1000 Words in Arizona

"It's not the shoe..."

2012-01-13T16:08:00.001-07:00

Back in October, I was given the opportunity to hear ultrarunning icon Micah True, aka Caballo Blanco, speak at AVE in Chandler, AZ and publisha story on his presentation in the Santan Sun. The presentation was a fundraiser benefiting True’s non-profitcharity, Norawas de Rarámuri which works to preserve the Rarámuri, and their running culture.

Before the presentation began, I had a few quiet minutes with True. We talked about my recently torn calf muscle and the issue of running barefoot or in Vibrams. His next statement echoes in my mind to this day as I get back into running:

“It’s not the shoe, it’s what’s in the shoe.”

An inspiration to many runners around the world and whose philosophy is "Run Free", Trueappreciates the opportunities his newfound fame brings him. His openingremarks depicted his humility.

“I don’t know what happened. Someone wrote a pretty goodbook, and I happened to be a character in this pretty good book. I’m not agreat runner, I’m not a great athlete, I’m not a great interpreter…I’m not agreat anything.”

True’s journey among the Rarámuri began with his own searchfor inner peace and simplicity. Previously a martial artist and boxer in histwenties who ran as part of his training, he quit fighting but continuedrunning. He travelled to Guatemala in the winters, looking for trails andrunning from village to village around Lake Atitlan. It was during theserunning excursions that he acquired the name “Caballo Blanco.”

“After a while, as I’d enter the outskirts of these littlevillages, the women and children, the Mayan Indian women and children startedlining up in the streets, and they’d welcoming me with smiles, and they’d callout ‘Eres son caballo blanco’, ‘you’re a white horse.’”

True would return to the U.S. to work as a manual laborer inthe summers and make money for his next trip back down south. Over time, True’srunning regimen expanded, averaging 160-180 miles a week.

A friend convinced him to run a 50-mile ultra marathon inWyoming, and he won the race; from that point True continued running races,graduating to the famous but brutal Leadville 100 in the Colorado RockyMountains. He ran it four times in the 1980’s. His success led him to believehe could be sponsored as a professional.

“I started taking myself too seriously,” True admitted. “Ifound myself not really liking myself if I came in fourth or fifth place,because I didn’t come in the top three. I was kind of a jerk.”

Another serious aspect drove the point home; True wasgetting injured more and more as he trained harder to perform better in theraces.

“I started spraining my ankles, and I’d sprained my anklesso many times it got to the point that I could even just think about it and itwould just go kkrrrrrch,” True recalled.

This realization convinced True to stop competing.

“I kept running, but I cut down my mileage, to maybe 100miles a week. I continued to run for the reasons I began, and that was for joyand transportation and the love of running.”

In his presentation, True discussed many aspects of Christopher McDougall’s book Born to Run, including thenow-famous race in which female racer Ann Trason nearly won the Leadville 100in 1994 against the seven-man Rarámuri team brought by Arizona photographerRick Fisher. That year, True missed being able to enter the race but wasinvited to pace Rarámuri racer Martimano part of the last 50 miles of the race.

After the race, Fisher’s relationship with the Rarámuri andthe race sponsors collapsed, and the Rarámuri returned home, soured by theconflict they found themselves thrust in.

True’s experience running with a Rarámuri inspired him, andwhile in Boulder, CO, he conducted a coat and sweater drive for the Rarámuri.He drove the load down to Mexico, not knowing how to get to where the Rarámurilived. He reached Creel, a tourist town in the Sierra Madres, and by chance raninto Juan Herrera, the winner of the 1994 Leadville 100 at the hotel where hehad stopped. Herrera recognized True’s truck parked outside and came in lookingfor True, needing a ride to the Rarámuri village.

His generosity to the Rarámuri and his respectfully cautiousapproach was the foundation of a lifelong relationship between True and theindigenous people.

“I wanted to leave the Rarámuri alone down in the canyons,because I figured they lived in remote areas for a reason. So I wanted torespect their privacy.”

