Allure of Desert ‘B&B;’ That’s Real Work of Art

We sat on the front porch in the middle of nowhere, staring at miles of nothing but sagebrush and stainless-steel poles, waiting for lightning to strike.

Even for New Mexico, this was a pretty far-out bed and breakfast.

We’d heard vague stories about The Lightning Field, near Quemado, a sneeze of a dusty town southwest of Albuquerque, and we wanted to see for ourselves. Was there really a B&B; you could go to to watch lightning for entertainment?

The more we asked, the more we got strange looks from the locals until the chamber of commerce in Socorro referred us to Kathleen Shields, the local representative of the Dia Center for the Arts, a New York City-based contemporary art organization.

Dia commissioned and maintains The Lightning Field, she said, and while the project is basically an earth work by internationally known artist Walter De Maria, it includes a small house that sleeps six. Bed, breakfast and dinner are included in the admission fee.

Installed in 1977, The Lightning Field is a square mile of desert scrub, smack in the middle of nowhere, gridded with 400 stainless-steel lightning rods that average 28 feet in height.

Intended as a “live-in” art work, not a tourist attraction, The Lightning Field is an experience in total isolation in a desert setting. Since the artist considers isolation so important to the piece, the number of people visiting at any one time is strictly regulated to a maximum of six. Visitors must stay a minimum of 24 hours. And cameras are forbidden since it is not permissible to photograph the field, which is a copyrighted piece of art.

When we asked for details, few were provided. “It’s an art experience,” Shields said. “Each person has a different interpretation of what it is. Our driver will pick you up in Quemado, drop you off at The Lightning Field, then pick you up again the next morning. While you’re there, you’re on your own.”

And she could tell us nothing else? “No, it’s an art experience,” she repeated. “It’s about being out there, isolated. I will tell you no one has ever complained the next morning.”

OK, we were hooked. My friend and I plunked down $65 each and reported to Johnny’s Bar, the van pickup station in Quemado, by 3 p.m. Audrey Ward, the bar manager, collected our money and asked us to sign documents releasing Dia from all responsibility for everything from rattlesnake bites to being struck by lightning.

Rattlesnake bites? Hey, Lightning we’d expected. But we were committed. We signed. Then she directed us to the Dia art gallery next door.

Still wrestling with the thought of rattlesnakes, we could easily have missed the significance of the two-room art exhibit of works by De Maria. The first room, the size of a small auditorium, was bare except for the floor display of three enormous stainless-steel rectangles flanking three circles of matching proportion. The second, smaller room had another stainless-steel floor show: squares with varying numbers of insets--a domino set for cerebral giants?

Robert Weathers, The Lightning Field caretaker, drove us 35 miles or so out into the plains. The wide-open spaces got wider to the point of desolation--nary a tree in sight on a late June day, with the temperature hopping over 100 degrees.

Finally we spotted the tall stainless-steel poles, hundreds of them, stretching off in all directions, each precisely placed in geometric patterns reminiscent of what we’d seen back at the gallery. If lightning did hit--and we’d seen lightning several times on the three-hour drive from Albuquerque--it would be a whale of a show.

Weathers, not a talkative type, allowed as how lightning struck the field maybe twice a year. Our best chance of seeing the highly polished poles in action, he said, would be at sunset and sunrise when they reflected and bounced colors of light.

The cabin, an environmentally conscious structure, looked like a set for “Little House on the Prairie.” No screens on the windows to interfere with Mother Nature. On the other hand, there was plenty of ice in the fridge for tonics for those who had had the forethought to bring cocktail ingredients. Otherwise, you settled for the iced tea or fruit juice that Dia provided.

The refrigerator held ample supplies for dinner and breakfast: an enchilada casserole and a bowl of Spanish rice to be warmed in the gas oven; lettuce and tomatoes for a salad, and bacon, eggs, fruit juice, milk, coffee, butter, jams and jellies for breakfast. A metal-lined pantry box nearby held a variety of crackers, cookies, health bread, herb teas and seasonings.

After Weathers had shown us how to use the CB radio to call him in case of emergency and warned us about a persistent stray cat that previous guests had dubbed Walter, he left.

