Almost a dozen different artists will show their creativity in various forms of clay and textiles.

All works displayed will be for sale.

The show runs the month of September.

Dr. Smith will wrap up his month-long show and sale with a workshop-discussion. He is a fountain of knowledge and experience and teaches innovation along 4 paths in the Art World today. Sign up early with Marne at the RRCA office because seating is limited. Mark Your Calendars! Workshop is Saturday July 30th at 10:00am. Cost is $25.00

Wanda Waddle

The Creative Gourd

The Ruidoso Regional Council for the Arts will be presenting their 2nd Annual gourd art show in August of this year. The New Mexico Gourd Society (NMGS) will be one of the sponsors for this event.  It is a juried exhibit that attracts outstanding gourd artists from all over New Mexico, Arizona and Texas. Watch this website posting for the latest news as the event fast approaches!

Anyone who is a resident of New Mexico, Arizona, or Texas may enter their artwork. An individual may enter up to three pieces, entry fees are as follows: $10 per item or 3 entries for $25.

The gourds may be entered in two major categories: gourd art and gourd art subject matter. The gourd art category is for the art on a gourd; and, the gourd subject matter is for art of any other medium (i.e. fabric, paintings, etc.) but must have a gourd featured as the subject.

All gourd art will be for sale with the R.R.C.A. receiving a 25% commission. There will be an Opening Reception on Saturday, August 6th, from 5:00 – 7:00 PM.
Submission Information & Entry Form (116kb PDF file)

Get free Adobe Acrobat Reader to download and view PDF files.

Questions? Contact RRCA!

View a slideshow of Simpson’s work HERE.

“Just when you think you’ve traveled too far down Wiggins Mill Road, and you start to look for a spot to turn around, the rusting masterworks of Vollis Simpson loom into view. Thirty feet in the air, held aloft by sturdy steel pillars, are some of Mr. Simpson’s pieces: a team of horses pulling a wagon, a metal man strumming a guitar and an airplane cum rocket ship that might have escaped from an old comic book. They are painted in a dozen colors and festooned with propellers that spin in the breeze. With every gust they creak and whir like some phantasmagoric junkyard band.”

Read about how Simpson’s hobby became his passion HERE.

Gives us something to think about – what kinds of (seemingly) useless things could generate life in ourselves and in those around us?

“He imitates gestures, examines objects. He sees a hat, he puts it on his head; he sees a seagull and is determined to fly himself; he sees a telephone and dials, accidentally summoning the fire department; he sees house painters and decides to paint.
His misadventures, particularly in the early books, are ignited by impulse and inquiry, the consequences of wanting to see and to know, and the books’ charm is that they don’t condemn this curiosity; they relish it. Reality’s hard knocks — the chases, the falls, the breaking of limbs and objects — are ultimately taken care of by the nameless man in the yellow hat, who never seems to learn that you don’t leave such a childlike creature alone with a new bike, saying, ‘Keep close to the house while I am gone.’”

Read about the

“To find a honey tree, first catch a bee. Catch a bee when its legs are heavy with pollen; then it is ready for home. It is simple enough to catch a bee on a flower: hold a cup or glass above the bee, and when it flied up, cap the cup with a piece of cardboard. Carry the bee to a nearby open spot – best an elevated one – release it, and watch where it goes. Keep your eyes on it as long as you can see it, and hie you to that last known place. Wait there until you see another bee; catch it, release it, and watch. Bee after bee will lead toward the honey tree, until you see the final bee enter the tree. Thoreau describes this process in his journals. So a book [a song, a script, a painting] leads its writer.

You may wonder how you start, how you catch the fist one. What do you use for bait?

You have no choice. One bad winter in the Arctic, and not too long ago, an Algonquin woman and her baby were left alone after everyone else in their winter camp had starved. Ernest Thompson Seton tells it. The woman walked from the camp where everyone had died, and found at a lake a cache. The cache contained one small fishhook. It was simple to rig a line, but she had no bait, and no hope of bait. The baby cried. Che took a knife and cut a strip from her own thigh. She fished with the worm of her own flesh and caught a jackfish; she fed the child and herself. Of course she saved the fish gut for bait. She lived alone at the lake, on fish, until spring, when she walked out again and found people. Seton’s informant had seen the scar on her thigh.”

(Excerpt from The Writing Life, by Annie Dillard, 1989)

“Confession:  I’ve recently found myself to be a knitter.  Somewhat alarmingly, I might add.  Knitting.  I admit to enjoying it.  I particularly enjoy observing reactions to my newfound hobby.   Often, people try to guess what I’m doing (“Is that crochet?”) or share childhood memories of a mother or grandmother knitting.  Sometimes, people gently (or not) mock my old-fashioned choice of hobby.  In each of these encounters the question hangs in the air: “Why are you knitting?”

Why did I begin to knit?

It’s a question I almost can’t answer.  I know why I didn’t knit.  Last winter, my roommates knit.  I did not.  I was glad they enjoyed it, but I didn’t see the point.  I was certain that once I had mastered the stitches, I would grow bored with the repetitive motion and leave my work unfinished.  I lacked my roommates’ drive to accomplish tasks.  That, and I wasn’t keeping vigil next to a sickbed.  And I’m not a grandmother.  And no female in the past three generations of my family has knit.  Knitting was both too old-fashioned and too trendy.

A few months later, something changed.

…

Knitting – even guerilla knitting – isn’t going to change the world.  I’m never going to knit enough to clothe myself or my loved ones completely with my own handiwork. But through knitting I am a part of a tradition that can be shared, that is useful, that is productive.  It brings comfort in its tactile softness and connotations of gentleness.  The very associations I resisted are actually the appeal of knitting.  Perhaps someday I’ll domesticate my urban environment with a bit of well-placed (maybe even subversive) knitting, but for now, I am satisfied that knitting has domesticated a part of me—that I am more willing to embrace softness and gentleness; that I am more willing to ask for help; that I am willing to be considered overly feminine and old-fashioned; that I might even join a knitting circle.”

(Read the full article HERE)

“In a city where buildings seem to change as often as fashion, the shop is one example of attention to detail designed to last. The inside shelves and stairwell are handmade by a craftsman from Nagano. There are papers of many sizes, colors, and textures gathered from across Japan. Often traveling extensively to remote regions of Asia and the world, Sakamoto san has a deep knowledge and appreciation for the craft of paper. His answer when asked why he is in the paper business is succinct and genuine: “Paper gives me peace.”

I wonder how many businesspeople can say the same thing about goods they sell. The separation of the maker and the receiver, or even the maker and the mediator, is something that is no longer strange. Yet we often want to know the origins of our purchases, or at the very least what they stand for as a brand. Ours is a post-industrial world with an inherited attachment to objects; as the twinges of economic recession pinch, people are returning to the desire to buy things that have been made with more than a buck in mind.”

(Read the full article HERE)