Camp introduces himself on my first night in Marfa at the opening of a gas-station-turned-folk-art-gallery called Yard Dog. The two rooms of Yard Dog glow in the pitch-black stillness of the nearly 2,000-person town. Inside, the scene teems with locals, some who look like Willie Nelson, some like Brooklyn hipsters, all toasting yet another gallery émigré. Camp, who moved to the Big Bend eight years ago, wears a canvas Carhartt jacket and black designer eyeglasses, a stylish mix of rancher and Warhol seen all over Marfa. We step outside.
“Out here you can just breathe,” he says, referring to the whole Big Bend, where Texas leans toward the Rio Grande and Mexico reaches back. “That constant push to do is gone. And instantly at night, there are a million stars. In the openness you suddenly feel creative.”
photo: Buck Johnston and Camp Bosworth at the Goode-Crowley Theater, a former feedstore.