Over time, True wanted to create a footrace with theRarámuri so he could run with them, but in Mexico. After the exploitativeexperiences in the Leadville 100, True did not want to expose them to furtherexploitation.

“I didn’t think it was wise to bring them to the UnitedStates, to put them in that position of being exploited by various people andsponsors and corporations,” True explained.

And so began the race that today is the Copper Canyon Ultra Marathon. True organizes the yearly Copper Canyon Ultra Marathon to further hiscause of running free. International interest is growing, though recently thenumbers of international participants have dropped slightly due to fears overreports of border dangers as a result of drug cartel activity. Entry in therace is free, runners are housed and fed while taking on the challenge, and theprizes, awarded in first through tenth place, are substantial both monetarilyand in corn. Since 2007, “gringos” have won the race and have generously giventheir prizes back to the Rarámuri.

“Every year, all the gringo winners, they don’t have to givetheir prizes back, but they do,” True said. “Is the pressure on? Well, maybe.”

True further explained the generosity.

“People that have come down to run with us, they become ‘masloco’…acting out of love with no attachment to the results.”

Run free, Caballo.

“El Podrido”: The Rotten Makes Good

2011-10-08T22:49:00.001-07:00

When we are in our teens and our 20’s, the majority of usexperience that euphoria of feeling invincible, that we can and will conquerthe world. Nothing can defeat us, regardless of our good or bad choices.Then Fate steps in, and we learn a new definition of invincibility. We learn itis not our physical being that is invincible, but our spirit that is invincible,and we find out just how invincible our spirit really is.

Five years ago, El Podrido (the Rotten), a graffiti artistas well as a welder and metal artist, learned such a lesson. Originally fromNew Mexico, El Podrido always dreamed of living in Arizona, and moved toPhoenix. Deeply influenced by graffiti, he lived a dual life. By day, he was acertified welder, and by night a graffiti artist. Eventually he becamerecognized for his work, and was invited to create murals.

One night, in September 2006, his invincibility waschallenged as he unsuccessfully attempted to hop a train from Tempe to Phoenixafter attending an event. He ended up a double amputee, both legs needingremoval at the knees. After spending three weeks in the hospital, he enduredphysical therapy, focusing on desensitization so he could be fitted forprosthetics.

“Before the accident, I’d always been spunky and outgoing,”El Podrido recalled. “I was enjoying my 20’s. I thought I was immortal. Ithought I was king of the world…I could take on trains, the world, the law…arebel.”

That spunkiness, which some might call his demise, becamehis salvation. Within three months he was on his short prosthetics, and in sixmonths he could walk in his “long legs.” Formerly 6’ tall, his short legs nowmake him 4’ 5”; his long legs make him 5’10”.

“I’m officially a midget,” he joked.

Within six weeks of his accident, he returned to welding.Since then, like many people, he has endured the roller coaster economy,sometimes being out of work, and dealing with the frustrations of varyinglevels and quality of insurance coverage. It’s only been recently that he’s bothemployed and receiving insurance benefits that can cover his prosthetics. Hislatest good news is that running prosthetics are in his future.

“I’ll be able to exercise again, and get down to a weightthat’s good for me,” he chattered happily. “That will allow my prosthetics tobe more comfortable for me. “

He described his newest set of long legs, which are roboticwith hydraulics; they attach to his stumps like a vacuum. Unfortunately, thoughthese prosthetics are easier to put on, they came with a price. From thesuction of the hydraulics, he developed a blister along the scar tissues on hisstumps, which turned into an open wound. He had to stop wearing them, allowingthe wound to heal, fearing infection and the need for further amputation.

“I see people like me who are in wheel chairs instead of inprosthetics, and for the first time I understood why.”

Through his ordeal, two things have kept him motivated: hisart and his mother.

“My mom has been my main supporter. My father walked out onme when I was three.”

He continued to describe how as a typical teen, he had nodesire to meet his father. When El Podrido was 18, a girlfriend convinced himhe should meet his dad. He bought some gifts and that Christmas he met hisfather. They took pictures together and to this day those are the only photosEl Podrido has with his father, and since then he has not spoken to his father.

