Skyways 24x30

Pierce through eyes that light blinding
Open wide windows soul searching
Sometimes seeing ever falter
Groping hoping stumbling grasping
Pierce the crystal globes with fire
Burning purified desire
See now clearly ever after
Bright thy vision clean with laughter
_____________________________
Pierce through heart to break the measure
Metered beat set to suffer
Breaking bone and rock and stone
Doubting fearing ever weakening
Pierced and cleaved and rent in two
Bloodless orb pierced anew
Heart of flesh appears now beating
Ever new by love’s soft pleading
___________________________________
Pierce the ears with the symbol
Unstop them now and pierce through deafness
Whispering on the wind soft pleading
Strain to hear the meadow lark
‘Tis the sweetest sort of singing
Ever flirting warbling ringing
Ever let my pain be gone
Pierce my eyes and heart and song
"...to know Him, the power of His resurrection and...the fellowship of His suffering"

Bob's pick, My tele

What's that red thing on my forehead? If you're guessing I've converted to Hinduism... you're wrong. Those of you who guessed that this is a guitar pick used by my estranged uncle and his pal Eric Clapton, you're right. A good friend and fellow art aficionado has hung out numerous times on uncle Bob's estate in Malibu...A handful of picks from an evening jam amongst old friends made it's way to him in the aftermath of what can only be described as...indescribable. Marissa proudly wears one on a necklace...The other? I keep it handy in my wallet and pull it out from time to time for effect. Here I'm pictured between sets at a local gig...my Fender "fat" tele in sunburst with maple neck sits quietly admiring her master and his headwear.

Sk8 Mountain 24x30

Here's the deal. You either have a ten million dollar camera and some serious training (of which I have neither) or you look back at what were supposed to be beautiful landscape snap-shots and say..."Why did I take that picture?" So were my thoughts a few nights ago when my neighbor, May, whipped out her cell phone as we commented on the awe-inspiring monsoon sky above our heads and clicked off a few rounds. I've learned my lesson. Above is the scene...translated for eternal (almost) posterity on an archival / acid free canvas made with permanent pigment oil paints. Her cell phone "camera" on the other hand...will have some very unremarkable and forgettable images that she will send to a far away grand daughter who will say "Where's grandma in the picture?" Lesson number one- unless you have the above mentioned camera and the photographic moxy to make those landscapes pop, make sure you put friends and family in as many scenes as possible...much more fun to view those in the future than some obscure sky scene over the grand canyon in 1974. Lesson number two- send your pics to me or use them yourself to paint an inspiration that will last a lifetime. This everlasting painting displaying and reflecting eternal goodness in effigy is being offered at auction and, as I've said before, will probably go at a price that will make us shake our heads in wide-eyed wonder in years to come. See link at top right of page for more info.

Sentinal 24x30

Finally, I found the usefulness of My Face and Spacebook (ha). One of the kids signed me up a year or so ago and I'm like..."what up with all these friends inviting me to places I don't know?" I don't have that many friends (In America) and I'm not even that friendly to begin with. (or am I?) And I have no idea how to sign-in to nor do I desire to learn how to navigate another web site. All that cynicism and skeptitude has been washed away this last week or so with some very fun reunions with some very old friends. Again, Carmen and I seem to be the only ones who haven't aged but even in wrinkles and hunched over my old friends look great! My new dilemma is to know just how much of the past twenty five years I can safely divulge without overwhelming them with our rock-star lifestyle. The truth is we have lived a life that would make Indiana Jones shudder in terror and the likes of Captain Kirk and Ernest Hemingway, clamor for our autographs. Well, after having converted several continents and having fought off every imaginable creature and tropical disease known to man, many are left a bit incredulous if not altogether apoplectic at the outrageousness of our stories. You want the truth? Maybe you can't handle the truth. Or maybe that last bought of malaria addled my memory and the bits and pieces all add up to ...one big fantasy. Regardless, it's pretty neat to hear from old friends...like the proverb that mentions how refreshing it is to hear good news from a distant land. I dedicate this new misty field painting to friends old and new...Cheers!

Valley Of The Bear 37x49

Go big or go home. In spite of the daunting aspects of painting large...I do like it! This ginormous bad-boy was a real joy to make...should have made a video of this one. Well, my cameraman was busy making stop-motion movies out of Legos and clay and thus, the camera was filled with thousands of little pictures that all looked the same. It'd be great if the kids could parlay their creativity into worthwhile pursuits someday. As it is, they slurk (combination of slink and lurk) around the house looking for costly things to cannibalize (destroy) in their quest to express the most unintelligible, nonsensical gibberish and madness known to man. Is that normal for teenagers? Somebody help me!

Fall 24x36

This started out as an abstract study...first on a 3x4 inch piece of wood. I liked the shapes and color and transferred it to a large 3x5 foot canvas...It was too daunting! So, here it is in a more manageable size. Painting large is not always as easy as it seems. You have to overcome a number of hurdles, not the least of which is the giant blank snowstorm staring you down. I just talked to my friend and fellow painter Mike Mahoney. He is in the process of making a huge mural...something like eight by thirty three feet. Is your living room wall is big enough to handle a big ol' monster like that? If it is, your house is a palace and...you need some windows.

Pinnacle

Wild, woolly, west and windy. That was the working title of this painting. The boys and I just returned from a wilderness journey the like of which would have killed Survivor Man. Well, he might not have died actually. In fact, he would have had his fill of small-mouth bass and catfish so Giardia from drinking the river water on the Apache Indian reservation and subsequent dysentery would have been his main concern...and ours. We saw abundant bear sign (was that the reason why Scott insisted we all pack heat?) and some looked to be from enormous creatures. I don't think we had any real reason to worry though. The last bear attack in the southwest happened about four hundred years ago and it only took about 50 yards of carrying my 300lb. pack to realize the .40 cal semi-auto with two extra clips strapped to my belt was superfluous. Strange how men find comfort in firearms. It's not as though I've ever really needed to shoot attacking marauders on any kind of consistent basis. There's only several that come to mind and those I probably could've just as easily dispatched with a crossbow or a small spear! Guns are way overrated if you ask me. I'm happy to report the kids caught fish, I ate them, we slept under the stars and save for some mild sunburn and a sore back made it back to civilization unscathed and ready for more.

