Much has happened in the past month.
My journeys have taken me to the bountiful forests of the pacific
northwest, and back to the mysterious deserts and caves of the
southwest, a few times. Alongside fellow artist Lesley McClintock, I
had a successful exhibit at the
Portland Zine Symposium. In
preparation, we had a memorable art-jam session, as well as an “open
mike” gathering and reading, at the
Independent Publishing Resources Center (IPRC). The IPRC had tools ranging from
old-fashioned letterpress and printing press to high tech computers
and scanners, and varied cartoonists and zinesters working away to
finish their publications for the big show. There was an energy
present, which reminded me of my alma mater
The Center for Cartoon Studies, and made me envious of the independent artists of Portland,
who have regular access to such resources. At the symposium, I sold
or traded a stack of my own comic books, and returned with a pile of
new and different works by the other exhibitors, which I am gradually
reading.
Back at Carlsbad Caverns, I
reintroduced myself to the world of caves, and worked frantically in
preparation for guiding my first tours of
Lower Cave and
Slaughter Canyon Cave. No sooner had I completed these interpretive missions,
past such luminary
speleothems as the Texas Toothpick, the Monarch,
and Skeletor (shown below, driving his slaves), than I had to depart for my next expedition to the west
coast.
This one brought me first to Seattle,
then to
Mazama, Washington. I was witness to wonder, both in the
mighty forests of Mazama, and the wedding of Brad Halm and Erika
Kercher. Brad is an ol' Homestead friend of mine, and co-founder of
the
Seattle Urban Farm Company. Erika is an
Outward Bound
instructor, based in Mazama, hence the wedding location of their
favorite place to hike, climb, canoe, and grow a garden. For me, the
wedding was another
Homestead reunion, with multiple Homestead and
post-Homestead comrades sharing a cabin in the woods, with camping
space in its yard, which I capitalized on. The ceremony took place
in a field, against a backdrop of towering evergreens and volcanic
rock-faces. It would be hard to imagine a better send-off to the
next phase of life, with the spirits of earth as witness. At night,
the lights of countless stars glimmered through the black void of
space; perhaps they bore witness as well.
On my drives between Carlsbad and the
airport in Albuquerque, I contemplated visitors from space. For
betwixt these locations on Route 285 is Roswell, a small New Mexican
town, whose name, for the world, has become synonymous with UFOs. I
finally made landing at the International UFO Museum and Research
Center. Established in 1994, the Museum is devoted to the UFO
phenomenon, and especially the
"Roswell Incident." In 1947, on the
morning after a violent thunderstorm, rancher William “Mack”
Brazel found strange wreckage and debris scattered across his sheep
ranch in the desert of southeastern New Mexico, and later made the
75-mile journey to Roswell to report it to civilian and military
authorities. After inspection, the air force announced to the press
that a flying saucer had crash-landed, but changed their story to a
weather balloon a few hours later. At the UFO Museum, the walls are
covered with affidavits and testimonials from witnesses, who claimed
that the flying machine was from another planet, and contained
materials not of this earth; that the military recovered alien bodies
along with the wreckage; invented the weather balloon story as a
cover up; and silenced anyone who knew otherwise with bribes and
threats. The Roswell Incident makes for an intriguing story,
whatever the origins of the aircraft in question.
Especially in my youth, I regarded the
possibility of extraterrestrial visitors with a special sense of
awe—and fear. While vampires and werewolves could send shivers
across my frame, I had confidence that these creatures were pure
fantasy. Aliens on the other hand, might be real. When I saw the 1993 film
Fire in the Sky, I became apprehensive about walking in the woods alone,
especially in my home territory of West Virginia. I was concerned
that I might be next, and didn't want the little grey men to put a
needle in my eye. In recent years, I have become less afraid of
otherworldly travelers, and more concerned about global warming and
nuclear war. After revisiting some of my childhood wonders and fears
at Roswell, I expressed them in my sketchbook.
I wish happy and safe journey to my
readers, and hope that you stay clear from all threats. terrestrial
or extraterrestrial!