With his typical humor and disarming openness, he summarizesthe situation.

“At least I know I’m not exactly a bastard.” It was ashocking statement at first, but his laughter removed the shock of it. This isa man who has faced death, and reality does not scare him.

When asked why he loves graffiti, El Podrido stated,“Graffiti is freedom, being loose, risking everything. One minute, you could be100 feet in the air, with a breeze in your face, risking everything, and thenext minute you could be on the ground. It’s a rush…a release. When you’redone, you’re proud…accomplished.”

He added thoughtfully: “If you’re going to risk everything,you should do something nice.”

I asked El Podrido if I could use his real name, and hehesitated, and then politely refused.

“I am pondering when to come out of the hole. I want to;it’s part of my maturation. I turn 30 in four weeks, and it’s almost time. Iwant to make sure I’m safe when I do.”

He creates paintings on canvas, and gets commissioned to domurals. In addition to his graffiti-style artwork, he creates small metalsculptures, and longs to do sculptures on a grander scale.

“I want to get public funding, and create work that peopletravel from across the country to see.

He also longs to take his work on tours in Europe and Asia,though he’s concerned about how his work, especially his graffiti, will bereceived.

“I hear stories about how much worse in other it iscountries if you get caught creating graffiti. I don’t know…I’ll have to waitand see.”

El Podrido’s indomitable spirit is evident in his outlook onlife, his humor, and his frankness. As we talked, he shared with me that inspite of the accident and his altered physical state, he still loves trains.

“As part of my maturation, I got a tattoo this year for myfavorite railroad.” He pulled aside his t-shirt to reveal a Union Pacificrailroad tattoo under his tanktop. I could not resist, I had to take hisportrait with the tattoo. How else do you shake your fist and defy Fate?

As for a legacy?

“I want to let people know that no matter how tough life is,you can do something.”

Indeed, El Podrido is doing something; he is making good.

Hell on Wheels

2011-10-05T21:15:00.002-07:00

When I was a little girl, I used to watch roller derby ontelevision with my mother. As a young girl, I was amazed by these amazons. Theywere rough, they were tough, and far meaner than any “professional” wrestler Iwatched. They would zip around the arena, as easy as you please, and somehowbeat each other up.

Fast forward some 35+ years. As I was on the Scott KelbyWorldwide Photo Walk in Tempe, I saw a young woman on roller skates, in fullsafety gear, and pretty much covered from head to toe. I wondered if she was aderby girl. She rolled by me and smiled.

I kept walking along Tempe Town Lake, trying to capture somegrandiose inspirational photo that would net me world fame and acclaim.Finally, deciding I’d approached heat exhaustion, I started to hoof it back to MillAvenue to meet with the other photographers.

There was Derby Girl, gliding effortlessly on the circularconcrete pad, spinning, skating backwards, and making sudden stops. I walked overand asked, “Are you a derby girl?”

She beamed. The smile that lit up her face was brighter thanthe Arizona sun beaming on me mercilessly.

I would like you to meet “Patty Slamaise,” a team member ofthe Hail Marys, a roller derby team in the Arizona Roller Girls League, whoremain undefeated for the season thus far. Her name is a pun on “PattyMayonnaise,” a character on the cartoon “Doug.” It’s apparent her humor isendless. Looking on the Hail Marys’ roster, her skater number is 867-5309.

In real life, her name is Amanda Contrino, and she is adental tech. She works in a lab, creating crowns and bridges from molds. Likemany Arizona residents, she is not a native. She moved here two years ago fromIndiana.

“I love Arizona. I will probably not move away from here,”she told me.

I asked what made her want to be a derby girl. As we sat inthe grass, talking, I couldn’t determine what would make this young woman wantto get in the rink and turn into a beast on wheels, to be feared by those whooppose her. She was open and friendly, and seemed so, well, nice.

“I love it. I love skating. I’m the saddest girl in theworld when practice is over.”