Earth N Sky 24x36

He held her hand and bowed to kiss
The up-turned face and remembered then
The little one so quick to learn
So soon to fly, time stood still
You can’t conceive all the colors
You can’t believe the songs that seem
To ring so true yet leave you longing
For yesterday…oh heart be still

It’s not from wisdom that you speak
When looking back to yesteryear
And times gone by as if they were
Better then, oh time stand still
Mark the passages and no regrets
See her chestnut hair in light
Glowing bright pearlescent eyes
Fly by night oh whippoorwill

My favorite bird, the whippoorwill
She’s an angel of the first degree
My favorite girl her hand in mine
Sings of Christ my favorite King
The King bequeaths the blessing now
To little birds and girls that sing
And to every child of nature’s own
Tomorrow’s song they will bring

Star 30x24

This is the view we had coming up and out of San Diego last week. A bit of frolicking in the surf and some good times with some old friends were had by our little clan. The heavy atmosphere of the Cali. coast just inspires painting...everything glows with an ethereal luminescence and everywhere you look there seems to be a painting just waiting to happen. I'm sure that's the same thought the man we met at Laguna beach had. That's where our similarities ended. He was painting on his little french easel and we stopped to bother him a bit. Really no bother I thought 'till he began to unload on my boys about the video games (which they hardly ever play) that are ruining their lives and are the sole cause for the ruination of our world. Not that I'd wholly disagree but he kept staring into our eyes as if to uncover some secret sin and cry "ahaa, caught ya". We just stared back at him with a benevolent condescension and pried ourselves away as graciously as possible. Well, my kids are almost too respectful. I was secretly hoping for one of them to "accidentally" tip over the guy's masterpiece. I shudder to think of his fate had he encountered kids like us at sixteen. Lucky for him we were fresh off a Disney vacation and the strains of "It's A Small World" were still ringing in our ears tempering our actions and thoughts and any proclivity we might have towards harmful mischief.

He's Not Alone (The Hanging Tree) 36x24

After a full week of cranial pain and torment, the like of which I'm sure was never even close to being experienced at Guantanamo Bay, I was recovered enough to dance the night away. We met at our neighbor's house for a dessert and to let the kids cavort around the desert a bit. There was a whole pile of 'em (kids) and once the parents got involved... all bets were off. We grooved to the sweet soul sounds of ...the Macarena, Cotton-Eyed-Joe, Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting, YMCA, and a dozen others. Now, I didn't really think we were much for dancing in our family. Sure, I've been known to cut a rug or two from time to time but my wife is shy and the kids..well, they're teenagers. All that presumption was thrown out along with every inhibition and care. All of it tossed straight to the wind! The following day there were sore necks from the head-banging antics brought on by the Stones' version of Get Off My Cloud and both Van Halen and The Kinks', You Really Got Me. Well, it was worth it and we vowed to make dance night a monthly get-together. The working title on this painting was The Hangin' Tree. A beautiful live oak, old as the prairie wind, punctuates this glorious cloudscape.

Green Glow 36x24

I made a new enemy this week, and a new friend. The friend's name is Mr. Vicodin. He really helped my attitude towards my new enemy, Dr. Root Canal. You know, the one who works at the local dentist's clinic. Well, Mr. Vicodin ran out on me and I suppose that's a good thing. I was getting too used to the foggy stupor of pseudo-happiness punctuated by excruciating, throbbing head pain. After a week of writhing in pain and repenting of sins unknown to even the most acutely agitated consciences, I can almost declare myself healed and the demons of my past fully exorcised. On the fumes of euphoric psychedelia I was able build a few new cloudscapes this week. Seems these were all that really came to mind as providing enough inspiration between bouts of pill popping and waiting for the arrival of my new friend. I've been enjoying these clouds lately and wondering if it wasn't about time I got good at painting them. I'll consider that and maybe make a real artist effort to stretch a bit. To that end I have added another couple of new colors to my palette...and retired a couple of others.

How The West Won 15x30

Can we chalk up the distinctives to such a simple analysis of our past? Well, you be the judge. Jamestown aside, the Pilgrims that landed on Plymouth Rock, inspired by their reading of a newly printed (and made available in common language for the first time since the third century) Bible, knelt on the sand and dedicated their lives and government and new land to God. Subsequently they loved their Native friends and one another as best they knew how and governed themselves with an integrity not really found anywhere else in history (The real Thanksgiving story). Abuses and atrocities abounded in the new world but, so did corrections of those wrongs, more often than not by the same Bible-reading founders of this nation- Something also not found anywhere else in history to such an extent. Contrast that with the Spaniards that had no Bible and the lands they conquered, (in the name of their religion) and in all but a very few instances the legacy they left was only that of greed, slavery and murder. Today, Latin America still reels under the cruel and heavy hand of oppression, greed, vengeance and...no law. Rule of law is a big deal. It's where Blind Justice gets her blindfold. It comes from where King David said "...Blessed is the man who swears to his own hurt and does not change." As I write this my friend Dan is languishing in a concrete cell somewhere in the bowels of a Mexican prison. Accused of crime that had nothing to do with him he writes...

The way the law works here is very different than the way it works in the States. In Mexico, you are guilty until you can prove your innocence. The problem is that there is very little that you can do to prove your innocence when you are locked up in jail. All common sense is thrown to the wind.

The lawyers will often do you more harm than good on purpose, because as long as you are in jail, you are a source of income for them. It is a wicked thing for sure! On top of all this, the judge never has to see you in person. The judge has clerks who look at the files and make recommendations based on what they see.

Just so you have an idea, as of over a week ago, my file was over 1200 pages long. Now, just imagine reading 1200 pages of legal mumbo jumbo to find the one page that really has any information at all about you and your case. No witnesses to cross examine, no judge to look at you in the eyes and try and determine if you are like the 85%, or more, that are lying, no jury of peers to hear the evidence and decide. You are simply one more case of thousands with so much paper surrounding you that it's a miracle if you are ever even heard.

