As I made my way out to the car lot at Namibia’s Windsoek airport, a tall, imposing Hertz agent asked me where I was headed. When I vaguely told him the Sonop region, he turned to me with a gravitas ordinarily reserved for Chris Nolan monologues: “any time you see a gas station, any time—even if your tank is 7/8th full—you fill up.” He then showed me how to switch between low and high four wheel drive, put a meaty hand on my shoulder, and promised that I’d do fine. Suddenly I wasn’t so sure.

Less than a minute out of the lot and driving on the left side of the road, the airport’s wifi gave out, my cell service never kicked in, and I was looking at a seven hour drive alone through the desert with nothing but print-out directions from the hotel and…a full tank of gas.

The first hour was a straight-forward jaunt, reminiscent of the road out to El Mirage lakebed in Palmdale, CA, minus the burned-down meth labs. Just as I was meant to turn right for the first time and continue straight for the following 153km, I came across a gas station and dutifully stopped. There, an attendant with piercing blue eyes asked the same question: “where are you headed”? But as locals began to swarm, asking me for sugar and flour from the mart, I was unsure if I should divulge my destination—a residue of stranger danger lingered somewhere inside me after scarring childhood admonitions and third-hand tall tales. When I finally did respond and his answer was to take some air out of my tires, I was really unsure what to do. But the piercing eyes won out and I nodded for him to go ahead before peeling out and saying goodbye to paved roads for the next three days.

It was half-way through the subsequent six hour trek, when I hadn’t crossed a single other car and nearly flipped mine over while foolishly driving twice the speed limit and simultaneously snapping pictures, that I realized just how remote I was. I was truly in the middle of nowhere. I’d told my wife where I was headed but I think she was reading an email when I gave her my general itinerary two weeks prior. The hotel was aware of my trajectory, but I had not seen a single sign of life—nor a single bar of reception—for three straight hours. For all the traveling I’ve done around the world, this was a first. It was only partially unsettling—more thrilling—and entirely refreshing. The main purpose of the trip was to shoot night skies for an upcoming project and the lack of any outpost or lamppost was a hint that I was in for a treat.

I finally arrived at the Zannier Sonop resort with the last few minutes of daylight stretching out across the horizon, the light as warm as the landscape’s dusty red earth. Parking my car by the stables that had once been part of a nearly 14,000 acre ranch, I was driven by vintage Land Cruiser a few miles to the base of the hotel: a towering pile of massive boulders plopped haphazardly in the middle of the desert like a game of marbles played between gods, upon which a dozen luxury tents had been erected. A golf cart chugged up a wooden boardwalk between the rocks like the start of a Disneyland attraction, and soon I was at the summit, greeted to a roaring fire and smiling staff. Surreal doesn’t begin to do justice to the experience. The five-course dinner complete with French cheeses and served in a tent alongside the the only two other hotel guests only pushed things further into the Twilight Zone—even within the confines of the hotel, one was constantly reminded of just how remote they were.

My time at Zannier passed by at its own lazy clip, unburdened by the outside world. Early morning walks and breakfasts atop the boulder mountain elapsed into massages and reading time in my tent as I waited for the brutal sun to fade in the afternoon. Even the swimming pool was off-limits in the mid-day heat, but by dusk there were car rides racing through the desert alongside seemingly stray packs of oryx. At night, as the wind began to pick up and howl, the one or two stray clouds pushed away, clearing the skies for the ultimate star-gazing session. An in-house astronomer, wielding a laser so powerful it appeared to directly hit distant planets, pointed to star clusters flipped upside down from the Northern Hemisphere. The Seven Sisters shined brighter than I’d ever seen them, Orion’s belt was diorentingly-skewed, but what struck me most was the depth of the universe in its utter darkness. I felt like I was seeing past everything I’d ever seen, and as if in the midst of a tech-filled pitch for a new TV, I was seeing levels of black so much richer and darker than ever before— Anish Kapoor by way of Neil deGrasse Tyson.

The hike I took up and over the world-famous Sossusvlei dunes the following morning was as spectacular as I had imagined it to be, but it was this night sky, this complete and absolute darkness pulsating with the shimmering specks from the farthest depths of our galaxy and beyond that will stay with me forever. The wind kept beating away at me, the astronomer kept rattling off esoteric star patterns, particles of iron-rich sand started blowing into the atmosphere, all of these things trying to interfere with this connection to outer-space that was forming between me and the universe, but nothing could stop it. There was a monumental silence that had been established that was absolute and unbreakable.

