(wildlife sounds)>>New Mexico is an easy place to call home. When I first saw Santa Fe, the old part seemed to be like picture-book stuff that somebody had dreamed up, and then had found it comfortable to live in. If you like the Taos country, it is fatal to stay too long, because you’ll never feel at home again anywhere else. Given a free choice in the matter, I would have selected the Southwest as a place to be born. I would have learned Spanish along with riding a horse and predicting the weather. (guitar music) (duck sounds) (let’s go, let’s go) Come on everybody, let’s go (undecipherable) (I’m coming, I’m coming. I don’t want to miss anything… undecipherable) (Wait for me! I’m new around here!) (undecipherable) (Oh, hello.) (undecipherable) (Hey, Don’t forget me, I’m taking the scenic route) (Hey, hey wait… Come on, wait for me!)>>He was a very pleasant fellow. He, many times, came down to our shop and he always seemed to be smiling, even when he wasn’t laughing or smiling, it appeared to me that he was smiling.>>To start the week right for everybody, I was born of a Monday and introduced by the usual number of parents to their fellow residents of a small North German city. Our family lived in one of those narrow houses, pinched in between others, seemingly dating from the Middle Ages. Not quite as picturesque as some I’ve seen on German postcards, but the dank atmosphere surrounding it was identical with that of the best of them. My mother, with an eye to the future of her children, dreamed of America. We embarked on a liner with a band playing airs of farewell songs. A bundle of drawings made at odd times, with determination to become really useful, received from me an apprenticeship in an engraving establishment, which required my working gratis for a long period, with the privilege of sweeping the establishment and running errands. Changing jobs was no solution, so I found it advisable to remove my drawing board and color box to a small studio of my home, where I worked hard, and in between times grabbed fragments of the education I had missed in earlier years. Since I am fundamentally a craftsman, the print was for me a way out of a blind alley. While there was a great deal of uncertainty, my direction was never disturbed, not even by an accidental interview with a phrenologist, who with his glasses pushed back over his perspiring forehead, solemnly calipered the bumps on my head, and then gave me a complete chart to prove why I would make a good doctor or eye surgeon. (Hey quack, let me feel the bumps on your head!) me feel the bumps on your head (Come on, let me feel the bumps on your head- Quack) (It’ll be fun. How many bumps do you have anyway – Quacks) (I bet you have interesting bumps – quacks) (piano music)>>The creation of that perfect thing we recognize as art, is given to all too few of us. When it happens, it transcends time and is rightly included or added to the treasures that have stirred the imagination of past centuries. But art is a kind of tyrant. It came to me dressed up in Wonderlust (Train horn blows). “Tickets please. Who wants to go? A Rolling Stone, said I. Where to? Taos, said I. Hop on, Rolling Stone and remember me to Mabel when you get there.” The conductor on the Denver and Rio Grande narrow-gauge had a lot more to say on the way up the river, before he dropped me off at Taos Junction. There is no mountain so tall as when you see it from level prairie ground. There it is, bathed in inscrutable blue. The train engine gives a whistle as if the engineer saw it too. While it is an old story to him, the passengers feel as if they’re getting somewhere different from where they’ve been. And read the railway folder for perhaps the tenth time, they reset their watches from standard to mountain time and glue their noses to the windows. To have dreamed about Taos for years, and then one fine day actually waking up in it, made me wonder. The sounds of voices that came over the transom were strange. Even the silence was of a different sort. What I saw and felt at the time had no relation to my earlier notion of the Great American Desert. People actually lived here and what appeared more strange, they spoke Spanish and several Indian tongues and they seemed to be long, much more than I, or my Eastern friends. It was no desert. Here were friendly and intensely green fields, between immense stretches of soothing loneliness, where if you greeted a passing fellow man, you could do so without injuring his toes or chafing your elbows. The houses looked as if they had been pushed up out of the ground, to have a roof crapped on them. It looked like something out of biblical history that had been preserved all these years.>>When I first came, of course, I met them before… I had, well just about that time, I suppose that I met my husband B. And Gus had made a very lovely painting, which he suggested to John that he hang in the house that he was building, which was, had very big spaces and very nice living room. And so, Gus said, “Why don’t you take that painting and hang it over the fireplace. It would look good. And, if anybody wants to buy it, it’s for sale.” And so, the morning that we were to get married, at the door of John’s house arrived a messenger, with a very scruffy a little bit of paper in his hand. I think it was a boy, a little boy, and it was just a piece of paper torn from a little notebook, and it said, “Keep the painting, love Gus.” And so, it was just an incredible start to our married life, as you could imagine, to have such a work of art and so much kindness behind it, from such a special person.>>I became painfully aware that summer was drawing to a close. I had investigated the mountain and desert, and all the fascinating corners of Taos, but learned too late that a pallete, and theories regarding color east of the Mississippi, should all be tossed in the river as you cross on the bridge. (guitar music)>>The hand in heart logo, which is the one he used the most, reflected some of his philosophy about, alright, the hand represents the art that is produced, but it’s the heart that motivates the artist to do that. He was careful to price his art so that anybody who wanted it, regardless of their income, could have it, because I think he felt that everybody should have a bit of art in their house.>>Seeing along mountain range from the distance always makes me wonder what is back of it? This particular range had a road through it that led to Santa Fe, if you were in no hurry to get there. In those days there were three cars that stood up to the problem. One was that funny old Ford. Then the Dodge, and the Cadillac. We made it a Ford, after throwing a ceremonial kiss to Taos. There was no heavy cloud to smoke overhanging Santa Fe, to indicate its presence. When there It was, as if hiding in pinons and cedar bushes. Unconsciously, I gravitated to the Plaza. A brilliant sunset hung over the mountains. Black-shawled women were going on unhurried errands and cowboy boots clicked everywhere. Martin Gardeski was selling exotic perfumes in his drugstore to surprised Eastern ladies, and the bank saloon was functioning sullenly as a soda fountain. I almost forgot going into the art museum. I made it just before closing (music) He was dead serious about art. He was very flexible. He was interested in modern art. He was very interested in Max Ernst… took a trip to Arizona to meet him one time. I’d say he’s very eclectic in his view on art. He was willing to consider what the person had to offer and then made his decision. The little home I lived in is still there on a little flat iron corner where Garcia joins Canyon Road. It had a white picket fence that enclosed a garden, where zinnias and marigolds grew rampant.>>Well, mother and Dad met at San Felipe Pueblo, December of 23. She had come down from Denver with some friends she came down to Santa Clara Pueblo. She was very interested in Indian songs, so through an anthropological friend in Denver, she made arrangements to stay with a family in Santa Clara Pueblo. During this time she and I saw each other several times and he offered her the house to come in and take a bath if she wanted to.>>She was such a personality, well when she was on the stage, which she did get to be sometimes. And, of course, she had been an actress. But, it was hard to see anybody else, because even though she was a very generous actress, she was just such a personality that she could really just be a magnet for the audience.>>The marionettes, of course, were very much a part of our life and the stage was there in the living room, and the marionettes hung on a rack behind. You had the physical presence all the time, 24 hours a day of that stage (chuckles) and the marionettes. People, when they sometimes would come to visit mother would be asked to show them. She would bring one or two figures on to the stage. When I was growing up at Christmastime we had the Christmas shows, which took over the whole house. I loved the Columbine and Pierrot. I hated Harlequin, because he was mean. And boom-boom the clown, I liked him. (Alright, are you ready?) (Rahrs! Rahr! Rahr! Rahr! Rahr!