This comes from a man who has given the last 30 years of his life to help people in rural Mexico...inspired by the Words of our dear Savior who... "Came to seek and to save that which was lost" Many orphaned children and oppressed poor have found encouragement and a home at Dan and Ana's house, not to mention the gallons of blood, sweat and tears (and $) poured out on their behalf . Now, he's being held, indefinitely, in conditions that most of us have only read about. I've been to jails in Mexico and they are anything but cozy. More typically they are like a scene out of "Midnight Express". So, pray for Dan and his family...and for us please. In a round about way, we and our adoption(s) are being threatened by the same people who put Dan behind bars; all because the CPS workers (Mexican gov't. officials) and lawyers apparently tried to circumvent a certain judge. Why'd they do that? We don't know but the result has been pretty alarming and uncomfortable, to say the least. This would all take on a very different flavor if it was about a person that was really guilty of something, if nothing else than by association. But we all know Daniel and the very same police detectives that called to subpoena us to testify (with threats and menace and hot salsa) all but admitted the government's own fault and complicity in their inter-government corruption, calling us the victims but, "oh, by the way, can you pay for the call?" They called again last week wanting to know if we would sign an official letter absolving them from any wrongdoing or responsibility so when the new administration comes to power they won't get hanged! Sad but true stories from south of the border.

Esperanza 24x36

I was trying to school the young girl at the Block Buster counter on the merits of James Tiberius Kirk and why the character he displays was worthy of emulation...traits she should look for in a man. Well, it was all lost on her. She had never seen an episode of Star Trek and William Shatner was relegated to the level of Price Line Negotiator, in her mind. Unfortunate for her but you can bet my kids have been brought-up right. Ample helpings of the Cosby show and Bones and Spok helping our dear uncle Kirk defeat foes seen and unseen have been pretty much the only things they have ever experienced. I keep them locked-up in dark rooms being "homeschooled" - Dylan music is piped-in between re-runs of my favorite two shows and they are fed periodically...when the chores are done. Now that's education! I'm sorry but I almost jumped through the phone the other day when the fellow called asking for my support in begging more $ for the schools. I know 99.9% of everybody is on board with funding public education but really, when did money ever translate into brains? A little common sense, a sharp pocket knife and lots of chores are all most kids need (and don't have) and their education will take care of itself. I'm reading a book written by Shatner on the making of the Star Trek movies...had to go out and rent one. Seems like yesterday that they made those doesn't it? It was 1979!!! Wow, you're getting old. This all might seem a bit incongruous to the painting pictured above but it's part and parcel to what goes into the making of skyscapes. The desire to...go where no man has gone before, or...at least visit those places vicariously through Kirk and maybe a Vulcan mind meld or two.

Medio Alborotado 24x30

It's high time I use this space to spin another yarn of high adventure and courageous calumny...but I wont. Not today anyway. My reputation has suffered enough with all the true and outrageous deeds done in dastardly fashion and without my retelling of the tantalizing, ear-tickling tales. But there are others (albeit few) who have stories to tell that rival mine and merit telling. In this painting it's the trees who have a tale to bear, witnesses to the daily display of spectacular celestial extravaganza and aurorean streams of otherworldly goodness. The cows would have been privy to this too but since they're not good at communicating (except in Far Side cartoons) we left them out. This is being offered on auction...see the link to available work at the top right of the page.

Blue By You 24x36

I once owned a Fiat, ...purchased for four hundred dollars. I remember thinking the stereo was worth more than the car itself. It sure handled nice but it was the Marantz tuner with a Clarion eq./power booster, twin Jensen coaxial speakers and pair of Pioneer high-frequency boxes up front that made that car rock. The '73 128 special was the only Italian friend I've ever had. I drove that car from San Antonio to Minneapolis once stopping only for gas (no food or rest stops) and to dry out the little wells around the spark plugs that kept filling up with radiator fluid. I think my artist friend Gary will travel with us this summer around Italy. He mentioned how the police there drive little Fiats and something about that imagery inspires me to want to get involved in a Euro car chase a la Jason Bourne; The funny sirens wailing and honking and narrow cobble-stone alleys with fruit and vendor's carts toppling and flying all over the place. From what I've seen in movies I probably won't get caught...
I sold that faithful Fiat to my friend Chris the upholsterer. As he cornered the boxy little sports car around Lake Street and Hiawatha the front wheels fell off. That's what I'm expecting to happen to the policia chasing me through the streets of Florence.

Seaward 15x30

A happy sunset view shot-through with glowing strains of romantic goodness. That's the working title of this painting. Again, this is what I feel is my one ode to romanticism -glorious clouds. On second thought, maybe I give in to it more often than I want to admit. The artist in me leans heavily on the esoteric ideals of "high art" and it's lofty definitions. The Wal-Mart shopping, shotgun-shooting red-neck in me says "oooh, that's purdy, let's take it home and tape it to the paneling on the trailer wall next to Elvis" So, you see my dilemma. And I'll let you in on a little artist secret that further fuels this... The more glorious and awe-inspiring a natural scene is, the more difficult it is to capture on canvas. Conversely, the more mundane a landscape appears to be at first view, the better it usually translates into a luscious piece of framed, high-art goodness hanging on the above mentioned trailer wall...or wherever. This is being made available for a time in my eBay store...See link at the top right of page for the sordid details.

The Happy Holstien 18x24

"Often described as the world's largest prison camp, no country is more deserving of international condemnation on human rights conditions than North Korea. ... Millions of North Koreans have perished in silence from starvation, torture and execution in recent decades." --- Human Rights Watch

“North Korea is the worst human rights situation in the world today. While there are many tragic situations and terrible atrocities occurring in the world, the North Korean people are the most isolated, most persecuted, and most suffering.”
Suzanne Scholte Seoul Peace Prize Laureate 2008

--- THE DEATHS BY EXECUTION, STARVATION, TORTURE, ETC. CAN EASILY BE TOWARDS 10 MILLION---

Yesterday was the global day of prayer and fasting for North Korea. Sounds pretty radical I know; as if Sovereignty's arm can be twisted to change the course of nature and fate because of a few people's hearts cry for rescue. Well, that's exactly what many people hope for 'cause without some sort of intervention millions more are slated for the same fate. The numbers are almost too big...They make it hard to put a face on the little four year old whose parents were just sentenced to a concentration camp while she is out on the street crying and begging and eating garbage. Before you thank me for this encouraging update and imagery, remember that some of us were destined for darkness and deep, deep sorrow before ..."God, who said "Let light shine out of darkness," shined in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ". (II Cor. 4:6) Because of that beautiful and awesome "face" we can enjoy life like never before and, be like King David who had "a heart after God" pleading with our Father for His little ones. Yes, the scripture is infused with all sorts of encouragement to cry out to Him for mercy and grace to find help in our time of need and...to stand in the gap, as it were, for those too weak or too oppressed to cry out for themselves. We who have believed -to the replacement of our hearts- ought to be the most willing and self effacing, self sacrificing, joy-filled, heart-broken examples of grateful pilgrims that have ever trudged this earth...having the seemingly foolish and futile practise of prayer to an invisible God...who does see everything and...who works everything for the good of those who love Him...?!?!

