En plein air with the Ancient Ones

On a recent wandering Wednesday of wonder where I have been attempting to deliberately and consciously explore various public lands in my neighborhood, I found myself in the 50 acres of a northern Chihauhauan desert outdoor art gallery and incidentally one of the only land sites in the Southwest set aside solely because of its amazing rock art, and profound archaeological and cultural heritage value.

I have been to the federally administered Bureau of Land Management (BLM) Three Rivers Petroglyph site before, but that time it was a hot August afternoon and not the best light or conditions for enjoying this collection of an estimated around 21000 pieces of rock art, some spectacular examples of which can be seen scattered along a rugged trail. Ideally, one needs to be able to pick one’s season and time of day when playing outside in the desert. I have developed some perhaps idiosyncratic ideas about when is best: for example my rule of thumb that if you don’t leave before dawn a journey is going to offer as much value and risk of being spoiled as gas station sushi. Perhaps a better view might be: the time you have is actually the best time. Do it now. Don’t put anything worthy off is maybe what I’m trying to say. The foetid breath of a devouring beast increasingly seems to poison the world’s air.

On this visit to Three Rivers, I must have somehow appeased the weather gods, who gave me a gift of a late winter bluebird day. In that exquisite clarity of enchanted light I could see forever and forever was looking good. The beastly destructive monster was put down in a hole. Out of sight and mind. Briefly.

I particularly wanted to see, and experience in situ, as many as I could of the quadruped images which this site offers. The old goat needed to meet her ancestral icons, to have a chat with some even older goats. The librarian in me requires it be documented that some (most) interpret the majority of the quadrupeds depicted at this site as bighorn sheep. Not goats.

And yes I found that famous sacrificial beast, that imbuzi mhlope (Zulu for white goat) , the one with spears in its side (and oops! my walking stick got itself into the picture too. Sorry!)

The rock art at this site is attributed to the Journada Mogollon people who were farmers living in small villages scattered around in the harsh desert conditions of the Tularosa Basin, around 2000 years ago, until around about the time when the Spanish came conquistadoring through in the 15th century.

The abundance and variety of rock art at this site is absolutely amazing.

Animals, birds, people and geometric patterns abound on the jumbled tumble of rocks tossed across a huge swathe of landscape.

Yes I was mindful that I was also trespassing on rattlesnake territory as I clambered off trail, amongst the shady dark crevices.

There was just so much art to see and experience!

Some images are protected by thorny mesquite and would probably be obscured in a less leafless season.

Others are maybe unfinished.

It’s sometimes a dense and complex almost chaotic iconography.

Sometimes there’s a serene geometric symmetry executed at a time before slide rules or protractors.

It got me to thinking about notions of free hand and having a free hand.

As an artist and storyteller, I mean. Of course.

Though it’s all set in stone, this art is still subject to mutability. There are signs of weathering and this open air art gallery is vulnerable to other more wanton and petty forces of destruction too.

I spent a timeless morning with the ancestors of this desert place, walking and wondering, on earth under sky. A morning out of time.

I was changed, given a refreshed perspective here in this ostensibly dry place where even the possibly unfinished is complete, entire unto itself.

Restored to a simple whole.

Fly like an eagle/ set my spirit free… Run, rabbit, run!

After a few hours of walking feet into other dimensions, I was in need of grounding.

I ate my lunch in one of the four or five picnic shelters at the small developed campsite where there are 2 RV sites, a handful of tent sites, (there’s a way more beautiful campsite nearby in the White Mountain wilderness area) a well maintained toilet block, a drinking water fountain (essential in this place) and a visitors center which was closed and/or possibly unstaffed on the day I visited - a Wednesday. I have an America the Beautiful seniors National Park Pass which covers access to a whole host of federal fee sites, so didn’t need to use the self service pay booth or checkin with the visitor centre as signs instruct.

I had the picnic area all to myself. A welcome, cooling wind was attendant. My food containers were conscripted into duty to keep the tablecloth from flying away. Even though I had forgotten a plate, I did enjoy a fine and tasty meal of avocado, bean cakes, chutney, sauerkraut, peanut butter, spiced pecans, fruit, washed down with big gulps of refreshing hibiscus tea.

Thank you, Ancient Ones of this place, for hosting me so well, for allowing me into your world, your art gallery, your library and your archive of stories and secrets.

Art.

Culture.

Heritage.

Endurance.

Change.

These fracturing things which I too much with myself discuss.

All got a new perspective.

On this day.

From these stones.

Beyond undoing.

There’s a place.

Meet me there.

Meet me.

Here.