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It is a beautiful February morning on the Taos Mesa, crystal clear with rich blue sky.  As the sun rises over the Sangre de Cristo Mountains I stoke the dying fire, pack my gear, and head out for the open road. Searching as always, I notice the weathered old sedan as I enter a cafe in Arroyo Seco and make a mental note to look closer when leaving.   

I am attracted to it’s shape, the sweeping, fluid lines, recalling a time when automobiles were designs of a changing, hopeful world, hand-made and beautiful to behold… and the surface, revealing the effects of time, heat and sun on layers of paint, now oxidized and blended into abstractions of texture and color; the old glass now bubbled and congealed into marvelous, swirling patterns; the smooth, shining chrome contrasting with the metal, paint and glass; all bearing the consequence of age, weather and misfortune…

This is how it starts.

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