- wmartsnm
- 3 days ago
- 3 min read
Let me tell you about the weekend I almost died… twice… maybe three times… all for the sake of art.
Two shows.
Same weekend.
Same location: the National Hispanic Cultural Center.
One artist: me.
One 48" x 48" painting that refuses to fit in my car.
And one tiny dog who nearly ended my life.
Chapter 1: The Great Squat Apocalypse
It all started the week before when I made the brilliant decision to put FOUR, maybe FIVE layers of sealant on my painting From the Barrio With Love. Apparently, sealing a piece this large requires 5,000 squats and the stamina of a CrossFit champion.
By Monday, I couldn’t walk. By Tuesday, I couldn’t turn my neck. By Wednesday, I was moving like a neglected marionette whose puppeteer quit mid-show.
Chapter 2: Sons to the Rescue (Again)
Since my vehicle can’t even dream of fitting a 48x48 canvas, one of my sons spent the entire week chauffeuring me around like a slightly injured celebrity with a stiff neck and a questionable life insurance policy.
But before we even got to that—Manuel, sweet angel of patience, spent the night before reorganizing ALL of my prints and greeting cards into perfect, beautiful order. Alphabetical? Color-coded? I don’t know. But it looked like the greeting-card aisle at Target. Truly a miracle.
Wednesday arrives. We go to Albuquerque to pick up Manuel’s massive freshly framed Art in Public Places piece. It’s heavy, it’s delicate, it’s gorgeous, and by “we loaded it,” I of course mean my sons loaded it while I supervised like a wounded crossing guard.
Then off we go to the NHCC to deliver my three Chola Show pieces. So far, so good. I mean, I’m moving like a broken robot, but things are getting done.
Chapter 3: The Not-So-Graceful Swan Dive
Thursday morning, I’m taking a peaceful shower. My little dog decides to run into the wet shower like she’s sliding into home base. She darts out, dripping wet, and my first thought is:
“NOT ON THE BED!”
I reach to grab her… and the universe says absolutely not.
Suddenly, I see my own feet above my head. I fall like a cartoon character off a cliff — head, shoulder, elbow, hip, lower back — BAM.
Manuel is yelling, “Are you okay?” My daughter bursts in. I spring up, grab my robe, and scream, “I’M OKAY!” while tears stream down my face and blood drips on the floor.
I look at my elbow and I swear I can see the inside of my soul. Do I go to a doctor? Absolutely not. I wrap it, sit in bed, and contemplate my life choices.
Why did I reach for the dog? Why?...
Chapter 4: Zombie Mode Activated
The next morning, I feel like I’m floating outside my body, starring in my own medical documentary. Head pain, neck pain, elbow pain (untouchable), back pain, hip pain… basically everything except maybe my eyebrows.
I arrive at my shows moving like a 95-year-old woman who’s also been hit by a bicycle, a scooter, and possibly a small car.
Slow. Small steps. One at a time.
Chapter 5: The Daughters & Sons Save the Day
At the Women’s Art Show, four of my kids show up like a superhero squad. They’re saints. Angels. Warriors.
By “help me set up,” I mean:
They set up. I sit. All hail the Queen of Pain.
And my daughter — bless her heart — ran my entire booth like a pro because I kept having to sneak away to the restroom to check on my elbow, clean the bandage, and breathe like someone who just survived a martial-arts stunt gone wrong.
Chapter 6: Success, Glory & Mild Internal Screaming
Despite everything —despite the squat trauma, despite the dog-induced concussion, despite moving like a haunted rocking chair…
Both shows were amazing!!
I sold my original 'Whispers From the Earth,' tons of cards and prints, met incredible people, and was approached by NHCC contacts about future opportunities.
Was it worth breaking my entire body?
Honestly…Yes. Absolutely.
Would I do it again?
……I think so. (But next time, the dog can drip on the bed. I’m choosing peace.)
'Whispers From The Earth'
