Hills Snyder

Writer and artist Hills Snyder documents his road trip from New Mexico, through West Texas, and on to the Panhandle.

Hills Snyder writes about the imagery of patriotic flags, in relation to music and his own work.

Hills Snyder gathers anecdotes, stories, and photos from artists, students, professors, and others who knew and loved Frances Colpitt.

Hills Snyder talks with San Antonio-based artist Joey Fauerso about her solo exhibition at the NMSU Art Museum in Las Cruces, New Mexico.

Hills Snyder on time spent during the pandemic, loss, and the cycles of life.

These stories, and those that follow, paint a picture of an artist-run-space of humble beginnings — grass roots that will never harden into an institutional surface.

At this strange moment in history, Hills Snyder asks members of our creative community: What is at the top of your mind? What is in the bottom of your heart?

At this strange moment in history, Hills Snyder asks members of our creative community: What is at the top of your mind? What is in the bottom of your heart?

At this strange moment in history, Hills Snyder asks members of our creative community: What is at the top of your mind? What is in the bottom of your heart?

At this strange moment in history, Hills Snyder asks members of our creative community: What is at the top of your mind? What is in the bottom of your heart?

(Note: This is the eighth installment in a series of stories published in conjunction with the traveling project ‘Altered States’ which opened November 2016 and is still on the move. For Part One, go here. For Part Two, go…

It is simply amazing how “something” takes up residence in “nothing” if one is able to surrender to it.

I continue to drive down the highways and back roads, as if they are the pages of a book, reading America one town at a time.

This is the sixth installment in a series of stories published by artist Hills Snyder in conjunction with his traveling project ‘Altered States’ which opened November 2016 and is still on the move.

Fair warning: this is a stream-of-consciousness meander through the topography of Buttercup.

The sky grows so very suddenly dark. The air inside the truck seemed to be sucked out and replaced by a vacuum made of utter silence.

This is activist art of the best sort. The overall effect is one of incantation, vigil and ritual.

The abstract truth of “driving through America” has fundamentally shifted in the 14 months since I was on the road gathering photographic material for the project.

I’m going to stop right there. Please stop reading and go.

Amado's fascination with felt has been like a slow-drip I.V. as determined by his daily engagement with process—a certain amount each day is enough when it is all you do.