PS. I have several friends who live in South Korean and help refugees from the north....another couple lives in China near the North's border and rescues orphaned NK children from slavery etc. Their first-hand accounts are chilling and staggering...I just couldn't help but post this as we are all extremely moved over what we have seen and heard this week.

Parker Canyon 36x24

I'm waiting on fellow artist and instructor Gary Larson to inspire the final decision. Italy awaits and the Art Academy, replete with it's Repin-trained Russian (friends Markos and Marem) teachers is, for some unknown and highly suspect reason, in Florence this year focusing on portraits and classical realism and ...inviting me to help them analyze Michael Angelo's David. I do recall my very first writing assignment that answered the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" with..."I want to be a sculptor." A drawing of a caveman with club trying to kill a giant brontosaurus accompanied it. So, I guess I'm qualified but I would really like my old friend Gary as a traveling companion / tour guide for Marissa and I. He has lived in Italy and Spain for years and knows the ropes. I, on the other hand, have a pretty good idea on how to stay out of jail but might need some pointers just to make sure. I am toying with the idea of buying a set of water-mixable oils. Have you had any experience with those? I'm wanting something that dries fast and won't need solvents...hoping to sell on the streets by day and play country music in the coffee houses by night, take on another name, rent a flat, drink plenty of red wine and hunt wild boar in the Tuscan mountains. That's all. Anyway, we won't be going till mid-July so if you have any painterly, Euro-travel advice please let me know ...in your best western accent.
The picture posted here is a large painting of a great sky, witness to a vanload of "legal" Mexicans not five miles from the border on our way to Parker Canyon lake last weekend.

Gold Loner 24x30

I had to make at least one picture of the upper Midwest. This is a Minnesota backyard near Minneapolis. What do ex-Vikings think about when they see scenes like this? Well, I for one, apart from the cool colors and leafy goodness, imagine swarms of horse flies, deer flies, wood ticks, mosquitoes, itch weed and poison ivy. It's funny how often my northern counterparts when considering a trip to the desert ask about the biting and stinging creatures here as if they had something to fear. I'll admit that I have encountered and handled (or been handled by) a variety of venomous creatures that inhabit the southern deserts and tropics but really (scorpions aside) nothing compares to the stings, bites, scratches and scrapes a five minute walk in the northwoods will hand you. Give me a dry desert eve with it's odd tarantula slowly creeping through the stark and haunting landscape any day. This painting has some real rich saturation...some real pure color. Very enjoyable to paint dark...I'm back on some toned canvases this week and I really dig it. This is for sale on auction. See the link at the top right of the blog page.

Gentle Ben's Brother 24x18

Have I ever been to Alaska? No. Have I ever dived a dumpster? Well, in order to claim an identification without incriminating myself, I will say that I am as familiar with the aroma of dumpster juice as any self-respecting bear in the north woods. This, however is a painting of a real Alaskan brown bear...basically the same as the grizzly and thus, I can really, technically claim no specific closeness. I have seen a couple amble off into the distance while hiking the woods of Montana but nothing to cause me to want to shinny up a tree or play dead. The black bears are the ones notorious for raiding dumpsters and campgrounds and picnic baskets in cartoons and are the ones with which I feel a real affinity. Regardless, these big bruins are beautiful and probably know a lot less about dumpster diving than some of us...If we weren't ashamed to admit it. And if it weren't for that string of gut-cased sausages that Greg pulled from the slime that one night I might be divin' still. I'm obliged to Clint for some pics of Alaskan brown bears...very cool indeed. I hope to make more of these kind of paintings in the future.

The Old Homestead 1960-2009

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The old gas lamp is still there (the one I wrote about a few entries back) I was lurking around my old haunts this past mother's day weekend. A cheap flight and dad's birthday were the occasion for my little desert flower and I to head north and see the sights. Save for a few pictures of geeses and their goslings I didn't find too much time to capture paintworthy images. The old house on Sierra Parkway is now a rental...and the gas lamp still stands. You would think that the renters would find a way to bust that thing up...or use it to burn down the neighborhood. But then again, these are Minnesotans and except for the errant gang of Somali pirates come ashore, or the Asian gangs that wreak havoc on one another in the Twin Cities, these folks aren't really known for getting too far out of line. Maybe that's the real reason I left. Well, in a perfect world I never would have abandoned the little place pictured here...home of my first dreams, blankie and teddy bear (...knives, skinks, cap guns, salamanders, snakes and fond memories of torturing my sister's dolls.

...There's a lot you can do with a wood burning kit besides etching little brown lines into scraps of wood.)

Ghosts In The Gloom 30x24

When I mix the paint for pictures like this I get pretty excited. Simple, bold and bright they are saturated with color and very easy to look at and...to turn into mud if you're not careful. There were a couple of horses in the mist but I thought I'd leave them out...Or are they really there and you just can't see them? True ghosts in the misty distance, that should be the name of this cool farmland scene. Not far from here I drove an old spoke-wheeled horse-drawn cart along the river. I never did have a sword and a pistol by my side the few times I did that but I sorely missed 'em as I felt like Froggy Went 'a Courtin' (...and he did ride), on my way to spark on little Carmelita. Kind of reminds me of another song by an old friend. Jim Croce sang about dreaming and trains "...and I'd hop a ride to hide across the border with a black-eyed girl beside me all the way." Why is it I'm always reminded of swords and guns when I hear that old whistle blow and when I think about courtship? Or is it the spooky specter of phantoms in the mist that have me on edge? I think it's just that ghosts and pretty girls (and train whistles)have something in common and whatever it is, it's something haunting and mysterious...and something you should be armed for! Attention all would-be suitors. You might do well to take the above real serious, or at least believe that I ain't just blowin' smoke when it comes to watching out for my little debutantes. There's plenty of ferocious implements here to scare the daylight-savings-time out of any young sprout trying to shine on my girls.
So, just a little friendly, fatherly advice today to go along with this painting being offered on auction at America's bargain basement of all things cool and collectible. See link at top right for all my available work.