A month later I found myself in another 1980s Land Cruiser, half-way around the world, enduring one terrifying hair-pin turn after another down Shafer Road in Canyonlands National Park. My guide (and driver) Cody explained that the third-generation owner of his outfitter, Navtec, insisted on the older Toyota models because of all the dust and rugged terrain we were about to cover. Newer incarnations were so loaded up with technology that systems would invariably break down in this setting, and when you’re fifty miles into the White Rim Trail we were about to spend two days on, a tow is not an option. You needed reliability over gadgetry.

In my ongoing pursuit of unsullied night skies, I was headed to the most remote campsite in the Island in the Sky section of the sprawling park. While The Maze is considered the most untamed of Canyonlands’ three areas, the White Crack Campground I was bouncing towards is the furthest out within Island and is capped at one vehicle per night, making it an incredibly tough ticket and a perfect spot for a bit of quiet.

The White Rim Trail is about 100 miles in all, tracing the perimeter of a prehistoric series of erosions which created stunning sand formations that turn pink in post-sunset light and radiate blinding whiteness throughout the rest of the day. Altitude-wise, it’s the mid-level point of the park, half-way between the bottom of the basin of eroded desert and the top of a mesa about twice the size of Manhattan that, when looking up from the trail, appears to be an “island in the sky.”

Most people elect to bike the entirety of the White Rim over the course of three days, working with local guides to arrange follow vehicles and meals. It is impossible to hike it in its entirety and were it not for the assignment I was on, I’m not sure it would have been my first choice for a two day drive either. It’s spectacular for sure, but the topography becomes a bit repetitive, and the cost of the chaperone is prohibitively expensive. There’s not much getting out of the car when you’re trying to get through 100 miles in two days while maxing out at 12mph, and when you do, it’s for a little quarter-mile jaunt to the very edge of the rim, an excuse to stretch your legs which have turned to jello after endless hours of rugged off-roading.

The best thing might be to book a half or full day trip (with Navtec) which will take you down Shafer Road—and a ways beyond—but still get you back to Moab in time for a tasty dinner at Thai Bella. (Note: unless you have serious off-road experience and an actual 4x4 car (meaning not an AWD SUV) do not attempt to tackle this trail on your own regardless of what some third-rate travel blog insists is possible.

When we finally got to our campsite, I erected my tent while Cody set up a full grill and got fajitas going. After a lifetime of backpack camping this was my first time working out of a truck, and the luxury of having coolers, stoves, and other gadgets (folding chairs!!) felt like an Aman upgrade from nights of Stovetop stuffing on a little portable stove and frigid mornings with instant oatmeal. We wolfed down supper before rock-hopping our way around, dodging cryptobiotic soil in an elaborate game of hopscotch while venturing out to the narrow peninsula that extended before us.

The ensuing night sky was disappointing after the one I’d recently witnessed in Namibia—in the corner of my eye I could make out some of Moab’s light pollution and the stars themselves felt fainter, dustier. But what I will never forget was the silence: as great and powerful as Namibia’s endless starscape, the quiet I experienced at dusk here in Canyonlands was unlike any other. At a certain moment a bird flew about twenty feet over my head, and in the supreme stillness I could hear its wings pushing the air around it. I’d never heard that in my life.

I’ve always championed hitting the road and venturing out on the trail—the first Tripping post was a guide to Utah’s National parks, some of my favorite holidays have been those spent along the Presidential Range of the Appalachias—but these days so much of my spare time is spent hunched over a phone listening to the latest trivialities from food bloggers and stand-up comedians while electric blue light forces itself down my rods. I was so grateful to have two moments of absolute, majestic, universe-sweeping, NOTHING. Here a silence so pure it made my eardrums feel bionic, there a darkness so vast it made my brain melt.

To encounter these opportunities we need to stray further and further out. The week before the trip to Namibia I’d been on a hike along a desolate stretch of Indian Ocean coastline but had not found the utter darkness I’d witnessed in Namibia. The week before Utah I’d been in the West Texas desert but distant rail lines and nearby crickets peppered the audioscape. I realize the two trips I’ve outlined here are not practical for all, but it is precisely their impracticality that allow them to offer what is getting harder and harder to find and more and more vital to experience. I encourage you to seek out absolute silence, visual, aural, or both, if only for a night, wherever you are. It’s not life-changing but it is certainly life-affirming.