Amanda did not get into roller derby until she moved toArizona. She saw an advertisement for auditions, and tried out. Having skatedsince she was approximately 8-years-old, Amanda felt right at home.

How was her first game as a derby girl?

“Nerve-wracking. I was shaking. The idea of performing foran audience was scary.”

I did have to ask the one question we all wonder. “Is rollerderby real?”

“Most definitely,” Amanda confirmed. “Nothing is fake.Everyone turns into a different beast. It’s all fun and easy until the gamestarts.”

Injuries are part of the game, worn like a badge of honor.

“I had to learn to fall properly. If I don’t, my knees hurt.I don’t go to the doctor though unless something is broken.”

Another team member who was listening to us talk, I believeSK8 Up Gangsta, chimed in, “I’ve skated with a broken ankle.”

Impressive. I am recovering from a torn calf muscle and shejust made me feel like a complete and total wimp.

Practice is pretty intense. Amanda practices three times aweek with the league, and then she practices with her team twice a week.Practice sessions are two hours each.

“Some might say I spent too much time doing this, but inreality, I can’t get enough,” Amanda said.

Seeing how much she truly loves what she is doing, I had towonder what did she do before she found her passion?

She laughed when I asked. “I worked a lot. I had two jobs.Oh, and I bowled.”

I’m sold. If I had to choose between bowling and rollerderby for excitement in my life, roller derby wins (no offense to those wholove bowling). Throwing a ball down a wood floor can’t be as exciting aszipping around a rink, evading some mad demon of a woman who wants to pound you,while you select your next target for elimination.

Ok, I’m perpetuating a stereotype. What ARE the rules forroller derby? Are there any? According to Wikipedia:

Roller derby is played by two teams of five memberssimultaneously skating counterclockwise on a circuit track. Each teamdesignates a scoring player (the "jammer"); the other four membersare "blockers." One blocker is designated as a "pivot"—ablocker allowed to become a jammer in the course of play. The jammer wears ahelmet cover bearing two stars; the pivot wears a striped cover; the remainingmembers' helmets are uncovered. The match is two 30-minute periods, with pointscoring during jams lasting up to 2 minutes. During a jam, the jammer scorespoints by lapping the opposite team, and the blockers use body contact andother tactics to both protect their own jammer and hinder the other jammer.Penalties can be called, and just like hockey, the offender can be sent to apenalty box. Looking at the video on www.azrollergirls.com,I do have to wonder just what constitutes a penalty.

There are more rules, all set by the Women’s Flat TrackDerby Association (WFTDA). Allegedly 98% of derby leagues follow the WFTDArules.

The other aspect to roller derby that all its members andits audience appear to enjoy is the underground subculture that goes along withbeing a derby girl. The costumes are part punk, part goth, part athlete, partsex kitten, part tough gal, all combined to create a persona far different fromthe everyday lives these women lead.

Sitting and talking to Amanda, aka Patty Slamaise, Midwestgirl from Indiana, I get it. It’s fun to be a tough girl on wheels. Hell onwheels, if you will.

Listening to the Voice

2011-09-12T08:27:00.000-07:00

You cannot interview an inanimate object, but that does not mean the object cannot talk to you. And just because the inanimate object talks to you that does not mean that it says the same thing to you that it says to another human being. But sometimes, there is a magical moment when in the gathering of a mass of humanity, you can see that the object’s voice and the object’s message is heard clearly by all gathered in its presence.

In June, 2011, I had a magazine assignment to go photograph a fundraiser for the city of Gilbert’s 9/11 Memorial held at Gilbert Fire Department #1. The fundraiser was pretty normal: a pancake breakfast cooked by city officials and fire department leaders; families eating and fire department tours (touted as the “Taj Majal” of fire departments); and people buying raffle tickets for various items and ordering dedication bricks.

I walked outside to see the piece of steel beam from one of the Twin Towers the city acquired for the memorial. It was secured on a trailer, with the United States flag and the Arizona flag posted between the trailer and the bed of the truck towing it. I knew I needed to capture the right shot. I knew I needed to depict both the damage from that awful day, and the strength that remains. The result is the image used at the beginning of this post. A few families came out to see the beam and take pictures of each other beside it. I was no different; I took pictures of a few people for the magazine.