Sister Twister 18x24

A little art process FYI today. I was inspired to make this by looking at some pics of storms and squall lines. There's a lot of freedom in being able to follow your muse, as they say, and even though I didn't really have a photo at hand that depicted the old Kansas homestead being uprooted I figured a little funnel cloud peeking out from under a scary squall wouldn't hurt. After all, it is oil paint and you can easily scrape off and paint over any part you don't like. I will say though that this usually works well only on subjects that you're very familiar with. It happened to work well here and if you're wondering why...Do the words Pecos Bill mean anything to you? Look him up and you'll basically find my biography (less the polish sausage and lutefisk)

Curiosity Killed The Calf

Mister coat said to hat “Won’t you accompany me?”
Said the hat to the coat ”Please leave me be”
So happy was he high on his hook
Tilted just so he could steal
A look or two at the boots and shoes
And shut his eyes for a little snooze
When no one saw his feathered band
Or crown of crisp beaver fur felt
Made just for a night so stark and bleak
Too dark for song nor even speak
Poor coat would wonder alone in dark
Damp and gloomy shadows looming
Specters fleeting cold head shivers
This night the fright of hatless quivers
The lid was hid on a polished pole
In the hall by a stand and an old mink stole
Said the mink to the hat “You covered not your master”
“You left him alone there’ll be a disaster.”
Rain on head sans cap of wool
On a blustery eve makes even a fool
Return ere the cold prevents the vespers
Return ‘fore the winter chill whispers
Get back O man the sleet seeks vengeance
The rain saw her chance to harass the head
The pestilence lurks and will not weary
Till head and heart succumb to dreary
Thoughts of fearful tossing turnings
Fever stalks the midnight burnings
And save for a source he keeps in his pocket
The man would be lost without hat or locket
The locket contains what the hat could not
A picture of love…and a little spot…
Of brandy

Chinchorro lleno de lisas

Had I told you we caught more fish that day than the nets could hold you never would have believed me. That's me and Evaristo, my sister-inlaw's husband. See how handy Spanish is?...we have a specific word for that relation- concunyo (I think that's how it's spelled) Anyway, him and I pulled on the dad-blame (no Spanish equivalent) net till it started to rip and the boat was already half-full of fishies. We took the "panga" to shore and drug the last 100 yards of fish-laden gill net up onto the beach as tio Hector looked on. We fed half the village that day...and were cleaning and eating disc-fried fish till the late hours of the night. The disc comes from the tractor-pulled plows used to cultivate/turn over the soil. The hole in the middle is welded closed and it makes a pretty handy and efficient (Large) frying pan. When the fish were done we used it for roasting garbanzo beans to make coffee. Really it was the best fake coffee we've ever had. Just roast the dry, uncooked beans over high heat with sugar. The sugar melts and forms a re-action/chemical amalgam with the beans. It turns into a heavy, not sweet, tar-like substance. Let it cool, break it up and grind it in a coffee grinder or hand mill. If you make it in a clean iron skillet or a piece of heavy sheet-metal your coffee won't even taste like fish which, believe me, is a real plus. There are lots of foods you don't want to smack of the sea and coffee is one. However, there is a tantalizing treat that might sound as deadly and diabolical as the above mixture but whose result would be a delight to the senses of men and children alike on both sides of the rio Grande...might even help stop the spread of swine flu. That's how good it is. Just last night, somewhat inspired by my culinary exploits south of the border, I made banana splits for the kids...with a twist. Imagine Neapolitan ice cream, hot fudge , whipped cream and maraschino cherries...with two strips of bacon! Save for my questionable vocabulary and redneck tendencies I would be a shoe-in for one of those Travel Channel food shows. I'll publish more recipes in future posts so stay tuned.

Apex 30x24

What is the biggest problem that plagues America, ignorance or apathy? If you answered "I don't know and I don't care", than I think we might be in a world of hurt. Well, that seemed to be the consensus sentiment the other night when I gave the van-load of teenagers the option of going to the county fair. Oh how wrong I was. I swung a U turn right in the middle of a busy multi-lane road and headed for home. It took less than a block to persuade me to swing another U'y and get us back on track for the 4H exhibit barn. The livestock auction was in full-swing right next to the tiger tamers. Both were good shows and I'm probably not the only one who fantasized about a few of them Siberian bad boys breaking loose and getting right in to the thick of the food chain. Now that would have been something to blog about. As it was, we thoroughly enjoyed the many rows of fancy pigeons (my fair favorite), chickens, sheep, goats, Ferris wheels, roller coasters (our new 13 yr. olds' first) and a few stuffed toys won by adept dart throwing and a steady aim at the water gun race. The barkers have all but lost their bark. They now have electronic bar-code readers that scan your "ticket" and discount the value per game etc. None of them were toothless and not one of them yelled at me to win something for the beautiful senorita I had on my arm. Quite disappointing. All in all it was a nice outing and that I was able to resist buying a 4 dollar "hand dipped" corn dog is a testament to my great self discipline... The fact that we spent over ten thousand dollars trying to win a stuffed banana might have had something to do with it but I don't want to talk about that.

Vines On The Hill 30x24

We have a gypsy camp down the hill from our house. There's a pile of dread headed kids that roam around barefoot in all weather (don't worry this is Arizona) and are constantly on the prowl for creatures great and small. They have baby birds, geckos, lizards and now...four huge king snakes. The scaly serpents had congregated in an old shed and as dangerous as they are to rattlesnakes (they eat them) they are quite docile and easy to handle. The children played with them for a while...we took some pictures and instructed them to let 'em go around the house in strategic places. A little while later 7 year old Naomi runs in exclaiming at the top of her voice that the snakes had mated. Her dad asked how she knew. "Well" she said, "One bit the other one and they squeezed and then they were done."...and that's how the world as we know it became populated with snakes...and Vampires.

