A texture… a weave… a narrative…
In Marfa, you see wonderful landscapes, the Marfa Lights, amazing skies, the Judd works, the Chinati hangars, cowboys, the Crowley Theater….
But… what do you hear?? Really… what do you hear???
I hear the train, passing without stopping… like time…
And after the train is gone…After the “time machine” is gone, I can hear the protest of the Marfa’s phantoms.
The real reason why Marfa is Marfa today. No cavalry, no Camp Marfa. No Camp Marfa, no barracks, no hospital… most probably… no Judd…
I can hear their protest. They were dismissed for tanks and other automation… Crude oil… Once again… you… Mr. Crude Oil…
Loyal, noble, beautiful, proud… just dismissed in a ceremony that speaks by itself: “Louie, a horse groomed by a Sgt. Hayes, "got too old, and as a form of honor a firing squad shot him and buried him where he fell. So distraught over the loss of his beloved horse, Hayes took a gun to his head and shot himself over the grave."
Listen… the sound of the horse hooves kicking on the dust, the neigh, the powerful respiration....
