Between Presence and Present
Last month I took a trip to Santa Fe, New Mexico, with two of my closest friends. We explored art galleries, shopped, connected with artists and curators, enjoyed both casual and fine dining, took a cooking class, and ventured into the Santa Fe National Forest and Aspen Vista Trail. Throughout the trip, a recurring theme kept whispering: be present.
It first began at the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum. I was fascinated by Georgia O’Keeffe—her curiosity, continual desire to learn, the breadth of her skill set, and her reverence for remaining true to herself despite what critics and the world assumed about her.
After the museum, my friends and I debriefed on our individual experiences. The theme we kept returning to was O’Keeffe’s ability to remain present through the many changes of her life—and how that presence shaped her artistic journey.
The second whisper came through the galleries themselves. Santa Fe is the third-largest art market in the United States, behind only New York City and Los Angeles. More than 300 galleries feature thousands of artists from around the world. With each gallery we entered came a new opportunity—not simply to view art, but to be present with it.
There was an exquisite painting, VERGE 2, by Erin Cone at Nuart Gallery. We each arrived upon its beauty at different moments, staggered in our discovery, and it left us speechless. We stood in complete silence.
Breath.
Presence.
Verge.
We ended our trip with dinner at Geronimo. Geronimo has a few strict policies: no split checks, no shorts or sandals, no children under eight, and no cell phones in the dining room. It also sits on Canyon Road, where many of Santa Fe’s galleries are located.
We dined outside and, as the evening unfolded, watched the sun begin to set—casting long shadows across the galleries and opening a wider view of the street before us. Each gallery left its showroom lights on, illuminating artwork long after the doors had closed.
It was a moment where my own presence required effort.
I am guilty of having my phone at the dinner table—snapping pictures of food, looking up ingredients, texting, or Googling whatever topic happened to enter conversation. However, in this moment, we were forced to sit and simply be present. (Not going to lie, we did sneak a few photos of the food…the presentation was incredible.)
As we eased beyond the discomfort of presence without technology, we allowed the sunset, art, a light breeze, and one another to arrive fully.
And within the presence of presence itself, I realized that masterpieces were not only hanging on gallery walls—but seated around me, moving beside me, and unfolding in the present.
Unfolding in Present
Laughter untangled the silence—
where minds
once drifted
to another universe,
droplets of breeze
sparked faint memories—
worthy of
reminiscing.
Aromas flirted—
with gazes,
voices softened
into smiles,
while the sun bowed
in acknowledgement—
as curiosity emerged again,
deepening the awe—
of this moment.
— James Allen, 2026