Farm House 18x24

Shadows
Shadows are falling though it’s not dark all the way
Thickening gloom though I don’t see it that way
A mist has gathered strange silhouettes
That fade and focus through the shrouded veil
The peripheral eye catches movement so slight
The eye of the hunter pierces the night
The owl sees from his gnarled perch
From the snaggly limb his deadly search
But shrouded in mystery and veiled to his sight
The cat will catch the prey tonight
And but for the haze ‘round a dead live oak
That covered the ground in a milky cloak
Would have feasted the fowl, Would have famished the cat
The beak and the talon would have fixed on a rat
Darkening shadows means light to large eyes
Covering mist leaves something revealed
In a moment you see it though not all the way
Keep your eyes peeled for here comes the day

Coastal Clouds Converge 24x24

It’s no toil turning dirt to gold
Treasure and light combine in this
Lump of clay and mortal bliss
Are housed in light and sparkling mist

It’s but a vapor clothed in earth
Small seed fallen to the ground
Small indeed yet grows to be
The purest proof of alchemy

Golden smile shining heart
Ere it grows in golden sun
All is bright in wistful years
Water seed in silver tears

It’s no toil turning dirt to gold
But dear the price when all is counted
Your life the cost to leave behind
One shiny proof of love divine
Children Are Gold by Hush Puppy Hawkins

The painting above is of the coastline near the croc adventure described below in a previous post...just off the Mosquito coast in Central America. I was in the area on two separate occasions, got a lot of pics and a few tall tales to impress the kids ...and my neighbors who have never left the desert. Being auctioned this very moment on eBay

Clouds Alone 18x24

There's something about this painting that smells of western wildlands. According to my wife of over two decades I reek of woodchips and sawdust. Well, she didn't really say it like that but was it a compliment? I read an article a while back that quoted a young and pretty hip-hop starlet to say she thought Bob Dylan smelled like old wood. I don't think that was a compliment but if Carmelita was comparing me to my uncle Bob than I guess I'll take it as a kindness. I'm sure if this gets back to him he'll wish the comparison was reversed...jealousy runs pretty deep in our family. Regardless, I would be flattered if someone held me in such high esteem as to compare me with old wood. Any kind of wood for that matter. Old wood, new wood, Norwegian wood...hey didn't my uncle's friend George write a song about that?

Out The Window 24x30

So you fancy yourself a non conformist eh? I'll show you what not conforming is all about. Forty seven years young, the ball fields smell of fresh watered grass, springtime is a buzzin' all around us filling every sensory receptacle with glad tidings of a new dawn, in the middle ground between two baseball games under the tall-posted lights attracting night-hawks as the sun was leaving room for the cool spring eve and chatter of baseball teams near and far filled the air, we were playing ...football! And what do I get for my non conformity? A nearly broken collar bone on a beautiful over-the-shoulder touchdown catch on what should have been the last play of the game. I gathered a handful of teens and tweens who I could tell are just achin' to get tatooed and pierced, told them to drop their skateboards, cell phones and soccer balls and come over to play a real sport...a real man's sport. Well, as persuasive as my words seemed to me, the expressionless stares of my soon-to-be teammates told me it wasn't so much the words that convinced them as the fact that they needed a ride home. So, I guess in a way I coerced them to indulge my non-conforming fantasy and in the process turned a couple of 'em into Heisman trophy candidates. Back in the 70's, had some young handsome man encouraged us to be real men and invited us to play a bit of smash mouth we would have risen to the challenge.(Or we might have run away suspecting the worse of some old dude that had nothing better to do than to hang around a dimly lit park at night with a bunch of kids) This new breed of reluctant pseudo-rage-filled teens with their non-stop messaging makes one wonder what the future holds for the modern world. Well, if you haven't noticed, the non-conformists have all conformed to their non-conformity and look to be the most easily led group of people that have ever lived. Maybe these new ones will finally realise that Wal-Mart isn't their enemy...it's their employer and if they work their buts off they might get to eat more than just a plate of runny pottage...and be happy and thankful campers in the process. The painting here is the view just south of the scene of my glorious athletic exploits...and our studio. I used a lot of paint on this and am pretty happy with the outcome. I've painted this mountain a number of times and in various moods...these are kind of rare colors for early spring, just after a good soaking.

The Real Croc Hunter ...?

I know...It ain't a fourteen footer but we did eat it and it did taste like chicken, ...a rubber chicken with frog water oozing out of it. The natives on the island were deathly afraid and seems this one was feared responsible for a few lost dogs...and maybe a small unwanted child or two. A four-ten shotgun loaded with #4 duck shot is all it took. It was 2am and we had just slogged through a salt-water swamp. At midnight we were together, four trepid, would-be croc slayers and me, the only one who could be accurately described as intrepid...until my headlamp went out as I was staring down a pair of glowing orange eyes about fifty yards away. My companions had gone on ahead not wanting to "spook" the 12 foot croc we figured him to be. They left with the parting words "Just remember Paco, keep the beam of light right on their eyes. The cayman and the alligators (for there were a lot of them too) run off when they get spooked but the orange eyes belong to the crocodile. If you can't keep the croc mesmerized by the light, head to higher ground (one mile away) or get your gun ready." Well, I was knee deep in mud, spider webs all over me and I was sweating profusely. It was pitch black and a big ol' croc was after me, tic toc tic toc...and I was armed with a single shot .410 shotgun with three extra shells in my pocket. Two hours later we found the one we were after. He was a real man-eater (?) and was laying on the bottom in about five feet of water. I slipped a dull gaff hook under his jaw and lifted him to the boat. We just about had him to the gunnels when my fearless companions began to howl and scream into the dark and majestic Caribbean night. Yes, they were afraid and armed...until everyone dropped their guns and lamps and ran to the back of the 12 ft. skiff. I didn't know whether to laugh or shriek at the exhilarating thought of the small fiberglass boat sinking to the bottom of croc infested waters with it's bullet riddled hull. As the poor creature thrashed around the surface calling others of its kind to come and check us out and the floor of the boat projected light beams like a used car lot's once-in-a-lifetime sale a gentle peace wafted over me. I knew everything was gonna be alright and that I would live to see my children's children. We did save a small village that day and were duly celebrated as heroes. They feted us with crocodile stew and shrimp gumbo and waved palm fronds in our honor. (only a very few parts of this story have been changed due to time and space constraints.)

