Maynard Dixon wrote, “I love the grim gaunt edges of the rocks, the great bare backbone of the Earth, rough brows and heaved up shoulders, round ribs and knees of the world’s skeleton protruded in lonely places.”
When I look at the canyons of the Escalante River and Boulder Mountain–the last named mountain range in the contiguous US–I often think of Maynard Dixon and how easy it was for him to fall in love with the Southwest. A beautiful loneliness indeed.
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