For all those of you out there who aren’t on the Arctery’x mailing list or don’t watch Nat Geo on the reg, a carabiner is that little metal clasp that rock climbers use to secure their ropes. I say this as someone who has never rock-climbed so perhaps it actually serves another purpose, but I just imagine this is its main intention. Well, the inventor of the carabiner probably wasn’t thinking about a secondary purpose when creating this doo-dad, but I think it just as important.

As you race through the airport terminal, train station or even city streets with your rolling suitcase, you invariably have your second piece of carry-on luggage precariously balanced atop said bag, and you are gripping the two together with such white-knuckled fear of your tote spilling over and your laptop shattering in a million pieces, that you get temporary arthritis every time. Or that terrifying moment where for a split second you actually have to let go of your bag and your heart starts pounding, praying this isn’t the moment everything falls over and ruins my day!!!

Enter the carabiner.

Clip one onto each handle of your tote and then through the telescoping handle of your rolling suitcase and you are SET. No more stress, no more worries, you can wiz through your travels in fluid, carefree ease, your grip relaxed to a casual confidence. It’s that easy.

And seeing as carabiners come in endless color ways, you can easily match them to your suitcase. While waiting for Hermès or Vuitton to pick up on this million dollar idea, I personally like the sober elegance of the matte black ones from Black Diamond.

A couple things to look out for though:

1. Size. There are teeny-tiny versions made for keychains and whatnot. You don’t want that. Nor do you want giant ones intended for—well, I don’t know what they‘re intended for. The ideal size is in the 5”-long ballpark.

2. Style. There are many designs with overly-complicated locking systems that are probably of the utmost necessity if you are using them for their intended purpose of protecting your life. But for protecting your Bottega tote, these are more of a hassle clipping/unclipping, especially as you are racing to unclasp your bag to plop it in a TSA tray while the person behind you huffs unnecessarily. So go simple.

One last thing: for all you dog owners out there, I discovered a tertiary use for carabiners: keep one attached to your leash and any time you need to secure the leash you can easily clip it onto a pole/ring/chair/table/stroller in a flash.

Okay, that’s it. I know you’re busy, I’m trying to keep it simple. But trust me, this is going to change your life. Not dramatically, but like, just pleasantly enough to make a dent in the mundane shittiness that is quotidian life nowadays.

Okay, here is my short(ish) plea to all of you reading this to pick up a film camera and start shooting on it…and continue shooting on it. I’m not a snob, a purist, a Luddite, or any other disparaging descriptor. In fact, what it boils down to is that I’m just incredibly lazy and shooting on film is the easiest, simplest way to take great pictures. Too dark? It looks edgy and grainy. Too bright? The whites in the frame blow out and look hazy and dreamy. But the real selling points are the following…

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First and foremost, film allows you to control the amount of pictures you shoot. No one needs to see a hundred and sixteen pictures of Eileen’s first dance recital. Not even her grandparents. Also, no one needs to see seventy-nine pictures of you looking hot in Portofino. Not even that guy you’ve been sexting (trust me, he just needs one). Shooting on film allows your phone’s camera roll to be lean and mean, your visual history packed with only with the dearest moments and memories.

Second, the quality. Okay, I know I said I wasn’t precious about that kind of thing but that’s not what I’m talking about. Remember when the first iPhone came out (or even those fancy Nokias just before) and you snapped pictures and were just like “THESE ARE THE GREATEST PICTURES EVER!!!” and now you look back on them and they look like screenshots from an Atari console? Well, even if you have the latest iPhone Max fully tricked out with what-not today, in five years you’re going to look back at those snaps and be like, “oh man, what was I thinking…”. Meanwhile, film has been consistent from our childhood—our parents’ childhood—up until now. If you continuously shoot on film you will have a seamless, elegant timeline of your life. In fact it may be one of the only constants in these crazy times.

Finally, when I get a roll of film back from the lab—they’ll scan the images and email them to you so you can just drop them into your Photo library—all I do is just that: drop them in and forget about it. When I shoot something on my iPhone or even a fancy digital camera, I’m constantly adjusting the contrast, the color, the grain, all these different things in the hopes of making the image pop somehow. No need with film. It just looks great right out the gate. Saves you hours of time, maybe months over the course of a lifetime.

