Leaving Santa Fe

But I will return to this place of deep resonance and synchronicity

Yesterday morning, at the Santa Fe Art Institute, I was listening to Vagner conducting a departmental meeting on Zoom in the library adjacent to the community kitchen as I made my morning brew (decaf plus lots of stuff to help my nervous system & brain function better and to reduce inflammation). I stopped buying groceries last week because I knew my time of making food at SFAI was soon to end, so I was grateful for the donations from others in the cohort to make my last meals.

As I witnessed a few of the other residents saunter through the kitchen space to gather their morning fuel, I realized that the respectful energy we have offered each other for two months (some folks have been here for three months) was about to evaporate into the ethers. We greeted each other knowingly, offering each other smiles, extra food, and loving questions, and then retreated into our rooms.

It has not been difficult to share a kitchen with 12 others, and for that reason alone, I’ve been quite grateful. We met up for a closing circle and a bagel buffet spread at noon provided by the generous staff. Each member of the group shared rich anecdotes about the past few months, full of heartfelt vulnerability. Some talked about belonging and how they didn’t come with expectations to belong, but rather to just make art or write, and they were dumbfounded that this group not only accepted them, but lifted each other up. The group was generous, caring, patient, imaginative, and often very giddy. The staff was supportive, warm, and thoughtful.

I have no complaints with what was offered, and having arrived with neutral expectations that were very much exceeded, I am feeling a bit breathless from all the rich encounters, with myself, my work, the land, and others in that very dry and thin mountain air. I had not attended an artist residency since 1983 (my first and only one was at the Blue Mountain Center). The latter changed my life forever. In the last days of that month-long program, I made the unexpected decision to leave the NY art world. And while I was wandering in the library at BMC, in preparation for an exhibition at the New Museum of my anti-nuclear installation, THIS IS NOT A TEST, Joanna Macy’s book, Despair and Personal Power in the Nuclear Age, fell on my head and changed my practice forever. I have no doubt that the creative repercussions of these two months at SFAI will keep unfolding.

I have so much to process from these last few weeks here. I’ve been going, going, going, and barely been able to write or journal about the experience. My morning routines have languished. While I’m a bit discouraged by the latter, I recognize that I have been feasting on deep conversations and savoring so many connections with others - it’s not something I’ve experienced since pre-pandemic. These community connections have been essential medicine for the continuing horrors in the larger world. As much as I try to push fears aside (some of them provoked by the epigenetic PTSD from my dad’s experience being Blacklisted during the McCarthy Era), I recognize that the real brutalities that are happening daily are impacting the collective nervous system - not just my own. As each new person who has protested genocide gets arrested and disappeared, I feel my muscles contract a bit more. We are all dancing in this chaos, trying to find our footing, as traumas and violence are being dispersed indiscriminately on people who are not so different from us. Witnessing these unjust storms enveloping more and more innocents takes a toll. I’m eager to return home where I can throw some of my weight into local actions and get out in the garden to plant a harvest for my local friends and neighbors.

“So-called Forbidden Words” Interactive Installation for Santa Fe Art Institute, 2025

On Saturday, I will slide into home plate after these two intense months as an artist-in-residence in Santa Fe. Since the open studio last week (see the interactive installation I created for it above), exhaustion has come and gone. Sleep has been broken. I sometimes wake up wanting to punch and scream, trying to process the excessive overwhelm of the continuing brutal genocides and the fragile fascism we are living inside. Even dancing for two hours every Sunday with the 5 Rhythms community was insufficient to release all that pent up energy. One hopes that returning to this writing will continue the process of letting go.

In the midst of all the concerns I’ve been carrying, I’ve also been gobsmacked by the depth of the social encounters I’ve experienced here. It has been unexpectedly rich and juicy. I knew before coming to New Mexico that I would find myself among a cohort of peers, mostly women eco-artists, writers, and curators, but there’s been much more to harvest here, and it’s been dizzying. I will share some of the richness in an abbreviated and non-chronological way.

I was able to visit and share lunch with an old college buddy, Ann, and meet her new wife, Diane. Both artists, they bought an unfinished, eccentric, but beautiful home that is sitting on a hill, very visible to folks driving by on the local thruway. Built by the very quirky previous owner, their work to renovate this magnificent place seems daunting to me, especially since they need to remove some of the home’s height to comply with the local building codes. Somehow they seem unfazed by this work, as they are also building a remarkable studio adjacent to the house.

As Ann and I were reminiscing about our successful efforts to bring feminist thinking and actions into our college art department (we were part of a sit-down strike in the art history chair’s office), I was reminded that the efforts of organizing are occasionally quite successful. Back in the early Seventies, there were no female art professors or women’s art shown in the art history lectures and we were pissed. We heard about the feminist art program at CalArts and effectively grabbed onto that momentum. In these times, it’s sometimes hard to remember that strategic activism works.

Aside from being an impressive stone sculptor, Ann’s wife, Diane, is from the Taos Pueblo and was the first native and female videographer for the local television station back in the early 80’s. She went on to teach at the Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) and created a very vibrant retention program for first generation students. I was deeply inspired by her work.

