Oil wells and picnic tables

Sunday, November 25th 2018

Marfa, TX and Los Angeles, CA

It’s 9am and I am waking up for the last day of Thanksgiving vacation. I meet my parents in the lobby for breakfast and it is incredibly crowded. We immediately decide to check out and eat somewhere else. 

I am leaving from the Midland airport at 6pm, so we start meandering in that direction. We pass through 3 towns before we are able to find a suitable place to eat. 

We end up in a small, Mexican restaurant with multicolored, paper flags taped to the walls and metal chairs. I ask the server what kind of meat is in the taco salad. She looks slightly confused by that question and says that it’s ground beef. Her response is perfect and I feel a small pang of nostalgia as I know this moment can only happen in West Texas. 

After brunch, we drive to a town called Monahans to check out the Sandhills park. This is where Texans go surfing on sand and I am super excited to see it. There are multiple road closures on the way, so it takes us a few tries to get into the park. 

When we arrive, the parking lot is empty. My allergies are raging and the wind here is insane. 

Dad goes inside the main office while Mom and I stay in the truck. He returns with a day pass and the news that it’s too windy to sand surf today. I am silently relieved.

We start to drive through the park. At first, we only see sand and tumbleweeds, but eventually, we reach the end of the main road and are greeted with enormous dunes in almost every direction. The sand is light tan and the sky is a strange mix of dark blue and gray. The dunes appear untouched and are adorned with squiggly lines from the incessant wind. 

Dad parks the truck and we get out for pictures. On a whim, I take off my boots, tuck my jeans into my socks and make the climb to the top of the first dune. The sand is incredibly soft and my feet are sinking almost to my ankles with each step. When I get to the top, the view is amazing. There are dunes as far as the eye can see and not one soul in sight. I feel an urge to run around them but the wind is so strong that I am leaning into it to keep from falling over. I reluctantly slide back down to the parking lot as both parents stand at the bottom, recording me on their iPhones.  

We continue to drive around the deserted park. We pass by a picnic area nestled next to a large, working oil well. If this isn’t West Texas, I don’t know what is. 

Eventually we make it to Midland an hour early. I opt to go ahead to the airport; my allergies are making me miserable and I just want to sit quietly indoors. 

At the airport I eat an early dinner and treat myself to a few glasses of wine. As soon my flight opens for boarding, I am the first in line. I have never been more ready to trade in West Texas tumbleweeds for California palm trees. 

Marfa is a strange mistress

Saturday, November 24th 2018

Marfa, TX

It’s 9:30am CST and I am waking up for our last full day in Marfa. Overnight my allergies have gone from bad to abysmal. I am struggling, but must pull it together. Today will be a busy day.

By 10am I am entering the lobby for breakfast. It's overrun with a strange mix of tourists. The crowd is a combination of Westworld and Portlandia and, strangely, I feel right at home. We luck into a corner table and enjoy a very slow breakfast while watching people and discussing our day. 

The first stop is a guided tour of the Chinati, Marfa's most popular contemporary art museum. Josh, our guide for the day, is wearing all denim and a pair of large, dusty work boots. I wonder if we will be mucking out stalls or viewing art, but I keep that thought to myself. 

Our group is small and, after the obligatory small talk regarding Texas football, the tour gets started. Josh begins with a brief explanation of the history of the Chinati (despite the fact that he is "confident" that most of us already know the story). I smile and nod; I do not know the story.

The Chinati was founded by the artist, Donald Judd. His career starts in the 1960s in New York. The art scene quickly falls in love with him, culminating in a retrospective of his work at the Whitney in 1968. By 1971 he starts to realize the feeling is not mutual and begins to visit Marfa regularly. In 1978 he becomes a permanent resident of Marfa, basically telling NYC it's-not-you-it's-me.

Meanwhile, the Dia Foundation, also in love with Judd, offers him $4M, an old Army base and full creative control to build his dream art museum in Marfa. Judd accepts the proposal and begins building his exhibit space and art in tandem. His sculptures will be permanent, so the galleries (mostly old artillery sheds) and the surrounding dessert will become part of the art. The project ends up running  substantially over budget (an impressive feat for a self-proclaimed minimalist). 

The Dia Foundation eventually breaks it off with Judd and the project is delayed. In 1986 the museum finally opens to the public under the stewardship of the Chianti foundation.  

Our first stop is Dan Flavin’s untitled. I’m not sure what to expect as I follow our small group into a large, dimly lit, rectangular room. The room splits near the far end, where there are 2 sets of neon lights, nestled in short, diagonally shaped hallways. One set is mostly pink and the other is mostly green. The shape of the hallways allow for visibility of a small amount of light from our end of the room, which increases as we approach. As I move closer, I am starting to feel like I can not walk in a straight line. I'm definitely into this.