I walked away, knowing I had to be present for the unveiling of the memorial. I needed to know if we as Americans still remember that day. I needed to know if the beam was talking to us all, or if the decade since the attack had worn away the memory and the feelings, much as time softens our individual memories.

Yesterday morning the weather was perfect. The heat had abated some due to the evening monsoons that rolled in the previous evening, and I imagined it was much like September 11, 2001, before American life was forever altered.

My husband and I initially stood to the right of the memorial area. The main structure and three walls were covered in drapes. I left my husband to start taking photographs. I focused on the Gilbert Fire Department Pipe and Drum corps. Finally, the time arrived for opening remarks and prayers. I took a few photos from the back of the crowd, and waited. When it was nearly time to unveil the memorial, I moved back to the right area where my husband stood, and captured the moment as each drape was lifted from the segments. The drapes revealed three granite walls with the names of all who were killed on that day, and in the center, stood the beam, mounted on a concrete post which stood in a pile of large rocks. The memorial was designed to be touched and felt, and the crowd seemed to grow tense waiting for the ceremony to end.

Finally, the ceremony was over, and the crowd moved as a unit to walk through the memorial area and touch the beam.

I moved in, knowing these were the photos I wanted to capture. Being short in stature, at times I found myself resorting to just raising my camera high and hoping for the best. At times I lowered my camera, and attempted to capture people reaching out for the beam.

And reach out they did.

As I stood there, included in that moment of time yet separated from it due to my magical black box, I was deeply moved by the hands reaching out. Young hands, old hands, hands of all races and textures.

It was one particular gentleman that broke loose the tears I was fighting back. He was a little taller than most of the crowd, and was able to reach up with both hands, and clasp the thin edge of the beam with them, almost as if he were grasping the beam and praying. I captured his grasp quickly, and I walked away. The emotion of it all was too much.

What I witnessed was the beam talking to us all, and we all heard the same message:

Remember me, remember us, and be connected.

In that throng, we were all connected. We could touch the beam, and be connected to those who died on a beautiful September morning just like this one. We could touch the beam and be reminded of what was taken from us, a joyful innocence that life is good and we were invincible. We could touch the beam and be reminded that life still is good, and that we still are strong, if only we connect to each other.

By nature I am an oxymoron when it comes to humanity. I am cynical, believing that mankind is short-sighted and self-centered, yet I always look for the good in people, believing it exists if we just let it out. For one hour, I was rewarded for my hopefulness. For one hour, I saw the good in us, the desire to remember what our nation stands for, regardless of race, politics or religion.

I do not know how many who attended the memorial unveiling, or any other unveiling in our nation, woke up this morning still deeply touched by yesterday’s events and the events of 10 years ago. I look at the chatter I see on FaceBook, the media-driven “news”, and the cynic in me has returned. But I am hopeful. I am hopeful that regardless of the economic troubles we are facing, the upcoming political elections, all the issues that seem to divide us as a nation, I am hopeful that all of us will revisit these memories, visit the memorials, and listen to the voices of those silent, stoic, inanimate objects:

Remember me, remember us, and be connected.

Interview with a Surrealist: Maynard Breese

2011-08-24T20:25:00.012-07:00

Maynard Breese, Arizona-based digital painter and printer, is a man of character; not in the cliché image of staunch nobility and forthrightness, though he does eschew those qualities. He is full of character. It fills him completely, and you can’t ignore it. Talking to Maynard, you don’t know exactly what his lightning-quick intellect will deliver. You don’t know if you’ll get the softer, more generous Maynard, or if you’ll get the entrepreneur who makes sharp declarations and calculated decisions. Maynard, tall and lanky, pale with a shocking top of curly black hair and dark eyes, is alive with his own hunger and drive to succeed personally and to better his fellow man. He is unconventional, and that is his appeal.