We looked out doors and windows that framed plate-flat desert in all directions, with only the mauve mountain range in the distance for contrast. Then we explored the cabin, wondering where the third bedroom might be. (We had to go outside to find it in a kind of lean-to.)

The kitchen and bathroom were comfort-oriented--the other rooms sparsely furnished but neat and clean. Open windows meant flies and mosquitoes, but closed windows invited suffocation. Each bedroom had reading lights and a chair and desk equipped with paper and pen--to record your art experience, no doubt.

Moving outdoors, we made a cautious tour of the stainless-steel poles, our attention at first more on avoiding things that rattle in the desert dirt than on “being open” to art. The poles lined up in a mind-boggling maze suggested enormous knitting needles positioned to scatter fire into space.

We spotted a slight movement in the brush. A snake? No, it was Walter, the stray cat Weathers had told us about. Walter thinks he owns the place. He escorted us on the rest of the tour, guard cat of De Maria’s lightning rods.

We dragged chairs out on the porch in preparation for the lightning show, should it occur, and grew philosophical over well-iced gin and tonic. Gradually, conversation died and the landscape took over.

We watched the old windmill silhouetted against ever-changing cloud formations, and followed the track of sun and shadow playing tag on the distant peaks. Crickets tuned up for choir practice. A pair of nervous small birds followed elaborate flight patterns trying to detour around us to deliver food to their chicks in a nest over the cabin doorway. Bedlam broke loose whenever Walter approached. Otherwise, the only sounds were those nature put there.

Isolation had a definite appeal.

Unfortunately for us, there was neither lightning nor sunset the night we were at The Lightning Field. No bright light--no reflections on the poles. The only light show that night was playing hide-and-seek trying to find a socket for the reading lamp in the living room. The cabin’s look is so environmental, the light socket hides in what looks like a mouse hole in the wall.

And it wasn’t until the next morning that we found the dining-room chandelier light switch--inside the kitchen cabinet. We had our enchilada casserole and salad by candlelight while we plotted how to keep the windows open but Walter and the mosquitoes out. (We failed.)

Next morning we were up at dawn, determined not to miss the sunrise show. It started at 5:45, the poles like a forest of neon cacti against a saw-tooth mountain backdrop. Heretofore hidden passages made themselves known. It was all over 45 minutes later, after the poles had gone through a rainbow of transition from pink to gold to blue to gray.

When Weathers came to pick us up for the bumpy ride back to Quemado, we reported on the state of the baby birds over the cabin door, the cow we’d spotted way, way out on The Lightning Field, the encounter with the cat named Walter.

And yes, we’d experienced “art” in a way. We might not know a thing about earth works, but we knew what we liked. It doesn’t take lightning striking to have a good time.

GUIDEBOOK

Seeing The Lightning Field

Getting there: Fly direct from Los Angeles to Albuquerque via Southwest and USAir, for about $200 round trip. The Lightning Field is 35 miles northeast of Quemado, but guests must report to the Dia Art Foundation office in Quemado for transport by van.

Quemado is a scenic drive of about three hours from Albuquerque. Take Interstate 40 West for 78 miles to the junction of New Mexico 117, then turn south and travel 75 miles on a two-lane highway to Quemado. Pickup time for the van is 3 p.m. Pickup for the return trip next morning is 11 a.m.

What you should know: Cameras are not permitted, but slides can be purchased at the Dia office in Quemado.

No smoking in the cabin. Take alcohol if you wish. Pack mosquito repellent if you are visiting in early summer. Sturdy shoes and rough-wear clothing are advised.

The house where visitors stay has three bedrooms--two with twin beds, one with a double bed--and one common bathroom.

Closets are equipped with necessities, from heavy wool blankets to rain gear, a cowboy hat and books on rocks, desert animals and astronomy. Full dinner and breakfast are provided.

When to go: The Lightning Field is open May through October. In late June, seasonal cloudiness may cancel the sunset show. Probability of lightning is best in July and August.

For more information: Contact Kathleen Shields for reservations--Two Wind NW, Albuquerque, N.M., 87120 (505) 898-5602, or the Dia Art Foundation, 155 Mercer St., New York 10012, (212) 431-9232.