Whitney Gardner is a good friend of mine. She lives in a quaint house in the middle of the desert, with her beau, a tattoo artist, and her dog Willow, who looks more like a coyote than most coyotes I've seen. Here, amidst glorious sunsets and big, bright swollen moons, Whitney dreams vividly about Mark Twain. She paints and cooks and carves and sings, and in what hours that remain, hands cold beer to stragglers & tourists at a local bar down the way. Getting a chance to visit with her always feels like opening a treasure chest; evenings colored by new scattered art projects, old records, mid-night sing-a-longs, and, on this particular occasion- in honor of her, and her sister's birthday- tables crowded with ridiculously delicious homemade pizza. Complete with fresh cut cacti toppings (Yes, that was a first for me too) Seeing how many slices I devoured and how many wheat beers I drained, it is no wonder I'm feeling a little sluggish today. Back home with my boys, after my night away, we are gearing up for a slew of birthday festivities. Back on track as they say, eagerly awaiting our next jaunt to Joshua Tree, to Whitney's wild lot, where little Willow, brisk air, and those awkwardly beautiful trees are waiting. Next time boys. I promise.
Whitney's art available here
Labels: art, joshua tree