As for getting it developed, every major metropolitan city has a handful of great labs that will develop and scan your film, and if you happen to live out in the wilds, there are plenty of great mail-in labs. In the US I’ve heard great things about RichardPhotoLab.com and Midwest Film Co and you can also use this convenient site to find a lab close to you.

I’m not asking you go carry a camera with you at all times and become the next Garry Winogrand, but when you take that once-in-a-lifetime trip to Japan, why immortalize it with the same tool you use to chronicle your fucking latte art?

Below, in descending order of price, is a list of some great small cameras that can fit in any jacket pocket or handbag, and many come with a case with a belt strap in case you want to look as nerdy as me. Most of these have long-since been discontinued and your best bet on snagging one is on eBay, or hit up japancamerahunter, a British expat living in Tokyo who spends his days tracking down the best of the best used cameras.

The gold standard is the Contax T3. I’ve had one for about fifteen years now and I swear by it, it goes on (almost) every vacation and road trip (see the above snap taken on the slopes in Austria). It can be dummy-proof with one click but it also has a slew of functions if you want to get fancier (I am always using the over/under-exposure feature depending on sunlight). These run a pretty penny, usually around $2500-3200 for one in mint condition (they stopped making them about twenty years ago). THE MOST IMPORTANT DETAIL IN LOOKING FOR THIS CAMERA IS TO GET THE VERSION WITH “DOUBLE TEETH.” I could explain this to you but it’s a long, boring technical yarn that you probably don’t care about. Just make sure the seller guarantees it’s this version.

The previous model, the T2, can be found for half the price but it’s a bit bigger and most importantly, the focus is nowhere near as good, resulting in countless blurred images (see above self-portrait). I used one of those for a solid decade before splurging on the T3.

A couple notches below in both features and price (but not scarcity!) is the Yashica T4, an iconic camera that was the go-to for Terry Richardson during all those years he was shooting covers of Vogue and Gucci campaigns. 2/3rds of those images that helped define a generation of photographic style, were shot on this $150 camera that has now gone up to around $500 on the second-hand market (again, they stopped making them awhile ago). It only has two buttons, it’s “splashproof” and has an insanely sharp Zeiss lens. It’s so painfully simple that I got one for my mom and she loves it. DO NOT get the one with the zoom, and don’t get the T5. You want the classic T4 (or the or T4D or Slim T).

Finally there’s the Olympus Stylus. There’s dozens of incarnations of these and while I’ve never owned one so I can’t say which model is the best, I think all of them are probably pretty solid. But like the Yashica, DO NOT GET ONE WITH A ZOOM!!! Try to get one with a 35/2.8 lens.

And honorable mention should go towards good old-fashioned disposable cameras!! On more than one occasion I’ve arrived at the airport and realized I forgot to pack a camera and snag a couple from the Hudson News and the results are incredible! I also packed a few in my son’s duffel bag for summer and he churned out some damn fine images, like the one above.

Okay, that’s it for the rant. If a nine year old and a seventy-nine year-old can take great pictures with these cameras, SO CAN YOU!!!

For the past couple of years I’ve been writing up damn good city and vacation guides. This new column will be a companion to the site, not a facsimile. The city write-ups will continue to be posted on trippingwithphil.com, while this space will be for the un-categorizable. A recommendation for a little hotel in Vermont, a list of things you absolutely must bring with you on a long-haul flight, etc…

Oh, and like the newsletter, this substack is totally free and without sponsorship. If I tout a farmstand in Tivoli, it’s not because they give me free peaches, it’s because they are THE BEST FUCKING PEACHES. So just trust me, everything found within these posts is nothing short of solid gold.

Okay, enough with the speeches (and peaches), enjoy the post, share it, spread it, make me famous. Because honestly, that’s all I care about. That and good cinnamon rolls.

There are museums you visit passively and nod approvingly at their lovely but perhaps staid collection of contemporary works or their impressive trove of Impressionist masterpieces, and then there are the spaces that you immerse yourself in, that make you see the art in a whole new light, allowing you to connect with it in a way you never thought possible.

These museums and foundations are often in secondary cities or remote countryside locales that might not be at the top of your travel destinations. But depending on where you live, some of these can be checked off with a simple weekend train ride while others can be an additional side-trip on your next European vacation or cross-country road trip. And all of these are worth the trip, I promise. In no particular order, here we go!