We walk into to the next door of the same building and are now on the opposite side of the lights. The installation spans 6 U-shaped buildings with similar structures. Around building number 3 I start to become more comfortable and my parents and I take turns standing on opposite sides of the lights while waving to each other and laughing. 

After the 6th building, our group gathers in the shade as we wait for everyone else to catch up. Josh tells a story about a group of hikers at Big Bend, where one of them fell into a hole and died. Half of the group had to wait with the dead body for 3 days, while the others went for help. No one really knows what to say. I think this tour just took a dark turn.   

The next stop is Robert Irwin’s Untitled, Dawn to Dusk. This is the same installation where we unwittingly stopped on our first day town. Now that we are officially visiting, it’s explained that we should not take pictures (oops) and that we can go inside the seemingly empty building (yay). The installation spans 4 acres and we learn that it sits on the site of an old military hospital. Irwin wanted to use the original structure, but ultimately ended up constructing a new one in the same footprint. The building is a long hallway, divided perpendicularly. One side is lined with white, translucent fabric and the other side with black, translucent fabric. The installation is a work of space and light and I am really enjoying it. After everyone is done walking through the hallway, we pile into our cars for the final stop, the John Chamberlain exhibit across from our hotel. 

This exhibit is housed in a large, gutted warehouse that used to be a wool and mohair factory. It includes 22 abstract metal sculptures, made of salvaged cars. The space feels enormous and the sculptures are evenly dispersed throughout. Marfa is doing such a great job of hiding awesome art in dilapidated buildings. 

After the tour, we take a break for coffee and snacks. Around 1:45pm we are approaching Marfa Maid Dairy for our 2pm tour. They are located on Antelope Hills Rd. According to Apple maps, there are two roads that run parallel to each other called Antelope Hill Rd. and Antelope Hills Rd. We inevitably take the wrong one. 

2 phone calls and 3 u-turns later, we arrive at Marfa Maid right on time. We sit on a long bench in a screen-enclosed porch with a small group of tourists. Happy farm cats wander in and out of the partially open door. 

The tour is run by the couple that owns the farm. They are retired and incredibly charming. She is from California and used to run an art endowment in LA. He is from upstate New York and is an heir to a small chain of local liquor stores. Like Donald Judd, they found Marfa as the perfect escape from city life. First they fell in love with Marfa and then with each other. Marfa is a strange mistress.  

It turns out that the goat farm was actually started by accident. At first, she only wanted a house with a garden. This worked well until it was time to pay property taxes. As a way to sidestep the system, they purchased a few goats and registered themselves as a farm. The Californian, the New Yorker and their small herd of goats lived happily for a few years before it occurred to them to actually turn their "farm" into a farm. 

The going was tough at first. Their goats were not the right breed to produce milk and neither of them knew what to do with the milk anyways. Eventually he built up a medium-sized herd of Alpines and Nubians (the best goats for milk), and she learned how to make all sorts of cheese. Now they have a license to sell commercially and while they are not quite profitable, they are finally losing less money than the cost of property tax. I guess it takes a lot of work to stand still in these parts. 

Next, we meet the goats. They are excited for the company and are very affectionate. One starts to chew on the edge of Mom’s coat, but we catch her before any damage is done. My parents take pictures as a few of the goats pose patiently. I am in a state of complete bliss, as I am surrounded by overly affectionate goats and happy farm cats. I have never been happier. 

The next stop is the milking room. Our guide opens the door, shakes a bucket of food and almost immediately a goat comes bounding in. Unprompted, she jumps onto the milking platform and waits patiently. He gives us a quick primer on how to milk a goat by hand and then shyly admits that he normally uses a machine. We are each offered the opportunity to try, but by the time it's my turn, the demo goat is getting visibly agitated. I politely decline. 

The tour ends with a cheese tasting, where we all grab little pieces of cheese with our goat-and-cat-infested hands. This definitely feels like West Texas.

We head back to the hotel and sit down for an early dinner. After washing my hands for a full 5 minutes, my Dad and I split a large charcuterie plate and then I also eat a hamburger patty on the side. I guess that art and goats make me hungry.

Around 7pm we make the drive out to the McDonald Observatory. It's freezing cold, cloudy and very crowded. After only 30 minutes, we are all ready to leave. My allergies are really bothering me and I just want to be inside, next to a heater. 

