A walk in the park
May 12—I walked to work this morning, a journey that starts near the Roundhouse and finishes just north of the Plaza.
The sun still cast long shadows, creating pockets of cold on a cloudless spring morning. Along my route, two workers engaged in a spirited discussion in the Inn of the Five Graces' alley parking lot. A tour leader in a yellow jacket spoke to a handful of visitors outside Loretto Chapel, pointing up as smiles widened beneath listeners' sunglasses. At the Plaza, a man sporting a flowing red beard gazed at the ankle-high grass, seemingly unplugged from time.
Any of these scenes would make for a compelling painting, print, photograph, or even video. Together, they function almost as a live-action art exhibition.
Why delve into this in my debut column for Pasatiempo? Because I didn't see the world in this way before, and I'm awed that my arts-reporter role has so dramatically altered my perspective. Awed and grateful.
Of course, it's not the role itself that opened my eyes; it's the people I've been fortunate enough to talk to. People who talk about ancestral memories, spirit guidance, decades spent honing their craft, their longing for Northern New Mexico when they leave, the galleries they run that require constant attention.
I moved to Santa Fe in September 2021 from Las Vegas. In the months after my arrival, when I told people where I'd come from, they'd reply, "Oh, you're a local!" I quickly learned to specify I'd come from Nevada, where I lived for eight years. Later, when I began working in Pasatiempo and told people I'd lived/worked in Las Vegas, Nevada, they'd assume I'd covered the arts there as well. I actually was the editor for neighborhood publications, rarely leaving the office.
In fact, most of the jobs I've done in the past two decades have involved sitting at a desk and working nights. That includes my first job in Santa Fe, when I served as an editor in the news department for The New Mexican. I quickly became fond of writing features about the fascinating people I kept meeting here, and that ended up leading to my current role — my favorite job I've ever had by a good measure. I get to do things and meet people, and I erupted in a giddy laugh when I typed that just now.
People in Santa Fe often ask where you're from, a popular conversation starter given many of us moved here. I'm terrible at answering — and not because I have any qualms with identifying myself as an import.
I grew up in rural Ohio and felt very out of place there, so I'm leery of people making assumptions based on the geography of my youth. I've lived in several states since and have tremendous reverence for places that have especially shaped my sensibilities — Oregon, Minneapolis, and now, Santa Fe.
I also spent time in Tampa, Florida, and was stunned at how provincial some people could be. If you had achieved the remarkable feat of your mother having lived in Florida when you were born, and then stayed put, this earned you social capital in some circles. The same I'm-a-native competition seems to be popular in Colorado — I shudder when others like me call themselves natives — but it's refreshingly absent here. I've heard very little "you don't belong here" messaging, and I'm grateful for that.
I'm grateful for a lot of things, and I know I'm not the only Santa Fean to feel that way. If you've somehow made it this far, you now know more about me. I look forward to learning more about you.
Brian Sandford, Staff Writer
