Blauer als der Himmel

My last semester of college found me with an unfilled elective. I took an introductory course in journalism. I didn't find out until later how lucky I was, but the teacher had been an Associated Press (AP) wire reporter for over 30 years. She never disclosed how she happened to be slumming at UNM. Her knowledge and self-possession far exceeded her height of about five feet.

I had combined my liberal arts interests under the Department of Geography with a focus on Remote Sensing. My job prospects consisted of a Department of Defense position purported to include a six-month stint in a cartographic sweatshop in Arlington, Virgina OR I could interpret satellite images for the CIA. Neither held any appeal.

Somehow the Professor got wind of an opening in the Marketing Department at the University of New Mexico Press. Totally unqualified, or so I tho't, I ignored her suggestion to apply. After the third class & query, admitting I hadn't applied and reeling from her "Why not?!", I dutifully tendered my credentials.

My boss was a woman of genius under whose beneficent guidance I, over the next several years,  accrued a tool pouch of finely crafted skills.

Some years further, the drudgery of wealth accumulation having inspired an overwhelming degree of ennui, I, with supreme naivete, entered upon the business of art sales. (By this time I had garnered a small bit of fame by being one of six people in the nation to access Ross Perot's mainframe at EDS and the ONLY one to use it for marketing purposes.) Confident of my business acumen, I felt I would benefit from further education in the field of art history.

And that's how I found myself seated in a classroom of bored undergrads absorbing the wisdom of Professor Phineas T. Whitmore, III.

Of course, Dr. Whitmore's expositions covered all the greats: Hirst, Serra, Caravaggio The Lesser, Borgward & Stallone. But he reserved  his highest praises for Senor Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino, or, as he's commonly known, Raphael. And whenever he cited da Urbino's work he referred to him as  "The DiviiiIIIIIiiine Raw-fee-el."

Abrasion

Now, after decades of viewing exquisite works of art, I was like, totally astonished when, while motoring on one of the Backcountry Byways I frequent, I beheld a glowing embodiment of Dr. Whitmore (III)'s attribution.

It was late in the day and the sun was at a low angle. Its golden beams streamed forth with the glory-bearing verisimilitude that is an inspiration to theologians the world over. I made a yooee, placed Eggbert well off onto the shoulder and approached with reverence.

Sensuality

The photographs do not, of course, capture the object's vitality, its efflorescence, its DiviiiIIIIIIiiiine GlowiiiIIIIIIiiiingness. But such are the limitations of the medium.













Days later whilst again traversing this section I observed that it was gone. I suspect a collector with more stowage available than I likely carried it off. Thus, this documentation accretes inestimable value.




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email:   mfhalb@gmail.com
other photos:   Search on Wahnfried Am Rio Grande (Flickr internet photo storage).

Mons Majora & Phallus

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