When we get back to the hotel, college football is playing in the lounge and there is a hot toddy with my name on it. We spend the rest of the evening in this manner and eventually head up to bed by 11pm.   

They're out of toast.

Friday, November 23rd 2018

Marfa, TX

It’s 9am CST and I am waking up for day 3 of our Marfa vacation! Around 9:30am I meet my parents in the lobby for breakfast. The restaurant is packed. Mom points out a young Japanese couple, looking mildly uncomfortable in their cowboy hats and I am immediately charmed. 

After breakfast, Dad opts to stay at the lounge and watch football while Mom and I go shopping. Our first stop is a little store called Wrong. I read about it online and can’t tell if it’s a gift shop or a gallery. It’s only a block and a half from our hotel, but it takes nearly 10 minutes to find. Wrong is located on a residential street, in a house, with no sign. Go figure. 

Eventually, we enter. There is a woman and a younger guy behind the counter. The woman is obviously in charge and quickly announces that she needs to go take a shower. She asks if we need anything before she goes. Don't worry, I quip, we'll come find you.

The store is a really interesting mix of original art and handmade gifts. The prices are high and I feel like I just stepped into an Abbot Kinney boutique through a secret portal in the middle of the West Texas desert. I want to buy something on principle but I just can not stomach $500 for an 8 x 10 print. 

Next we wander up Highland Avenue to see what else Marfa has to offer. The plan is to walk to the courthouse at the end of the street. There is a lookout deck at the top; it’s only three stories tall, but we've been told that you can see the whole town. 

Soon we see a small sign that says Andy Warhol on it. It’s next to an oversized, sliding door. With great trepidation, I pull back the large door. Inside we find a single room gallery with a nice lady sitting at a small table. She explains this rotating exhibit is free to the public, courtesy of the Ayn Foundation. The gallery features 3 paintings from Andy Warhol’s last supper, a series that has over 100 pieces in total. It strikes me as strangely religious given what I know about Andy Warhol. Later I'll find out these paintings were Warhol's last before his unexpected death in 1987.   

Next door we find a similar gallery with the works of Maria Zerres. We learn that she is a German artist who finds inspiration from tragedy. This particular series is about September 11. 

As we continue towards the courthouse, we duck into a few gift shops. I am on the lookout for a t-shirt but end up buying a substantially overpriced sweatshirt instead. Mom buys some organic dog treats to bring home for Hyacinth, their miniature schnauzer.  

When we finally arrive at the courthouse, it is closed for the holiday. We are not surprised and decide to head back on the opposite side of the street. We stumble across another gallery, showing photography by Robert Frank. A series of informational panels explain that he is basically the father of street photography. I am definitely into this. There are 100s of photos and a handful of 8mm films running on loops. I am getting tired, but still manage spend nearly 30 minutes checking out his work. 

Soon we are back at the hotel. We reconvene with Dad and enjoy a long afternoon break and a few snacks before bundling up for the evening weather. 

Around 3pm, we walk over to a small coffee shop called Do Your Own Thing. The cafe has no sign and is only marked by a lone sandwich board in a gravel parking lot. The sign reads "coffee, toast and magic". Upon entrance, there is another sign explaining that they are out of toast. It takes almost 15 minutes to get our coffee. It's okay though, we relax at a long picnic table and take in the scene. 

The next stop is Ballroom Marfa, a gallery with rotating art, located across the street. We are not sure what to expect and find 3 rooms and a lone outdoor sculpture. The rooms are filled with abstract paintings and videos. There are no information panels to explain the context but the whole space has a distinct feeling of chaos. The heart of the exhibit, First Person Shooter, by Jibade-Khalil Huffman, is a medium sized room filled with various projected films designed to make you feel scared, uncomfortable and disoriented. We are the only ones in this room and I notice an unmarked door in the back corner. As I approach, I see that it’s partially open. I slowly push on the door, half expecting another Warhol painting. Inside I find a plain bathroom. Even the expected is unexpected in Marfa.

Next we gather in the truck and make the short drive to the Chinati for a special sunset viewing of a few key pieces of art. It turns out there are multiple installations and galleries located all over the place. The guy that sells us our tickets has to explain where we should go 3 times before we fully understand.

We start out at Donald Judd’s Untitled, 100 works in mill aluminum. One of the most famous permanent installations in Marfa, it spans 2 gutted artillery sheds in the middle of the desert and houses exactly 100 aluminum boxes. Dad, with a background in materials science, has a lot to say about the thickness of the aluminum, how it interacts with the environment and the construction of the boxes themselves. At one point, our docent explains that the boxes were constructed at a mill and that Judd only designed them. Dad is visibly disappointed by this news; he was just starting to appreciate the art of Marfa.

