The Eye of the Beholder: Millicent Rogers and the Art of Taos
By Jessica Monk “There is no paying life in advance for what it must do to you. It asks of one’s unarmored heart, and one must give in. There is…
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New Mexico
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Vladimir Nabokov in the Grand Canyon & the Discovery of Butterfly Neonympha
by Lois Kapila “I am driving off to California to-morrow with butterfly-nets, manuscripts and a new set of teeth.” ~Nabokov, from a letter to Edmind Wilson, May 25, 1941 It…
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D. H. Lawrence Revisted
The lonely desert mesas stretched to a line of mountains etched on the stark blue horizon. At an elevation of 7,000 feet the morning air was crisp and cool, even though it was July in New Mexico. I was alone in front of a little shrine that reminded me of
a country chapel. It seemed an appropriate metaphor considering whose ashes were buried there — author D. H. Lawrence, the “priest of love.”
a country chapel. It seemed an appropriate metaphor considering whose ashes were buried there — author D. H. Lawrence, the “priest of love.”
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