Cover Me with Clouds 24x36

You might say my mettle was tested today...while trying to explain the meaning of the word mettle to my mejico-born soul mate. But really, we are used to linguistical conundrums around here as we all fancy ourselves amateur linguists. Very amateur I might add. (I can give you accurate definitions of only five of the 8 parts of speech) Truly there are frases and words that need a lot of explaining, depending on the language they're coming from and the one they're being translated to. I've heard it said that the meaning of the expression to abide is a hard one to translate. And indeed it is. There's just no easy way to express the meaning of this in Spanish, at least in some of it's uses. English isn't known for it's precision as much as it's abundance of terms and lack of clean grammar rules but here it really shines. What a great word and full of all kinds of multi-hued implications. A huge mouthful of meaning is found in the expression to abide as used by the Lord Jesus. He said something that's often quoted with the important part being left out. "If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." Well, half the people who heard Him got their dander up and promptly and proudly declared how they had no need to be set free since they weren't slaves to anyone. Typical of us humans I guess. Anyway, I won't be angry with Him for telling me I need to be freed (nor with the ones who don't want Him telling them they need His words) I'll just keep trying to figure out how get at that wonderful place of knowing Him and letting His word abide in me...and no more wearing stripped pajamas and ball and chains.
Also, concerning the quote above, I've often thought... "hmm, what is truth?" Well, I've concluded only two small things from my mystical meddling in mysterious musings on this point. The first is that my version of circumstantial reality isn't necessarily truth. At least not in the philosophical sense and second, that it's purpose, when once discovered, is to make me free...not to rub someone else's nose in it. So, here you have my little theology/ language lesson for the day, brought about by my mettle being tested ...not to be confused with the tempering of metal or with any intent to meddle with your own heresy or theology. The painting pictured here has something to do with truth and love and the American way...or something to that effect. It's being offered on auction here.

Rancho Ridge 18x24

Things I don't get....Why some people don't like John Madden's football commentary or how anyone could say they don't love Bob Dylan's singing. This, my Midwest-American, slanted heavily by a Texicanish California version of the world would be a hollow and lonely place without them. John just retired and save for his Raider years nothing but fun and happy redundant belaboring of the obvious will be a fondly remembered legacy...and football will never be the same. Bob, on the other hand just keeps going. The day he retires I think we should all just re-string our guitars (whether you have one or not) and tune our radios to that 40's station that you find in every town and wonder who really listens to it. Well, FYI, here in Tucson it's am 580 on your radio dial. You can hear Bing and Frank and Andy and, well, all your (my) favorites. This painting has the classic feel of those crooners we all grew up listening to. It was the view we had last Friday heading out of Catalina state park.

Green Tree Mystery Water 24x18

Mystery water is right. What could be lurking just under the mercury-green vale that separates our world from theirs? Don't worry, there's only a few trout and some small oxygen deprived crayfish in this emerald hued mountain lake. The warmth of the glowing golds mixed with the coolness of the blues and greens are fun to paint...make a great combination that's as easy on the eyes as it is on the heart. In the foreground to the right there's a slight ripple in the water, the remnants of the wake left by a young beaver...Or was it some other, unknown creature? I know a couple of college kids that want to go to Scotland and search for the Lochness Monster. One of them lives here. (the student not the monster) For my part, I would enjoy a ride on it... just once or twice around the loch would be fine. Once they finally catch that thing they should let me have a go at it. I figure I've seen enough bull riding and done enough exploring of the Amazon to qualify. Plus I'd love to read the headline..."Once Again, Europe Has Reason to Thank America ...This Time For Taming Nessy". Just something subtle like that.

Contemplation or Green Cow Monday 30x24

The more you paint large the more the intimidation factor wears off...unless the painting stares back at you! The obstinate cow pictured here would not let me out of it's sight. I talked to my old buddy Randy not too long ago. His dairy farm is the last of it's kind but they still work their buts off so my cheerios don't get lonely and my cookies have something to swim in before they go down the hatch. An old bull wouldn't take his eyes off him either, much like my experience with the painting pictured here except for a slight difference. His bull charged and tossed him around like a rodeo clown before he got up and over the fence. Oh, there is one other difference too. I didn't run in and get my shotgun to teach the critter a little respect. Turns out that he gave him a little too much teaching and the bull up and died. I guess both barrels of 00 buckshot (I'm sure he used birdshot) was a little too stiff of a reprimand. I'll have to keep that in mind as I school my paintings...and my kids. See the link to the top right for this painting's auction page.

Young Cooder Hawkins

Young Cooder Hawkins hoists a stringer of pan-fish sometime in the late 60's. That's how we referred to crappies, sunfish and the like. I suppose rock bass would qualify as the "like" but no one really liked 'em. They were considered bad for eatin' and were viewed as a sort of rough fish. Rough fish of course are bottom feeders. They spend their life vacuuming off the floor of the deep which can hardly be said for rock bass. I always kind of figured they got the short end of the stick when it came to fish reputations. I have eaten them and save for a few extra bones they were fine. Of course, I have eaten Coot too...How many people can say they've dined on their namesake? Well, Coot would be one of my nicknames...if my name were really Cooder.

View The Vines 24x30

better than gold from earth derived
earth and sky conspire to lend
from nectars deep and hid within
the secret sources flow and blend
the mighty man brought low to earth
the lover's heart made to see
what goods' perceived from this thy perch
shimmers gold from sea to sea

golden mead and drink of gods
from whence comes thoughts and noble deeds
waves and rows, leaves and earth
sunshine ripens heaven's seed
return now meadows drenched in dew
and forget not all I have is thine
return oh man to this thy toil
harvest gold from grain and vine
Cooder Hawkins

Scene From Argentina Ranch 20x30 1987

Miguel Angel and Elfido showed up at about noon. They hollered to me to come out and "see something". I was in the middle of a dang quesadilla and it was hot (both the food and the air...and spicy too) and there were flies everywhere. The ranch house was next to a mesquite grove with a corral for the cows and a big ol' chicken farm and it's manure piles were just over the fence. We ate a lot of soup in those days. Hot and laced with atomic chili peppers the stuff would flow out your nose and land on your spoon on it's way up to be ingested again...this time with two or three flies in it! I am not even capable of exaggerating how bad the flies were. In fact, I have spent many a sultry afternoon with the temperature hovering around 130 degrees covered in them! Times too many to count I've spit them out of my mouth one after another just to breathe or to finish an important conversation...about the weather. You know the flies are bad and your existence tenuous when you let them land on your face and mouth and hardly think to shew them away...That's how bad they were. I told the cowboys to hang on as I gulped down my last bite of mosca-cheese delight and noticed one of their horses dancing around out in the front yard. His ears were pinned back so I could tell something was bothering him. They had shot a big female lion at a watering hole not far from the ranch headquarters. She was strapped to one of their horses and we all know how good horses and mountain lions get along. I don't know how I found a camera but I did and took this shot. The big cat had killed a number of calves so it was a relief to the cattle people and non vegetarians amongst us. My handling of human figures was still pretty clumsy back then but this turned out OK.