The sun is setting quickly, so we walk over to Judd’s 15 untitled works in concrete, which spans a little bit over half a mile. We don’t have much time, so we approach the very large exhibit somewhere in the middle and stroll up it's dirt road towards the parking lot. The concrete boxes are light gray, smooth and  taller than we are. Dad talks about the quality of the concrete and I muse on the interaction of the art and the landscape. Mom waits patiently as we analyze each box.     

By the time we get back to the hotel, it’s dark and cold outside. We are ready for an early dinner. The hotel restaurant is packed and we are lucky to snag a table in the corner after only a few minutes of waiting. Our server is awesome and lets us order from the formal dining room instead of the bar. I get steak frites and creamed spinach. My meal is great and we even have a perfect view of the TV to watch college football. 

We spend the rest of the evening in the lounge, sipping wine and occasionally talking over the game. Today turned out to be a good day for both art and football.   

But humanity had another plan

Thursday, November 22nd 2018
Marfa, TX


It’s 9:30am CST and I am getting ready for our first full day in Marfa, TX. Today is Thanksgiving and we have no idea what we are going to do! I meet my parents for breakfast in the lobby at 10am. I am wearing wool socks, 3 layers of clothing and my hiking jacket, which is rated for subzero temperatures. After an unnecessarily, drawn out production of shedding multiple layers, I finally sit down at the table. No one else even has a jacket; despite my Texas roots, I am already feeling like a dumb tourist. 

For breakfast, I order a small plate of bacon and avocado. Service is slow, so we spend nearly an hour in the small restaurant, clutching our coffees and deciding how to spend the day. Not much will be open, so we opt to take this opportunity to make the drive to Prada Marfa. 


On the way out of town, we stop at Cobra Rock, which is a handmade boot company. We are surprised to see they are open and go inside to have a look. I’ve been on the lookout for high end boots for many years and am doubtful that I will find them here. While my Mom marvels over their vintage sewing machine, I take a look around. Holy crap; these boots are perfect! I chat with the sales women and tell her about my lifelong quest for Texas boots to wear in LA and she is very sympathetic. She explains that all boots are made to order and that I would need to make my purchase from their website. The wait time is roughly 4 months. I’m into these boots and vow to order some after the holidays 


Our next stop is Prada Marfa, a weird, little art installation in the middle of nowhere. Technically, it’s not even in Marfa; it’s about 1.5 miles north of a town called Valentine, TX. I've known about this installation for a while, but decide to use this time to get up to speed on its history. I pull up Wikipedia and begin to read.


Prada Marfa is a sealed off storefront with Prada shoes and bags from 2005, when it was originally built. The idea was to build the store in a harsh environment and then never repair it so that it would eventually become a ruin and disappear back into the earth (thus providing a pretty overt statement on the fleeting nature of fashion and status). However, as it turned out, humanity had another plan. The night after the sculpture was completed, it was badly vandalized and looted, forcing the artist to restore it immediately. Since then, Ballroom Marfa, a local nonprofit, has performed “minimal maintenance”, including painting over graffiti and picking up trash.

When we arrive there is only one visitor. A solo woman on a large motorcycle. I immediately offer to take her picture and she is grateful. There is a yellow, curly line spray painted around the base of the building, but no other current graffiti. We get a ton a pictures right before a large crowd arrives. Dad wanders across the street to photograph some railroad tracks that are so straight and flat, they look like they are falling off the end of the earth. He convinces me to climb up and we take a few photos of each other. 

On the way back, we catch a new mural, called “Giant Marfa”. It reflects a key scene from the movie, Giant (filmed in Marfa) and was donated to the city by John Cerney this October. There is an extremely large wooden cut out of James Dean set next to cut outs of Rock Hudson and Elizabeth Taylor in a yellow car and a large mansion. There is also music playing in the background. We deduce that it’s powered by solar energy, but are not completely sure. 

Once we get back into town, we take a quick break before convening in the lobby for Thanksgiving dinner. We can get a table at our hotel, but we prefer to go to the buffet the Hotel Paisano. A quick phone call suggests that they are booked, but we decide to walk over there anyways. When we arrive, we are easily seated next to a large table with multiple screaming kids. Our server is totally over the top and has fingernails that are easily 3 inches long. I wonder if that’s sanitary, but am mostly amused by the randomness of this place. He gives us each a small bottle of champagne to start the meal. The buffet includes a basic salad, a Waldorf salad, some prime rib, a green bean casserole, corn, potatoes and bread. Aside from the prime rib and complimentary champagne, it’s fairly unimpressive. Oh well, at least we don’t have to do the dishes.

