Michael Andrews Arts

See Announcements for details on publication of Archilochus poems in Arion Magazine.

Santa Fe & Taos

A Current Project


Santa Fe & Taos contains pictures and poetry about Santa Fe, Taos and parts of Southwest.
      I have been there a lot, most recently to attend the opening at the Monroe Gallery of Dick Miller's poshumous exhibition. No one will even consider looking at my work. Not famous enough, not enugh sunsets and roses.
      Well, I got a free dinner and I have always liked the Indian feel of Santa Fe. The vibe at Taos is a little too Indian, a trifle beyond the marketing hustle. Still, even an idiot can take a camera and score a few shots.
      I am an idiot and I did score a few shots.
      Or, to paraphrase Brett Weston, I do not take shots, I make photographs.
      If you believe that, perhaps you would like to mount me an exhibition.


Margaritas & My Flaming Ass
Santa Fe, New Mexico

We stay at the cheap La Quinta motel on the edge of town
and plunder the plaza for art and trinkets,
my cameras banging shutters, rapid fire
and still life, and the gallery directors
all hold their noses and gasp for air
when I walk through the door,
because they only show tourist kitch and
obviously pretentious tiny black & whites,
out of focus and in huge, crafty mats,
or huge tedious compendiums of Helmut Newton
and we motor out to some Yuppy mecca
on the mountain slopes north of town, coy in the pond,
steam in the air, sandals and white terry cloth robes
and get the tourist stench massaged out of our hides,
and sooner or later we tour the Taos Pueblo
where free market Indians want to confiscate my camera,
the deed to my house and levy huge fees just in case
I got a picture that was worth something
and after getting my parking ticket from the Santa Fe police
whose lust for revenue means that
disabled tags from California cut no ice with them,
we managed the sundown climb up the bell tower
on top of the La Fonda hotel
and in a frenzy of dehydration
I belt down two margaritas
along with the next bowl of jalapeno sauce and blue corn chips
and even though I don't drink we go to the authentic Mexican Restaurant
where I have another and when the mariachis
began howling and thumping I asked for Mexico Lindo
and although they were truly awful it brought back sweet memories
and when I had an emergency need for the facilities
the god of drunken gringos was with me,
the toilet was unoccupied and I make the throne with bare moments to spare
and the jalepeno scalds sensitive mucous membranes
spraying fountains of blue corn and black beans.

When I stagger back to the lobby Flo is waiting
with her most ironic arched eyebrow
and asks if I was okay.

"I'm in Santa Fe.
I'm drunk
and my ass is on fire."

And for some reason or other
she hasn't stopped laughing yet.