The Louisiana Museum - Denmark

An hour’s train ride from Copenhagen (followed by a surprisingly long 15 minute walk) is a mid-century masterpiece, The Louisiana. It’s everything you expect from a Scandinavian mecca of contemporary art and more. From the long glass corridor that connects you to the surrounding woods while plopping a Giacometti sculpture at the very end of your view, to the outdoor Calder gently swaying in the breeze while intrepid museum-goers plunge into the icy waters at the edge of the property on a hot summer day.

There’s a consistent onslaught of terrific temporary exhibitions (I just saw a sensational Robert Longo show that was concurrent with a massive Kaari Upson retrospective) along with whimsical site-specific works like Elmgreen&Dragset’s impossible diving board and the absurd Self Passage by George Trakas. The restaurant is kitted out with top Scandinavian design pieces and dinner there in the summer would be absolutely magical. And make sure to exit through the gift shop and head to the section downstairs where you can buy original vintage posters from past exhibits dating back to the 1970s!!!

Beyeler Foundation - Basel

Before there was Art Basel in every city in the world, there was just, well…Basel. A quiet little Swiss town with an exceptional history in art, as seen by this foundation started in the 80s by dealers Ernst Beyeler and his wife Hilda Kunz. An understated structure by Renzo Piano melts into the countryside while the curation of the couple’s collection is a thing of wonder.

On my last stop there in 2024, the temporary show was called “Honey I Rearranged the Collection”, and it consisted of art handlers constantly moving the works of art around the building throughout the day. Warhols were lifted off the wall for viewers to temporarily see their backsides before being plopped right next to a Monet. A Giacometti sculpture was pushed right up against a Bacon painting, the elongated nose of the bronze a millimeter away from distorted face of the Pope. It was such a simple conceit but it allowed you to not only view but think of the art in such a fresh, invigorating way.

Try to go in the spring or summer to picnic in the adjacent gardens and make sure to visit the neighboring and equally inventive Vitra Museum and factory campus, where the principal gallery was designed by Swiss super-stars Herzog&DeMeuron, while each of the production buildings were created by titans like Zaha Hadid, Frank Gehry, and many many others.

Villa Panza - Milan

It consistently boggles my mind that people headed to Milan will flock to the Prada Foundation (with good cause, it is a great museum) but stop at that, and not think to hop in a 45 minute taxi ride to the magical secret that is Villa Panza. I’ve written about it before and frankly I’m feeling a bit lazy (it’s the middle of summer and the pool is beckoning!) so I’m just going to cut and paste what I said in my guide to Milan. At least I wrote it and not some LLM.

One of my favorite museums anywhere in the world, in no small part because of its impressive collection of James Turrell, Dan Flavin, and Robert Irwin installations. Juxtaposed against an 18th century Italian mansion, all the contemporary works leap out against the ornate moldings and architecture. There are also sprawling gardens dotted with whimsical sculptures, and hit-or-miss temporary exhibitions. The story of how the quiet couple acquired their collection starting in the 1950s is fascinating, worth reading up on as you tour the property.

Chateau La Coste - Provence

Oh to be an Irish billionaire with an affinity for wine, art, and architecture. Twenty-odd years ago, Patrick McKillen purchased a sprawling five hundred acre vineyard in Provence and with each passing year commissioned an A-list architect or artist to contribute a work or pavilion to the property. From Oscar Niemeyer to Tadao Ando, from Andy Goldsworthy to Richard Serra, all the greats have descended and intervened on this idyllic plot of land turning it into a world-class destination.

But it doesn’t stop here. He’s since broken into gastronomy and hospitality, amassing an equally impressive array of restaurants and one of the most beautiful hotels in the world, all on the same property. There’s a Francis Mallmann steakhouse where you can occasionally see the Argentinean fire-tamer himself, an Helene Darroz 3 star Michelin restaurant suspended over water in a glass pavilion, and a handful of more humble offerings as well. It’s an ideal weekend trip from Paris but can also be part of an epic art-filled road trip through the South of France, to be found here.

The Chinati Foundation - Marfa

An entire world away from the manicured elegance of the previous two spots, but with a weight and sense of space that is truly unique, Donald Judd’s desert mecca should be at the top of your US road trip list. A three hour drive from El Paso and an hour and a half from the nearest sign of life, Marfa is a Texan desert town like no other, a genuine artist community isolated from the rest of the world.

