In Bisbee, Arizona

In Bisbee, walking in the hills around the town. Cactus. Red hills. Wind.

These are cacti, taken through sunglasses.

It is a wonderful warm place, and attracts people who have retired from a wider life. A bit like dying, in a nice way.

In the desert I found piles of backpacks, abandoned by illegal aliens before they entered into Bisbee. Toothbrushes and combs, and water bottles and foot powder, and underwear, lay scattered among the cacti and creosote brush. Hundreds of packs.

I spent some time trying to paint, and sat there looking out over the wide expanses, or at the yellow slashes of slag heaps. How do you paint something different than Maynard Dixon, or O'Keefe, or any of the huge army of painters who have sought out these dry places and big sky and tried to paint it? I couldn't really find anything original to say.