In Memoriam: Stevon Lucero

Sad news arrived from Denver today. Stevon Lucero, the Chicano artists who I profiled in a Oct. 29  WyoFile story and linked here, passed away Nov. 28. He was 71. 

Lucero was a mentor to generations of Latino artists in Denver and around the West. He grew up in Laramie, attended UW, and then moved his family to Denver to pursue and art career. He helped found the Chicano Humanities and Arts Council in Denver. CHAC was instrumental in transforming Denver's Santa Fe Drive from a downtown shortcut into a certified Colorado Creative District lined with galleries, museums, and studios.

CBS Channel 4 noted Lucero's death with a feature today. In it, Arlette Lucero says this about the husband:

"He would take young artists under his wings and tell them the beautiful things about themselves, to bring them into the fold."

Poet and performer Adrian Molina (a.k.a. Molina Speaks), another Wyoming artist now living in Denver, teamed up with Lucero to build one of the immersive exhibits at the new Meow Wolf arts outpost in downtown Denver. Called the "Indigenous Futures Dreamscapes Lounge," it brought to life dreams and visions Lucero experienced over the years. Lucero painted the dreamscapes, and Molina recorded the soundscapes and videos. It fit right in with Meow Wolf Denver's theme of Convergence Station, "the convergence of four different dimensions." 

Family members have started a GoFundMe page to help defray funeral expenses.

Molina, quoted in the Channel 4 piece, said this: 

“Stevon became one of my best friends. A humble genius, a visionary. He’s an elder who’s deeply respected, and he taught me so much about life and about art over the last few years. His mission was to put God back into art, to bring the spirit and that was his meta-realism.

“It was a joy to paint with the master, and be in his presence every day."

R.I.P. Stevon.

Two Chicano artists from Wyoming tell their stories at Meow Wolf Denver

There's a story here.

That's what I said to myself when I found out that two Chicano artists with Wyoming roots were charged with installing their artwork in the trippy Meow Wolf Denver.

WyoFile agreed and published it today. Go read it here.

Adrian H. Molina (a.k.a. Molina Speaks) is "an artist, performer, master of ceremonies, and human bridge." He grew up in Rawlins, earned his undergrad and law degrees at UW, and then departed to Denver to pursue not law but art.

Visual artist Stevon Lucero grew up in Laramie, attended UW and, in 1976 departed for Denver with his young family in tow.

The two artists are members of the burgeoning Denver Latino arts community. They still maintain ties with Wyoming but their careers now radiate from the big city to the south.

Two more members of what Grady Kirkpatrick on Wyoming Public Radio refers to as "the Greater Wyoming Diaspora." Young people grow up here, attend UW, and then depart for greener pastures. Cities are magnets for creative people where they find encouragement and audiences. Disappointment, too, as artists from rural communities find they are competing with scores of equally talented people. That may beat them down or it may challenge them to excel. One never knows.

I've worked in the Wyoming arts scene for 30 years. Creativity prospers in the expected places and ones that surprise you. Sometimes artists become part of the Wyoming diaspora but you can see the place's influence in their work. That's true of Lucero's paintings at Meow Wolf inspired by lucid dreaming about an oddball Wyoming landmark. 

Meow Wolf Denver opened Sept. 17. Some interesting articles about it have appeared. Here's one. Molina is quoted therein. 

Winter off-roading in Wyoming

A week ago today, I sat in my Ford staring out at the frozen tundra of Carbon County. I was about ten feet off of Hwy. 287, rear end facing the road. My tires had carved a trail as straight as an arrow from road to final resting place, a slight depression midway between asphalt and barbed wire. 

My mistake was going too fast through a slushy mix of snow and ice. You'd call it "hydroplaning" if the road was awash in rain water. The tires lose contact with the road and the car goes into a spin. Florida people hydroplane all the time. It's an official state sport.

But it rarely happens in Wyoming, where rain usually falls in a fine mist. Hail is a different kettle of fish. I once was caught in a hailstorm in I-25 near Buffalo. My car began to lose traction as hail swamped the road. Couldn't see either. So I slowly rolled to a stop on the shoulder, coming to rest five feet behind a truck hauling a horse trailer.

