Why I Won't Be Going To Lunch Anymore. Douglas Atwill

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       Why I Won’t Be Going to Lunch Anymore

       Why I Won’t Be Going to Lunch Anymore

       21 Stories of the Santa Fe Painter’s Life

       By Douglas Atwill

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either

      are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

      © 2004 by Douglas Atwill. All rights reserved.

      No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic

      or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems

      without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer

      who may quote brief passages in a review.

      Sunstone books may be purchased for educational, business,

      or sales promotional use. For information please write:

      Special Markets Department, Sunstone Press,

      P.O. Box 2321, Santa Fe, New Mexico 87504-2321.

      Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

      Atwill, Douglas.

      Why I won’t be going to lunch anymore: twenty-one stories of the Santa Fe painter’s life / by Douglas Atwill.

      p. cm.

      Includes bibliographical references and index.

      ISBN: 0-86534-426-4 (hardcover)

      1. Painters—New Mexico—Santa Fe—Biography. 2. Painting, American—New Mexico—Santa Fe—20th century. 3. Atwill, Douglas—Friends and associates. I. Title

      ND235.S3A78 2004

      759. 189′56—dc22

      2004000983

SUNSTONE PRESSPOST OFFICE BOX 2321SANTA FE, NM 87504-2321 / USA(5O5) 988-4418 / ORDERS ONLY (800) 243-5644 FAX (505) 988-1025 WWW.SUNSTONEPRESS.COM

       For Robert, who made these stories happen.

      CONTENTS

       Preface

       Why I Won’t Be Going To Lunch Anymore

       The Supine Indian Maidens

       The Gilded Square

       The Deathbed Of Cecily Brompton

       Tokyo, Of Course

       Fifty By Fifty

       Nature To Advantage Dressed

       A Fine Regional Painter

       Two For The Price Of One

       The Petroglyph Dining Room

       Bad Eye

       Fair Warning

       Dipping Into Principal

       Studio, Studio Burning Bright

       The Menace Of The Creeping Buttercup

       A Bothersome Knee

       A Delicate Balance

       An Artists’ Artist

       Catching The Cane Fields

       The Encouragement of Zacariah Mendoza

       Leg-’O-Mutton Sleeves

      Preface

      It was an evening at Fiesta-time. Don’t tell me which ones are artists, my sister-in-law said, let me guess. We took a close inventory of the room, an animated cocktail party for thirty at my neighbor’s house. That attractive woman with the spiked red hair, that lovely old man with expressive hands in the wicker chair, that handsome man in riding boots, the gloomy middle-aged spinster with the dry sherry, the heavy-set woman with circular ear-rings, the Englishwoman, the Italian man, the Navajo, the tall woman with the small head, the woman in bull-fighting costume and the stylish young man in a sixteen-button suit. Those are the artists among them, she said, with a tone of authority. She was wrong, of course, because all of them were artists, the whole room full.

      Ask any people on the street what an artist is really like and you get much the same answer. They are always tormented, ego-washed, choosing queer clothes and exaggerated haircuts, sleeping late, never paying their bills, playing loud music, depositing piles of ignitable rubbish on the floors of their studios, disappointing their long-suffering companions, yearning for public love and shocking the innocent, church-going bystander. Everybody knows these things. Artists are monsters. Newspapers, books and TV tell us that they are and thus it must be true. With these stories I will suggest

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