In October of 1977 I was on a road trip across the American southwest and made a stop in Taos, New Mexico to look around the pueblos and the area made famous by an art colony early in the 20th century. I did not like the way many tourists were casually snapping photos without respect for the inhabitants, the Taos Pueblo Indians. When I felt the right time had come to take a few photos, I asked these two friends if I could take their picture. They said, OK, if I would give them a ride into town, which I agreed to. I think the photo is the best achievement, and my oil painting from it I do enjoy looking at in my own collection of paintings. I spent a little more time with these two fellows, since their trip to town involved visiting a liquor store. Then they wanted to go out to a big field to drink and look at a herd of buffalo belonging to the Taos Indians. After that, we returned to the Taos village and entered the area for residents only. One of them invited me to sleep over at his home, but I was afraid and decided to leave. Anyway, the Yankees were in the World Series at that time and I wanted to go listen to that on my car radio. I kind of doubt that I missed out on a spiritual experience with a drunk Indian, but you never know.
There is a longer, more detailed account of this in my diary of that time, but this is an online blog, so that’s all you get.