City Different 1

One of my granddaughters, visiting Santa Fe, came upon this guitarist strumming away beside Grandpa's bronze of San Francisco which stands in front of City Hall. Seldom passing up a photo op, she captured a moment typical of incidents I've heard relating to the statue during the 28 years since it was installed.

The Santa Fe County competition for Art in Public Places, 1979, called for entries, preferably a mural, to grace the wall of a second-floor hallway in the city's municipal building. I took a look at the designated wall and considered it inappropriate, a location where few visitors to the building would see art work meant to be public. The rules of the competition did not, however, limit one to suggested media or specific site within or on the grounds of the building. I thought an icon of the city's patron, San Francisco, should stand prominently fronting City Hall where all citizens could view it. And submitted a maquette for the bronze to the juried panel of the Arts Commission, city councilors and the mayor. A few fellow artists who hadn't carefully read the competition's rules were disgruntled when an entry for sculpture took first prize in what they'd believed to be a mural contest.

I absolutely did not want to produce still another version of San Francisco holding birds, and so deliberately modeled the small maquette with the man of Assisi's hands folded behind his back. The figure was bent slightly forward, its head tilted downward as if gazing on something, and the composition demanded I put a sculptural element in his view. For weeks that element remained a lump of clay. Though I consider my work stylistic rather than representational, nothing abstract would do, something recognizable would have to justify Francis' rapt attention. One night, a friend visiting my studio demanded that I resolve the dilemma, turn that lump of clay into anything--a rock, plant, why not some small creature, wasn't the saint the patron of animals. When my response was that I could think of nothing, he countered with "It already looks like a prairie dog!" Miracolo, I think you've got it. And so it became. Once dedicated, the bronze was officially labeled San Francisco del Desierto. But locals never refer to it as such; for them it's always been and remains St Francis and the Prairie Dog.

I've cherished the public's acceptance of and interaction with the statue over the years: the many telephone calls from friends who've asked if I've been downtown, have seen the latest gift bestowed on Francis or his small friend by an anonymous donor--a bright red scarf circling Francis' throat following a heavy snowstorm; a Santa Claus cap upon his head during the Christmas season; a beautifully hand-crafted, flowered and beaded bonnet adorning the prairie dog one Easter Sunday; the coins left at Francis' feet, reportedly collected by an elderly senora and carried to the Poor Box at the Cathedral where she attends daily morning Mass. The frequent times, while downtown, I've seen residents or tourists sitting on one of the benches which flank the sculpture, reading or merely resting in the shadow of Francis, sometimes being photographed with a friendly hand on his arm. I get emails from across the country as well as from abroad by people who've read my signature on the bronze, google the name and locate my website on the internet, write words to gladden the heart. Art is essentially communication, and when we accomplish that, it makes worthwhile the hardwork and periodic rejections which come with the territory in this field of labor.

But if public approval of the statue has given me much pleasure, the city's neglect of its site triggers frustration. Awarding of the competition prize specified only that I was to execute and have the bronze freighted to City Hall. Someone employed by the administration at that time, whose name I never knew or can't recall (possibly the city architect or landscaper), designed and had constructed a solid and attractive base for the sculpture. At the dedication, on the feastday of Francis, 4 October 1980, planned and discussed (promised!) landscaping and lighting had not been done, but on such a joyous occasion I didn't consider that it never would be. The dedication was most festive, a procession of adults and children, led by vested priests, carrying or walking leashed pets from the terrace of St Francis Cathedral through the Plaza and down Lincoln Avenue to where Francis and the Prairie Dog awaited them. Speeches were made by politicians, clergy blessed the animals, and it was announced that the Procession and Blessing would become an annual event, that every year on October 4 we'd gather to honor Francisco, patron of this city named for his holy faith and patron of El Senor's wide animal kingdom. There was never again another procession or blessing, the landscaping plans not realized, no lighting installed.

Worse. The corner at Lincoln and Marcy Streets where the bronze fronts City Hall has over the years been disfigured by a long line of curbside newspaper and periodical-handout kiosks, directional signs and occasional illegal parking which all but hide Francis from approaching pedestrians or vehicles. Whenever I receive another phonecall or email from someone expressing delight in the bronze, I think of its violated site and wonder how anyone could fully appreciate it there. Those of us who love our City Different are dismayed, even angered, when someone disillusioned with it refers to it as the City Indifferent. But after many attempts with various city administrations to improve, clean up, the site, I'm no longer quick to argue the negative adjective.

Under construction adjacent to the Municipal Building and City Hall is Santa Fe's nearly completed multi-million dollar Civic Center, scheduled for opening before summer's end. A huge complex of excellent design trumpeting northern New Mexico's architectural traditions, the Center will be approached by many of its future thousands of visitors from the corner of Lincoln and Marcy Streets where Francis and his prairie dog look out on the intersection. I want to believe that pleas to rid the site of shabby accouterments--"To Beautify A City," as the Santa Fe Reporter headlined the story (27 September 1979) announcing the competition result--will not go unheeded. There Is a Season for All Things. Time to address this matter, give Francis his due as he anticipates welcoming crowds on their way to the Civic Center.