Two of the younger members of my residency cohort, Mehgeran (originally from Iran) and Joana (originally from Brazil), both now living in LA, are working on feminist issues as part of their art and it was encouraging to know that the backlash had not contaminated or erased their passion to get the word out.

Speaking of feminist art, earlier this week I was able to hear my friend and early supporter, Lucy Lippard, give a reading at Collected Works in Santa Fe. Both of the newly published compilations that she read from had been published before. I appreciated her discussion about how she came to feminism and feminist art, having identified as a tomboy and as one of the boys, until she recognized how much she needed to build alliances and friendships with the women artists around her. I had a similar trajectory (internalized patriarchy) until I wised up. A more detailed discussion about that evolution will be in one of the chapters of my soon-to-be-finished fractured memoir. I will also mention there how Lucy basically jump-started my art career by writing about my installation, “Apply Within.” During the discussion, Lucy talked about the activist art group, PAD/D and as a former member, I was excited to hear that she’s planning to start something similar in the Santa Fe region. I spoke up during the discussion time and suggested that a full spectrum of activist art would include community-based projects to invite more dialog and, hopefully, consciousness raising.

Lucy R. Lippard reading from one of her new books.

Last Sunday afternoon, I drove with a lovely member of my artist cohort to a dear friend’s farm north of Santa Fe in Ojo, NM. Chrissie Orr is the editor of Seedbroadcast, a journal that is about seeds and all that they mean in relation to indigenous food system, food justice, and eco-art. She co-runs the farm of heirloom crops (corn, wheat, beans, and more) with her partner, Rick. They brought together a small group of brilliant friends to have some transcendent moments eating the most exquisite food prepared by an artful and generous chef for the gathering. The conversation was uplifting; one of the amazing projects I learned about was the archiving and digitizing of the history of indigenous enslavement in the Americas funded by the Mellon Foundation (I will have to get a link for it at some point). After the exquisite meal was done, I found myself standing in the warmth of a late March sun, with a delightfully full belly, gazing out at the dry and soon to be fertile landscape, talking to the philosopher, David Abram, who I had met previously at the Gentle Actions conference (2010, Oslo, Norway) where we were both presenters. He congratulated me for having such a good visual memory. We talked of the books we are working on, and about beauty, neurodivergence, being super sensitive, and lifting up positive possibilities in a time of collapse.

The root cellar at Chrissie & Rick's farm (photos by Vagner Mendonca Whitehead)

We had another feast, a potluck with our artist/writer cohort, on our calendars that evening (yes, I’ve spent a good deal of time in New Mexico eating wonderful food). We drove another 90 minutes to the family home of the only local member of our cohort, Doza Mendoza, a videographer, intimacy coordinator (for films), and soon-to-be rancher. The amazing home is located outside of Santa Fe in a spectacular landscape and we arrived when the luscious sunset was kissing our faces.

By the time we arrived at Doza’s place, I was talked out and tired from driving, so I sampled the very yummy offerings provided by my peers, and eventually found the coziest space by the fire to rest. Thankfully no one complained about my anti-social behavior.

Here’s a selfie of Doza and me from two nights ago. They have been the welcome wagon for the cohort, and I deeply appreciate them.

This was a week of offering tender good-bye’s. First to my new friend, Mariana, who will continue her book touring and then come back to Upaya for the chaplaincy program. She and I found so many points of alignment. It’s so nourishing to make new friends as one ages.

I also said goodbye to my “heartist” friend, Dominique Mazeaud, who took me on a lovely gentle hike in her neighborhood in Tesuque. Our conversation took many turns. I was continually struck by her commitment to peace and her continuing passion for her work.

Tesuque Creek & Dominique

Closing circle candid shots.

Last night, I met with my friend, Chrissie Orr, at the Upaya Zen Center for my last sit, dharma talk and community meal before leaving town. Afterwards, we visited with the baby red oak tree in the memorial garden that is now being nourished by Bob’s molecules, and this morning I had the honor of a goodbye schmooze with the dear Roshi Joan Halifax.

Spring has sprung at Upaya Zen Center.

During the past two months, I realized that I had little time for the typical New Mexico tourism. My priorities were to write, connect with peers, and move intuitively with my creative practice and the world around me. I did go to a few openings of art shows, loved a visit to the folk art museum, indulged in some down time at two hot springs, and hiked a few trails, but squeezing in more of the local culture and adventures on the land was just not possible.

I did make it to the Randall Davey Audubon Center today, guided by my new friend from the dance community, Pritpal. Synchronicity arranged for us to meet up with Stella Reed, the outreach coordinator, who had attended my talk in February. She was inspired by the story hive project and the Communitree project collaboratively developed by our cohort in March, and asked if it was okay for the center to build their own story hive. I told her that the purpose of the project was to inspire others to do the same. She invited me back in 2026 to see their completed story hive and took us on the trail to see the eco-art projects that were installed last summer. It was a gentle hike that offered me the best way to say good-bye to Santa Fe, for now.

As I continue digesting the wonders and the tensions of the past two months, I will share more. Thanks for your readership, and for those who have had paid subscriptions, I am more than grateful.