A&C

Old Blood/New Blood

The Bat and The Buffalo Gallery wants to steward new ideas alongside local focus

BY ALEX DE VORE alex@sfreporter.com

Canyon Road does not always feel accessible to locals. There. I said it, and I mean it. When it comes to Santa Fe’s artsiest street—the one that shows up in much of the city’s marketing, the one that always wends its way onto Top 10 lists—I’ve got a head full of stories about my buddies whose extended families lived up there for generations only to be forced out, and how one must also contend with that empty parking lot these days, which sits blocked off, making it nigh-impossible for a certain cross-section of locals to visit. I’ve got tales of the times I entered galleries, perhaps even to buy, though admittedly not big purchases, mind you, only to be met with silence at best or glances which seemed to scream, “Are you lost?” at worst. This by no means suggests every gallery operates the same, and spaces like Ventana Fine Art, Hecho a Mano and Nuart among others have been staffed by lovely, kind people in my experience. Still, locals Molly Wagoner and Dezbah Stumpff (San Carlos Apache) don’t feel great about what’s become of Canyon, and they’re hopeful to approach at least some aspects of the unspoken non-locals-only policy with their new gallery and community space, The Bat

and The Buffalo (821 Canyon Road, (505) 570-5759;Wednesday-Saturday,

11 am-4 pm; sometimes Sundays).

Stumpff is a tried-and-true Santa Fean and a multimedia artist with a focus on jewelry who left to study at the School of the Art Institute in Chicago (and maybe a couple other times, too), but inevitably found herself returning home, where her folks both worked as artists. Wagoner wasn’t born here, but she attended college at UNM and has been a part of the town so long, we might say she became a person here. The pair met at DIY arts collective High Mayhem ages ago and, as they recall, Wagoner learned of Stumpff’s jewelry work and requested a piece.

“And then we were just friends,” Stumpff says.

Because of this friendship, you might think the gallery plan has been a long-gestating one. Not so. In fact, one could think of it as a mid-pandemic idea that, because of the unprecedented downtime, caught more momentum than it might have otherwise. It’s kind of like when old friends say, “We should totally start a band,” only this time, those old friends actually worked out how to do that. All jokes aside, starting a business is tough, and both Stumpff and Wagoner freely admit they’ve got stars in their eyes.

“I think the pandemic shifted things a little bit,” Wagoner says. “How can we be a place where you feel welcome? We live in a place where there are such bonds and so much creativity, but there aren’t that many gathering spaces—where do you go to experience that?”

“I’ve seen many versions of what Canyon Road has been,” Stumpff adds. “My parents were married in the building where Geronimo is now, and I was up and down Canyon all the time. Now I think people are made to feel uncomfortable, you know? This lady came in and said they were just yelled at in a gallery. I was just like, ‘I’m sorry your kid got yelled at!’”

The two-pronged approach of accessibility and artistry is already driving The Bat and The Buffalo’s mission. At its soft opening late last month, live music accompanied families (including kids, who reportedly went un-yelled at), and there are plans for more events. The walls and shelves are currently covered in paintings and photography from Wagoner, some various apothecary items from company Lunar Logic and others, plus tattoo flash-like pieces from New Mexico artist Faroe and myriad other pieces, including Stumpff’s jewelry—and the ownership is absolutely accepting pitches. Some would-be representees haven’t been a good fit, Stumpff notes, but says she and Wagoner are happy to hear from anyone, and will always give prospective work a fair shake. As longtime working artists themselves, these are two gallery owners who are familiar with rejection.

“But we own the place and we can represent people in a way that feels...like respect,” Stumpff explains. “Not to harp on the pandemic, but I think everyone had a chance to think about things differently, and all these things that came into awareness...shifted people’s minds, and of course that ricochets into artist communities.”

Indeed, artists are generally on the front lines of how humanity sorts out its feelings, but the great thing about that— and the great thing about a DIY guerrilla artspace in the middle of an often inaccessible district for, let’s face it, rich folk—is a built-in bit about evolution.

“As we’re curating, we’re working out our identity,” Wagoner says, “and a big part of the conversation around that is in the reasons we make art in the first place.”

“We’re so blessed in Santa Fe,” Stumpff concludes. “Art is something that’s just in the air, the industry. But I know for myself, there is so much that’s intimidating, and I don’t want to pass that on to other people. Of course you’ll sometimes have to say no in this business, but the way we try to do it is, we’ve been in your shoes. We know how this feels.”

ALEX DE VORE

Newly minted gallery owners Molly Wagoner (left) and Dezbah Stumpff want to treat artists with respect, which shouldn’t feel novel, and yet...

How can we be a place where you feel welcome? We live in a place where there are such bonds and so much creativity, but there aren’t that many gathering spaces—where do you go to experience that?