As I set up my camera equipment for the shoot, I see a side of Maynard I’m not accustomed to: pensive and uneasy. I accidentally found a chink in his armor in the form of a small black box with a mirror and a lens. I decide to tackle the invisible beast.

“You don’t like having your picture taken, do you?”

“No. I hate having my picture taken.” He goes on to explain his opinion of his own appearance. It’s a common defense mechanism for people who don’t believe they contribute their bit to society’s mosaic of beauty.

As I meter for light and move my tripod back and forth, we talk about his life before his art, before marriage and children. As he sips his wine, the Maynard I'm used to seeing comes forward. His past is as varied as his artwork: broker (it got too monotonous)…retail manager (in the music industry…hated the corruption)…and currently husband, father, artist, printer. We discuss the frustration of multitasking.

“Multitasking means doing several things not very well. I would rather do one thing and do it well,” he declares.

I counter with the one inevitable truth: “If you are a parent, you have no choice but to multitask.”

He shrugs with an air of resolute acceptance. “This is true.”

“Of the various things you have done in your life, what was your favorite?” I ask.

There it is. The soft, serene side of Maynard that only his family sees. It flashes briefly across his face.

“Being a dad.”

Maynard’s journey to being an artist and a printer is deeply intertwined with his favorite job. In 2007, he was editing some vacation pictures from a trip to London in Photoshop, playing with the various filters and brushes. He liked the results, and began doing it for other people, altering their images to create something a little personally artistic. Unhappy with his J-O-B and wanting to devote more time to his family, he left the world of the J-O-B and pursued being his own boss. Yes, he is multitasking, but it’s a multitasking that allows him to be a steady, consistent and prominent figure in his children’s lives.

During the day, he helps organize art walks in downtown Chandler and other areas, prints other artists’ work and stretches the canvases on frames, helps teach art at his children’s school, and deals with the mundane aspects of running a business. Evenings are spent with the family, finishing a print order, or sometimes showing work in art walks or other venues. It’s late at night, after everyone else is asleep, that Maynard creates his art.

His figurative pieces involve photographing a model in a certain pose. The models are not usually there for their looks, but to convey an emotion.

“I have a vision in my head, and I know what I want. Usually, I only need to take three or four shots, and I’m done,” Maynard says.

He imports the image into Photoshop, and creates layers of backgrounds and brushstrokes, gradually blending in the photographic elements until one cohesive image is created.

“I like to monkey around with the colors. As a surrealist, I want to tweak the world like I owned it for a couple of days.”

Inspiration for his pieces is diverse.

“Sixty percent of my pieces are musical. Lyrics get stuck in my head. I create an image of what that lyric looks like. Twenty percent of my pieces are statements. The other twenty percent, I want to make something pretty. Something that touches me in a visceral way.”

When asked how his family inspires his work, he keeps it neutral: “Having family of any kind comes with a certain amount of emotional stimuli, good or bad, happy or sad.”

There have been successes and rejections, reactions as varied as the color spectrum. They form his personae as an artist and an entrepreneur. His worst rejection was from an art dealer at a cancer fundraiser who called his work “sh*t art,” because his work is digital and there is no “original.” At the time the comment crushed him. Now, Maynard has developed a thick skin and a ready response for such opinions.

“When someone tells me ‘I only buy originals’ I find it snobbish, untrue and anti-artist,” Maynard declares vehemently. “Other artists [sic musicians, writers] are celebrated who sell copies, but as a visual artist it’s okay to screw me? It’s hypocrisy in the art field, that art is not allowed to be owned by the masses. I don’t care if someone wants makes money off me after I am dead. I want to make money now.”

How can you argue with that?

Other reactions are fodder for his creativity and his purpose. One such reaction came in the form of an email from a young woman. She had been in rehab, and a certain work of his was the one thing that gave her peace. She wrote Maynard, asking if she could get his picture tattooed on her body. Without hesitation he gave her permission, and asked to see the tattoo afterward. As he describes the email, I can see he is humbled by the compliment.

You just never know what side of Maynard you’ll get when you talk to him.

--MD