Next, we go back to our hotel lobby and order a round of after dinner drinks. Port for me, a margarita for Dad and a Shirley Temple for Mom. We call Grandmother and talk on the phone for a while. At one point, Dad asks if I can drive later and I switch from wine to coffee. We lounge around until it gets dark enough to see the Marfa lights.   


Around 8pm we bundle up in our warmest clothes and pile into the truck to go look for aliens from outer space. By this point, Dad is visibly tipsy, I am a little jealous and Mom is bordering on annoyed. As we drive down the dark highway, Dad sings classic rock songs and tells us how much he loves his dog and his truck.  


Once we arrive at the viewing point, we join a small crowd of hopeful tourists to stare into the night. Dad tells me about the Marfa lights, he has seen them on YouTube and explains that the "real" Marfa lights will blink on and off and jump around the horizon. He tells us that the lights date back to 1885 so they are obviously not headlights. We stare intently at the horizon and wonder what they are. After about 30 minutes, just when I am ready to give up, Mom insists that she sees moving lights. I take the binoculars and I see them too! They are near a distant radio tower and are appearing and disappearing in various locations. Other groups of tourists point and chatter in excitement. 

Eventually the cold drives us back to the hotel. We spend the rest of the evening in the lounge. We order some snacks, a few more rounds of drinks and Mom updates us on her research on our family tree. Around midnight we finally close our tab and head upstairs for bed. 

Another dimension

Wednesday, November 21st 2018
Los Angeles, CA and Marfa, TX

It’s 6:30am PST and I am waking up for a full day of travel to Marfa, TX. At 7am I am standing in front of the most awkward Lyft driver of all time. He offers to put my bag in the trunk and then asks if I want to watch him do it. I say that I don’t care to watch him but I also don’t want to sit in the car any longer than I have to. He asks why and I say that I like being outside more than I like being in a car. Thus my trip begins. 

The airport is busy, but I still make it through security with plenty of time to grab breakfast and coffee. I walk the length of the terminal and can not find any food that looks appealing. I end up with a large cup coffee for breakfast.

The flight to Dallas goes smoothly. Once I land, I have about an hour and half to kill before my next flight. I find a restaurant called Cantina Laredo. I recognize it from Austin and am feeling confident about the food. I order some ahi tuna tacos and add on chips and salsa. The tacos are weird and I remember that I broke one of my food rules, which is to never order raw fish in Texas. I end up not eating the tacos and filling up a chips, salsa and Chardonnay.     

By the time I land in Midland, I am starving. The Midland airport has the unmistakable air of small town Texas. The passenger pick up area is small and full of trucks. As always, my parents are early and I find them right away. 

It’s already 6:30pm CST and the drive to Marfa is 3 hours. We decide to stop for dinner in Monahans. The freeway is dark and empty and we are driving fast. My Mom can barely read the map and we are past Monahans before we even knew we were there. Oh well, dinner in Pecos. 

I use my GPS to direct us to the number 1 rated restaurant in Pecos, according to Yelp. When we arrive the building is dark and boarded up. Number 2 restaurant? Same situation. We finally arrive at the Old Mill restaurant at 8pm. This is a self-professed Mexican and Italian restaurant. They are open but the parking lot is completely dark. We take a few minutes to move our suitcases into the cab of the truck. Something about this place feels very rough. 

The hostess is incredibly nice and seats us immediately. The menu is 7 pages long and I am so hungry that I can barely see straight. Eventually I agree on jalapeno poppers for an appetizer and hamburger steak with fried okra and green beans for dinner. The jalapenos are soggy and my hamburger steak is room temp at best. I did not have high hopes for the Old Mill, yet I am still disappointed. 

We drive another 2 hours to Marfa. When we arrive, we are the only car in town. We find our hotel immediately but it still takes 3 trips around the block to figure out where the front door is located. The wind is tearing through the streets and there are literally tumbleweeds rolling past. 

When we enter the Hotel St. George, it’s as though we stepped into another dimension. The main lobby is almost entirely white, with elegantly placed, recessed lighting. To the right is a high end bookstore that only sells books by local artists and handmade, silk scarfs; to the left is a small lounge bar filled with hipsters. Where did all of these people come from? 

Once we get checked in, we only have about an hour before the hotel bar closes for the night. We quickly reconvene in the lounge for a celebratory cocktail. I order a Titos and soda and our Thanksgiving vacation has finally begun!