The Old Adobe Church, the Wolf and Survival

My friend Anna Karin moved to Truchas over six years ago, arriving at what felt like the end of her rope with only a red wolf named Sheba and an orange cat. With all of her resources gone and no idea what to do next, she simply focused on what was right in front of her: renting an old adobe church with a house in the back. She only had enough money for a single month’s rent, but she refused to let herself think about that.

Winters up here in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains are brutal and long. Yet, despite having neither running water nor heat, Anna transformed the church into her studio and gallery, and the house into her home. She shared her bed with Sheba and Rasmus the cat, the three of them bundling together under blankets for warmth while snow blew in through the gaps in the roof above.

Anna is remarkably strong. In many ways, she and the wolf were kindred spirits—both survivors who lived purely by instinct. Together, they became a pack. As difficult as it was to live with a wolf, Anna needed Sheba. Perhaps the constant necessity of respecting the animal’s wild nature awakened Anna to her own. Seeing those shared similarities, and discovering the same primal strength within herself that she witnessed in the wolf, gave her the courage to face those challenging early days.

That first morning, Anna got right to work establishing her gallery. In the opening week, she sold enough paintings to survive. The week after that, she sold more, and in the subsequent weeks, even more. She was actually making a living in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, and she was amazed.

During those first few years, she ran the gallery seven days a week entirely on her own. She made improvements whenever she could—like installing a wood heater in the church during her second year—and piece by piece, she built a life.

In her sixth year, Anna asked me to join her. We had been open for about three weeks when an irrigation flood struck. The adobe was completely soaked, making the walls potentially unstable, and we were forced to move out. Leaving was heartbreaking; the place held so much history for Anna, having seen her through her darkest times and ushered her into a happy, fruitful life. But leave we did.

We ended up renting a building on the village corner, right at the turn to Taos, that had stood vacant for eleven years. It was covered in graffiti with its windows shot out and boarded up. It took a massive amount of work, but within a few weeks, we were open for business yet again.

When Anna first invited me into her gallery, I had been at my own dead end. My resources were entirely depleted, and I was paralyzed by uncertainty. But by following Anna’s lead, I focused on the immediate step before me. I became a part of her gallery, and against the odds, I too have sold enough paintings to live.

The life of an artist requires leap after leap of faith into the unknown. To make it, we must believe, even when we cannot see what lies ahead. Anna had Sheba for support when she faced her crisis, and I had Anna. While it is entirely possible to walk this path alone, how much better it is to do it with a kindred friend at your side.

You can see Anna’s work at annakaringallery.co

Love to you all,

Jeane