walking helps us think.

logistics
music—a few new songs on the evolving road trip playlist