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Why the desert? I'll tell why, right here.

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The Mojave has many stories to tell.  The looming mesas have silently observed the passing of eons; the distant blue-veiled mountains beckon, steeped in mystery.

 

We are conditioned to respond to increasingly extravagant examples of beauty and vitality.  Self-indulgent, superfluous, we seek more, and more, yet we remain empty. The desert’s minimalist beauty challenges the viewer to redefine those terms, and awaken to the enchantment of a desert.  Here in Mojave is an ethereal world.

 

In the luminous spectacle of a desert sunrise, colors will change moment to moment as long purple shadows creep across the canyons, and the desert comes to life.  In an inky night spattered with the incandescence of the Milky Way, the silhouettes of mesas are barely discernible from the deep Prussian blue sky. But then, wispy streaks of smoky violet clouds begin to silently, breathlessly, emerge, becoming magenta as the sapphire sky begins to glow.

 

The cacti and sagebrush appear at first glance to merely eke out a hardscrabble existence in this sere landscape.  But take a closer look: a single cactus bloom shouts its brilliance against the muted colors of desert scrub.  The intricacies of a cholla skeleton invite awe of the complexity abounding in this deceptively simple environment.

 

Rugged and powerful- masculine terms- might be one way to describe a stark desert landscape. Up close, the rough boulders and spiny plants can be harsh and forbidding. Yet there is a feminine sense here too, in the undulating lines and colors of the mountains.  Viewed from afar, delicate earthy hues appear, and softness obscures the jagged edges.  This is Mother Nature’s duality most clearly revealed.

 

It is this minimalist landscape that compels me. I try to see a little bit more every time I gaze out at the mesas and mountains; I wait as each moment of a sunrise reveals a new kaleidoscope of colors. I am awed by the stark evidence of the age of the earth, apparent in the visible geological strata.  It is to feel insignificant, yet utterly connected to everything else. It is comforting to step away from the blatting demands of civilization into the silky stream of timelessness.  There’s a certain relief to know that some things don’t change, at least not on a scale we can perceive. For me, the desert’s tranquility lies in its vastness and repetition, not unlike the ocean I grew up with, hearing the sound of its waves eternally crashing on the sand.  I find the desert mesmerizing visually; my eye wanders over the subtle variations on shape and color, no sound to compete with it. Perhaps it is the silence that pervades the Mojave that emphasizes its qualities; it is a silence so vast, so profound, that heightens all other senses.


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