Last Saturday, I sat for a few minutes and then decided to take a look at my predicament. The wind blew about 50 mph but it was a warm wind, as these things go, not an Arctic blast but a downslope wind, a chinook or "snoweater" as Native peoples used to call it. It also blows freshly fallen powder snow in great quantities across roadways, leaving snow traps for the unwary.

My front wheel wells were clogged with wet snow. My running board rested on a snowbank. I guessed that I was high-ended, the term used when your car's mid-section rests on a mound of snow or sand or dirt and your wheels can't find traction. This usually means a tow, or getting pushed out of your predicament by a roving band of cowboys or collegians. When I was younger, I found pleasure in helping push people out of predicaments. My damaged heart won't let me do that any more.

A father and son in a small truck pulled over and asked if they could help. "Don't have anything to tow you out with," said the man. "Want us to call someone?"

I showed him my phone. "I'm going to call my insurance company."

He nodded and pulled away.

I extracted my gloves and ice scraper. I dug out around the front tires and poked the scraper beneath the car, trying to loosen the snow that kept me high-ended. I scraped the snow down to the prairie grass, hoping I could get a purchase on dry ground. Winded, I got back in the car and caught my breath. Bluegrass tunes played on the radio. At least I could get Wyoming Public Radio. 

I rocked the car -- reverse to forward and reverse again. The car moved a tad, but finally got stuck again. I shifted back into park and fished out my insurance company's 1-800 roadside assistance number. I called. Reached an electronic voice that transferred me to another e-voice and then I got a real person. She wanted to help me. I reconstruct our conversation from memory.

"Where are you located?" she asked.

"Off of a state highway about 10 miles north of Rawlins, Wyoming."

"Where?"

"Off of Interstate 80, north of Rawlins in Wyoming." I was tempted to add: "The big square state right in the middle of the map."  But didn't.

A few seconds passed. "I-80 -- found it," she said. "You said Rawlins?"

"Yes."

I heard her tapping on the keys in an office somewhere in Dallas or Indianapolis or Portland. "State highway, you said?"

"Can't remember the name. 287 I think."

More tapping. "Ah," she said. "Highway 287."

"Sounds right."

She asked me if I was stuck. I said I was. She asked if my car was damaged. I replied that it was OK. She asked if I was less than or more than 10 feet from the road. I thought it would sound better if I said less than ten feet so that was my answer. She asked if she could have permission to log into my phone's location finder. I told he that my smart phone was busted and that I had a dumb phone with me. That didn't seem to phase her. She said she was going to locate me, said I would get a call from the responder. We said our goodbyes and disengaged. Wind rocked the car. Old-timey banjo music played on the radio.

I looked to the south and saw two snowplows headed my way. You couldn't have been here a half hour ago? They stopped just short of me. Both drivers disembarked.

I got out of the car. 

"Need any help?" asked the first driver, who was surprisingly young. He looked at me and then at the car.

"I have a tow truck coming."

He nodded. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

We parted ways. During this three-day trip, I had seen a dozen snow plows. It's winter in Wyoming and this winter is a doozy. The WYDOT plows get a lot of credit for keeping the roads open. But it was a closed interstate that brought me to this predicament. I-80 was closed between Rawlins and Laramie and it didn't appear it would open any time soon. And I needed to get home for my wife Chris's birthday party. So I was taking the long way around, going north around the snow, or so I thought.

My phone dinged. I answered an automated call. It went something like this: "Your roadside assistance vehicle is on its way. You can expect it in approximately six hours."

WTF? Six hours? I'll never get home. The call disconnected. I noted with alarm that I had only one bar of service showing on the phone face. How did I get so low? Now I was going to sit here for six hours with very little phone service, a heart patient trapped in a snow bank. Cars and trucks passed on the road. I thought about making a sign and standing out by the road. "Heart patient needs help." Or maybe "Help -- Wife will kill me if I don't get home for birthday."

As I contemplated my options, I noticed a surprising number of cars and trucks and SUVs passing me by. Would I stop if I saw a stranded motorist on the side of the road? Depends. It was the middle of the day and, if they were to get a good look at me, people could tell that I was somewhat harmless. What does a red Ford Fusion tell you about the person inside? Buys American cars. Wyoming license plate. Probably not a very good driver -- what kind of knucklehead slides off a road in the middle of a sunny February day?

