V E S S E L in vain: Marfa, TX

Marfa, Marfa, Marfa!

Oh, I tried. I really did, but I couldn't resist the predictable play on words because I felt exactly like Jan after my two days in Marfa. Which is crazy since I was once considering a blind move here. See the space between these two brackets < > ? That's how close I was. So to begin this post with an overused lament years later just doesn't seem right. Sadly, though, it is. I mean, this picture says it all. The woman in pink was not shielding her eyes from the setting sun, she was shielding her profile from my dinky camera.

As someone who prefers to keep their soul, I get it. In my early teens, I would ruin nearly every family portrait by sticking my hand in front of my face on "cheese". I of all people cannot be critical of her gesture, but couldn't she have turned around or stepped aside? I don't know, maybe she's a celebrity and is fed up with the paparazzi. But you're wearing hot pink at an artist's reception in a gallery that premises photography...

When I told my friend of my burgeoning whim, he exclaimed "Why?!? There's nothing there!" Maybe not when his grandfather was born, but now Prada has set up shop. It's not that the locals are überchic (granted I was trying to capture a lovely coterie of styles in my photo above). The remote store and its sparse interior serve as a gateway to the minimalist art of Donald Judd at the Chinati Foundation. Why do you ask? Well, because it's not a store, it's a permanent sculpture. Before you leap on your soapbox about contemporary art, remember that this is Texas. The state with its own Eiffel Tower and Stonehenge. I can't imagine a fake Prada store anywhere else, can you?

The year I wanted to move, Marfa was profiled as an "Art Oasis" by NPR and The New York Times headlined it as having "Minimalist Art and Maximum Flavor". On paper (or virtual paper) it looked like Marfa and I would get along marvelously. It had everything I was looking for, art, support for artists, cheap rent, great food, little humidity (for my bird's nest aka hair), and a big sky for unobstructed sunlight.

When the time came, I couldn't make the leap. It wasn't out of fear, the fates just had other plans for me. Months later though the stars were aligning for the Chinati Weekend held every October. I made sure Marfa was a stop on our cross-country road trip.

By the time we arrived at the Chinati Foundation my friend and I had tasted Marfa's true flavour -- exclusivity. The locals weren't outwardly rude, yet I couldn't shake the "I suddenly feel like I'm in high school all over again and it's still obvious I'm not cool" feeling. I knew something was awry when my friend, who could probably charm a snake with her wit, felt like a social leper. Somehow, this small desert town has New York City's aura of the early '90s. The locals knew it was the shit, and if you're not in the know, they implied "tough shit".

To Marfa's credit, it is the shit du jour. Not many desert towns can match its fame, and when you think about it, its resurrection is remarkable. Still, that cocksure attitude is definitely not marriage material. So, I moved on, all the while praising Jesus for working his magic years earlier.