On Steve Parks: The qualities of a gentleman: perseverance and equilibrium
“Life is filled with infirmity, of course, and perseverance through infirmity is the name of the game. In one of those wonderful, odd paradoxes, it is what sets one free, in life, as in art.”–Steve Parks
Confronted with the sudden loss of someone like Steve Parks to the community, we, all of us, pause and consider how much he meant. I can’t think of anyone who participated more fully in the arts as writer, art-dealer, and stage actor-director during the last forty years. Steve’s even temper and easy laughter, passion for the visual and performing arts, an ability to write and give an account of the work and the artist made for a real humanist and Renaissance man in Taos.
True to his roots, Steve never donned a costume (except on stage) though, in an effort to survive worked as a gardener, behind the bar, at his editorial desk. In blazer and khakis, the well-groomed Parks balanced passion and reason in pursuit of a full life, a life based on love of place and people. As he writes in his introduction to the Ed and Trudy Healy book, Jim Wagner, Taos: An American Artist: “Taos [is] a mythic place of beauty, tradition, and freedom.”
Not unlike other members of his generation, the one-time Sports Illustrated writer traded in a professional’s career for an amateur’s love of the arts and found in Taos friendship and a way of life, exemplifying and becoming the natural social gentleman that he was—generous and hospitable to all. He was our representative WASP (White Anglo Saxon Protestant) and fit right in among the idiosyncratic souls, who made the music on canvas and on stage.
Just as he pursued in the promotion of the historic and contemporary legacy of art in Taos, so Steve supported and helped visual and performing artists reach their own potential, bringing an uncommon touch of grace and dedication to the rocky seas and tumult of artistic action, reaction, and conversation. During interviews for Paul O’Connor’s Taos Portraits, Steve and I spoke about Wagner and Gorman (see: R.C.Gorman, a Portrait by Stephen Parks and Chuck Henningsen, 1983). He changed the subject suddenly and said his dream was to see a retrospective at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York of Taos artists. I hope, in some small way, Ken Price’s current show confirms for Steve the fulfillment of his passion.
After posting on Aug. 31, 2013, a Sept. 1983 editorial from ArtLines, the monthly art magazine, Steve and Nancy Pantaleoni (http://parksgallery.com/bpc_info.php?artistID=13) started in 1980, I began thinking about Steve’s arrival. He first arrived in Taos, San Geronimo Day, 1973. Carroll Harrington reminded me that Steve worked for her mother, Sally Howell at the old church on Quesnel St. as a gardener. I remember him when he first stepped behind the bar at La Cocina to learn a trade, a trade that kept body and soul together for so many arrivistes of my generation, including Jim Wagner, Phil Bateman, Joel Schantz, Bob Bishop, all of whom migrated, like Steve, on to other occupations.
There was no better training ground for multicultural Taos than “the La Cocina,” as Wagner called it, a place which introduced you to the foibles of human nature and rich texture of daily life. Steve never hesitated to acknowledge his debt and gratitude for the opportunity, especially the the opportunity to serve with Ruth Moya, “the world’s greatest cocktail waitress.”
I first saw Steve on stage at the old upstairs Harwood Auditorium in the Oscar Wilde–Taos Theatre Company production of The Importance of Being Earnest, as costumer extraordinaire Carol Kalom reminded me, in October of 1976. Steve and Bill Bolender frequently teamed up and staged memorable productions like David Mamet’s American Buffalo at the old Armory on Civic Plaza Drive or the Beckett play, Krapp’s Last Tape, while liberating the Plaza Theatre Stage in the early winter 1978. (I am truly sorry I missed his own reprise of Krapp last winter.) And Steve didn’t lack courage or cunning. He staged Sam Shepard’s Fool for Love at Klein’s basement space next to the Plaza Theatre–despite Shepard’s having banned his plays from being staged in New Mexico. (Apparently Shepard’s father used to show up—inebriated–at the Greer Garson theatre in Santa Fe to make himself known to cast and crew).
“We’re going to do it anyway,” said Steve. “We just won’t tell anybody.” Like any all-around actor, Parks could also dance, as Carol reminded me, when he assumed the role of one of the four dancing rabbis in Fiddler on the Roof. Who can count, to name a few, all the actors and actresses, directors and producers, and choreographers from Bolender to Pam Parker, Rory Duval and Judith Crooker, Jonathan Gordon, David Garver, and Ron Usherwood, who worked with Steve. As Carol mentioned, he had a leading role in Art, which drama re-opened the remodeled TCA.
Steve said in the Wagner book, “I once asked Wagner whether he thought with his head or his heart. “I’m not sure,” [Wagner] answered. “I’m learning to let things go, trust that they’ll fix themselves and just let things happen. That’s related to the heart. And with my art—just do it, let it out.” Wagner’s comment could describe Steve’s own journey, leaving a straight job behind, arriving in Taos, accompanied by his wife Sam and son Dylan. Later he joined up with the delightful Joni, then son Willie was born.
He persevered and edited ArtLines, an elegant publication with fine black and white photos, insightful interviews, and fine writing about the arts by the likes of Malin Wilson and Thom Collins, among others. After the demise of ArtLines, Steve says Melissa Zink inspired him to open a gallery in 1993 with Joni, some twenty years after his arrival in Taos in 1973.
Through all the theatrical productions (and community theatre can be dangerous to the financial and emotional health), Steve retained his focus on the craft and loyalty to friends, fellow actors, actresses, and directors in the performing arts community. Similarly, he maintained his friendship with artist Jim Wagner, who, in turn, has said his relationship with Steve was one of the outstanding features of his life. Though you might think of Steve as Jim’s biographer, when you read the Wagner book closely, you realize that it’s as much a paean to the spirit of place, past and present as it is Jim’s story. Though Jim’s art might ultimately transcend the community, neither Wagner nor Parks have ever left this place and the people they loved.
When R.C. Gorman died, Steve lamented the effect on the art market in the community, suggesting an era had passed. Twenty years ago, Ed and Trudy Healy recognized the dynamic relationship between Jim and Steve, and produced the book. This spring in 2013, Ed and Trudy revitalized their simmering relationship with Jim and Steve at Milagro Productions on Bent St. Now Steve, who tied so many of us together in the community is gone. There’s a hole in the bucket. He called attention always to others, his artists or his character on stage but not to himself. He kept his head when we were losing ours. We just didn’t know his sudden departure would leave us so bereft.
In Steve’s memory, we must persevere with grace.