Someone did stop. Dark blue pickup. Guy got out. I got out. Young Latino, maybe 30. Wore a light jacket and a ballcap. Asked if I needed help. I told him my story, said a tow truck was coming but not until dark. He walked over to the car and looked around.

"I think we can push it out." He spoke with a slight accent. "My girlfriend is in the truck -- she can drive."

I thought about it for a second. I really shouldn't be pushing out any cars, even my own. But he seemed very certain that we could do this. I nodded. He waved his girlfriend out of the car. She came out. Very pretty woman wrapped in a bulky coat. She walked over, the two spoke and she got behind the wheel. 

The man and I pushed. The girlfriend turned the wheels and the man said to keep the wheels straight. We pushed again, the car moved back a few inches and I fell on my face in the snow.

"You OK?" said the man.

I nodded. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Don't be a weinie. Heart don't fail me now.

We pushed again. I slipped in the snow. The car moved back toward the road, slowly, and then it gained traction and reached asphalt. Two cars on the inside lane had stopped, giving us some room to back up. The girlfriend backed gently onto the road, and then pulled forward on the shoulder. I breathed heavily, my heart pounded. 

"Thank you so much," I said to the man and his girlfriend. She grinned. I never heard her speak a word. The two walked back to the car. I got into my Ford, looked in the rearview mirror and saw them get into their pickup. I waved. I put my car into drive and gently pulled away, hoping I hadn't sustained any front-end damage. The car purred. I drove. It was a good 20 miles before I caught my breath. From there, it was mostly smooth sailing.

Also see my post that day from the new Burger King in Rawlins, written while I waited (in vain) for I-80 to open. This new BK featured gaming PCs at several of its tables and AT&T wireless. The password: ILoveBacon. Read my blog from Rock Springs about the travails of Elk Mountain here.

"Prison," the horror film that almost destroyed the old Wyoming State Pen, gains cult status

My wife and I watched the recent "Ghost Adventures" episode set in the Wyoming Frontier Prison in Rawlins. Intimations of ghostly presences were everywhere, as always, but the most interesting part was the prison's history.

Zack and his G.A. crew aren't the only ones to film at the prison. Back in 1987, Renny Harlin ("Die Hard II," "Cliffhanger," "Deep Blue Sea") filmed a horror movie there. The film, "Prison," stars actor and poet Viggo Mortensen "("Lord of the Rings," "A History of Violence," Hidalgo")" and Lane Smith. Its recently gained status as a cult film and will be released Feb. 19 in a Blu-Ray disk from Scream Factory. The following info comes from Laramie Live:

Tina Hill, Historic Site Director for The Wyoming Frontier Prison, says that the production company made serious alterations to the historic site that still present problems to this day. One of which is a large hole that was made in the wall of the exercise yard. In the movie the hole was used to construct a second entrance for the prison, but after shooting wrapped the hole remained. 

“We still have the hole in the exercise yard. Which allows people to get in when they’re not supposed to be, and so there’s vandalism on our exercise wall,” Hill says. ”It’s a security issue. You can’t really get spray paint off of concrete. And being that we’re a historic site, we can’t paint over the graffiti because the walls weren’t painted. It would be inaccurate to paint them.”  

Hill also says that the historic site is currently repairing damages the production made to the prison’s A-Block walls. Plaster had been chipped off to expose the brick walls underneath to make the prison look older for the movie. Hill said that the plaster damage was being repaired at the time of the interview.  

Despite the damages, Hill says there’s no sour-grapes about the production of Prison coming through the site. ”Now, we’re pretty much happy that [the production] happened. We wish that the people who were in charge of the prison at the time would have taken a little bit better care, and maybe have not let the production do the damage that they did.” Hill goes on to say the historic prison now has measures in place to prevent further damage from film and television productions.

The "serious alternations" done to the prison caused locals to form a joint powers board that took over the facility and turned it into a museum. It now is on the National Registry of Historic Places. More than 15,000 visitors a year tour the place that's famous for its spooky Halloween tours.

See the "Prison" trailer at http://youtu.be/pYTHIs1c8uo. It's an action-packed flick, gory in spots, and  you can see how some damage might have been done.