While most people choose to spend a night or two, snap some pix and stroll the galleries, I spent a week there on a job a few years ago and became truly woven into the fabric of the town. By the third day people were stopping me on the street and asking if I’d be coming by the bar that night, the lady doling out chicken pozole at the Sentinel knew my order by day 4, and folks from every store were happy to pitch in and help out with our shoot.

But I digress. The reason people flocked here to begin with and created such a wonderfully tight-knit community was all because of artist Donald Judd who discovered the town and its decommissioned military base in the early 70s and eventually moved there by the end of the decade. Little by little he bought up buildings in town, turning them into galleries, and invited friends like Dan Flavin and John Chamberlain to come down and create site-specific works on the base’s sprawling grounds. Over time it grew to be the Chinati Foundation, a temple of minimalism, a study of light and space, special beyond words.

Spend a few days here, as a thorough visit to the museum takes a full day and there are other galleries and stores to enjoy in town. And while there are a handful of hotels that range from iconic (including one where James Dean stayed while shooting Giant) to hipster, this is one place where renting a home through Airbnb is the way to go. Everyone in this town has has both exceptional taste and little desire to spend all year here, which is reflected in the abundant rental offerings that are exceptionally furnished.

A little side note: if you do go, and happen to fly in and out of El Paso, do yourself a favor and spend a night there and then continue in the other direction a couple hours to White Sands New Mexico. Going to the moon involves giving Jeff Bezos like $16,000,000, but going to White Sands is the next best thing and it’s just the cost of a tank of gas. One of the nation’s most unique and desolate National Parks, it is breathtaking and easy enough to visit in just a couple hours with very minimal effort.

Enora Observatory - Odawara

While the Holy Grail of global art destinations is by all means Japan’s Naoshima Island with its series of galleries and hotel spaces all conceived by the all-stars of contemporary art, it now requires months-ahead planning to book one of the surprisingly average rooms there (and not staying overnight requires A LOT of travel in one day) and to be honest, you’ll feel a bit basic getting your picture snapped in front of Kusama’s pumpkin at this point.

Instead, take a simple one hour day trip from Tokyo and visit master photographer Hiroshi Sugimoto’s Enora Observatory, an architectural masterpiece and homage to nature’s elements. Unlike conventional observatories that feature hulking telescopes and must be seen by night, this foundation is all about finding new perspectives on that which surrounds us by day. From windows into century-old fossils and soaring bamboo, to long corridors framing the intersection of ocean and sky. It is an absolute marvel and they also just happen to have the best yuzu lemonade stand in the parking lot (but make sure to buy it on the way out, NOT the way in as there are no trash cans anywhere and you’ll feel a little silly walking around with this paper cup for three hours). Another pro tip: there is a shuttle bus you can book to/from the train station on the museum’s site, but really allow yourself at least two hours here when reserving your bus time.

Georgia O’Keeffe Home - New Mexico

Georgia O’Keeffe had two homes/studios outside of Santa Fe, one called Ghost Ranch which I believe is in a never-ending process of being restored/preserved and can only be seen from the outside, via guided horse tour. This is not what I’m going to wax poetic about. Her other house is in Abiquiú, about forty-five minutes out of town and a quick warning: you will not see any of her paintings here. Sorry. What you will see however, is everything O’Keeffe saw. Literally. You’ll see the black door in her courtyard which she painted thirty incarnations of throughout her career. You’ll see the view from her bedroom which inspired another work. You’ll see her spices still on the rack in the kitchen with the labels she hand-wrote. The telephone next to her bed with her address book of eight names and numbers including that of Ansel Adams’. The bathrobe hanging on the hook that she would have donned had she woken up that next day, because the house has been left exactly as it was the day she passed.

Tours are very small in number due to the intimate nature of the visit, and the incredibly knowledgeable guides walk around with cheaply laminated replicas of her paintings that they hold up in different parts of the house, only to then put them down so you can see THE EXACT framing of said work in real life. It is beyond special. Follow the visit with a walk through her museum in the heart of Santa Fe and you will have a new-found appreciation for this artist, her paintings, and her life. Truly unforgettable. (PS. This trip pairs nicely with a jaunt down to Marfa if you so desire).

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