Quail Encounters
Meeting again, rejection and renewal
Hi Readers, it has been a few months since I’ve met you here. The primary reason my posts have taken a backseat is due to another teaching position I began in January at Sul Ross State University in Alpine, Texas. Teaching Art Appreciation as a college course alongside art at Marfa Elementary School to 4th and 5th graders has been rewarding. However, it’s left little time to post regularly here.
Unbelievably, we are in the final week of the spring term at SRSU. In the concluding chapter of our textbook on contemporary art around the world a quote by the German philosopher Martin Heidegger stood out, “All distances in time and space are shrinking.” Despite Heidegger writing this in reflection to the phenomenon of air travel in 1950, I couldn’t agree more today in the 21st century. Hours flow by in cadenced rhythms of routine. The days seem shorter even as their lengths grow longer and we find ourselves soon welcoming summer.
A woman who I admire, Miranda Bennett, who writes Creativity in the Time of Capitalism recently posted a question to her readers: have you ever made a mistake? Of course we have all made mistakes, but I loved this abrupt prompt—it felt like an invitation to level the filed. In the context of her Substack community it was a call for direct collaboration on a platform that can feel deflating after the energy put into a post is released to the virtual cloud and often times met with crickets.
My initial response to her question deals with expectation—that which I put on myself feeling as though I’ve let my subscribing readers down in my lack of engagement, and equally owning my mistake in thinking I could realistically do all the things I wish I could in the span of 24 hours (a minimum 8 of which requires sleep to function the next day at work and be an attentive parent to a young child). I’ll conclude on this topic by saying: thank you for this question, MB. It hurled me out of the nonsense that is my inbox and called me to finally make time to post. Also, offer a sincere apology to the readers who expected more from Field Notes. With the summer months approaching and a break from teaching, I truly hope to be more present here ushering in another round of Artist-Mother interviews (and finally my own!); a new translation I made a few weeks ago is shown below, Birds fly with broken wings, pencil on charcoal paper.
Now onto quail. Specifically, the scaled quail, a monogamous ground-nesting bird also called blue quail, cotton top, blue racer quail, or Mexican quail. These delightful creatures have become a daily visitor to our garden again after suddenly vanishing late last summer. We remain perplexed as to what rushed their covey (pun intended) never to return, which used to be under the overgrown hackberry tree on the corner of our lot. These quirky creatures are native to the Chihuahuan desert we call home, and their timely return this spring lifted my spirits after a round of rejections (more on that later). They bring daily joy to our afternoons wondering awkwardly across our driveway to peck at seeds under the pines and mesquites alongside the doves, chickadees, and house finches. A pattern in their anxious behavior has surfaced: they run very quickly, strut and peck, and sprint again like nervous travelers always on the lookout and equally the go—never in one place for too long. Occasionally, a pronounced call that sounds somewhere between a whistle and a chirp, a whistle-chirp, will cut through the air to remind us we are exactly where we belong—where the quail roam.
Knowing I am where I belong has been a learning throughout my entire life. It has taken me decades to accept and embrace the nuanced lessons of each place I’ve found myself, both physically and psychologically—how the people and varied experiences from pivotal moments have gifted me perspective that continues to inform the present. I’m heightened to the interconnectedness of our world via devices that make it seem as if we can be/go anywhere in a swipe of the screen, which only results in a constant distraction from where we are physically, here and now.
Rejection to this constant stream of social noise allows stillness while acknowledging the paradox of connection in this uncanny cultural moment we find ourselves. A contradiction that gives way to a false sense of relationship and a deep sense of absence. I haven’t found a balance with the rapid feed of information constantly streaming in through emails and apps. Instead I’ve settled for avoidance of the mostly disturbing news, social media overwhelm, and the titanic of information to be consumed here on Substack. I have been keeping up with Anne Lamott’s, Hallelujah Anyway. Lamott’s realness brings me hope for humanity in this fragile moment of utter calamity. She’s been through it and tells it straight with a wonderful sense of humor and no pretense—hallelujah! Check out Lamott’s interview with Rick Ruben discussing her newest book, Good Writing, co-written with her husband, Neal Allen.
It’s the shrinking sense of time and distance as Heidegger identified 76 years ago that brings me now to rejection—reckoning with the idea of hours lost when the notion of time feels increasingly elusive and out of reach. After all, we can’t physically touch time as a concept of measure but I do believe we can heal it (more on that in another post). The beginning of this year, as most years begin for artists, I applied to a handful of grants, residencies, programs, etc. Days were spent in the process of applications to open calls, stepping stones as I like to think of them in my vocation as a visual artist. So much hope and expectation went into each portfolio submitted.
The rejection emails began coming in last month. The first, second, third—a gut check each time. Each disappointment I would remind myself it was not meant for me, there’s a time for everything. Slowly I’d chin up until the next notification arrived. The back-to-back rejections encouraged me to have a serious conversation with my four-year-old, as she could intuitively pick-up on the souring of my mood with each bruise to my ego. I resolved it’s never too early to discuss how deal with the disappointment of rejection while simultaneously teaching her determination is a seed you cannot suppress.
One outstanding proposal was yet to be determined, I trust now the most important of all—a Faculty Research Grant that I applied to through Sul Ross State University for project funding that addresses connection and care related to the border crisis in our home region of Far West Texas. I am excited to share I opened my university inbox recently to a congratulatory email from the Research Council with the decision to fund my proposal! I am thrilled for the opportunity to bring this project to life during a crucial moment, and bring awareness to the ecological devastation that could occur if a proposed physical border wall is built along the Rio Grande/Rio Bravo as DHS has currently planned.
Funded support to create a new body of work based on an idea that’s been brewing since graduate school in this critical social and ecological context is a renewal—the time is now. I am grateful and intend to approach my project proposal—With Care/Con Cuidado—from a perspective of regeneration and hope. Stay tuned, thank you for being here, and NO BIG BEND WALL!
Dearest friend, I miss you. I woke up at around 4 am early this week and it was bright outside! Of course it reminded me of you instantly. Big hug and love.