Cooder Hawkins Brands A Calf

That's me helping my friend, cowboy Jack Blankenship work calves in Montana. I used to wrestle and I'm sure it helped to have those skills when we pioneered back then. Come to think of it, no one really ever thanked me for taming the west. Now, we all enjoy the fruit of the hard labors of us drifters and grifters...and painters of pretty pictures. I painted a couple of small canvases that day after the branding was done. A study of the mountains between Red Lodge and Roberts and some flowers in Jack's garden. I don't know what ever came of those paintings but Jack does have one I made of a couple of vaqueros with a mountain lion strapped to a horse...think I'll look for it and put it up here. I've got to offer some proof of my tall tales from time to time or you all will get to thinking that the tongue is mightier than the pen.

Sky On Earth 24x36

It had been a while since I was involved in a police chase and the little adrenaline rush last Sunday did my heart good. We hoped the fence at the not-yet-open-for-business skate park on the south side of an unnamed city somewhere in the southwest. The area is home to a large grassy park and is one of the most popular for snow-bird homeless folks (yes there is such a thing) and all kinds of park bench dwellers and stand-in-liners populate the place especially in the winter. For the most part they are normal people, maybe a little down on their luck or just a couple of cards shy of a full deck. Some might not be considered the sharpest tool in the shed or might even possibly be considered the dullest knife in the drawer depending on how you look at it. But they are normal nonetheless and seem to fit most peoples criteria of humanity. Anyway, I actually have spent a few nights in mission shelters and on the streets sleeping in cardboard scavenged from back alleys in big cold cities ...and I'm not ashamed to admit I've stood in my share of soup-lines on not just a few occasions. So, I feel that common bond that unites all the disenfranchised of the world...witnesses to our daring and brazen escape of Sunday last. A couple of us had exited by climbing the turnstile-gate-come-ladder moments before the sirens barked their warning and approach. In a deft pincer move two squad cars came on and circled the enclosure. Eddie was one of the first to clear the 7 foot tall steel barred fence. The kids with the bikes had the hardest time having to throw their BMX's over the top before they could follow suit. My son, using his inherited smarts, deftly and with appropriate dissimulation handed his skateboard to an unwitting little friend and quickly joined his brother and I as we walked boldly and stiff-legged between handcuffed bikers and a pile of trespassing skaters being handed warning tickets and who knows what else. After we cleared the main parking lot we galloped and skipped the rest of the way playfully tossing a baseball back and forth and giggling like the bunch of red-necks we are. It was good to see my hard-earned taxes at work and next month when the park officially opens you can bet my boys will be there and show the respect the new park and it's fence deserve.

Swept Along 15x30

I really do think I would shine as a Costco door greeter / receipt patrol. Not that I've been offered the job or have applied for it but with the way art sales are going it might not be a bad idea. One does wonder just how certain people perform certain tasks in jobs of high public interaction. Doesn't one? I know just the kind of customer I would make to wait extra long as I checked and re-checked their items too. ...anyone like me! But how about the food sample people? Now there's a gig! Especially if your the one doling out pieces of pizza or chocolate or frozen cream-puffs. I wonder if they line up in the morning as the boss hands out assignments. They're probably listed on a dry-erase board next to the time clock. You punch in and see that asparagus and four bean salad are slated for the day's offings. If you're in any kind of gregarious mood you'll definitely want to stay away from giving those out. We just got back from Coscto. I cringe every time my wife mentions going there 'cause it seems we never get out without spending at least $100.

PS. I spent a few extra moments with the lady at the free dark-chocolate sample cart. Down the isle a little ways was the lonely lady at the cart with the four bean salad...no line, no one to talk to...piles of uneaten beans and oil and vinegar at her feat!

Saddle Back 24x30

I heard a fellow say in a tearful shaky voice that no one ever told him he's a man. That his father never said "now your a man son". And he was determined to make a big to-do about his sons and have coming-of-age ceremonies for them and tell them they are men before it's too late, ...at age 13? I heard another man describe that what makes you a man is being responsible...Giving your word, keeping a commitment even if it's not convenient or painful. That's what makes you a man. Now, I'm not about to tell you what makes a man but at the risk of being labeled a redneck @#!!% I can tell you what real men don't do. Real men don't stand in line well ...especially at functions that involve a lot of moms dropping off and signing in kids for some school activity. No, a real man, in a situation like that fantasizes about building clearing bomb scares or sudden rat infestations or 7.1 magnitude earthquakes that shake the earth to it's foundations as he fidgets and fumes waiting for all the happy-to-be-there-and-chat-with-one-another-moms...and a few dads with shock collars fastened tightly to their necks to hurry up and sign in and get out of the way! I also note that a real man pulls out of the parking lot of said line-of-humiliation trying his best to squeal tires and hurry off to fulfill his responsibilities, imagined or otherwise. Thankfully the kids finished their proof of manhood ...uh, state aims testing today and no more ignominy of waiting in interminable lines of shame is slated for their father.

Zephyr 36x24

What happens to the stream of consciousness when a person is unconscious? Does it stop flowing? Does it dry up? Does it go underground? I know a river that goes underground for long stretches only to re-emerge as a crystal clear and deep running spring of everlasting bass fishing and catfish catching delight. I camped on it's shore one evening next to a mountain lion-proof fire. As the embers grew dim and my eyelids followed their lead the large dead frog left on my hook not twenty feet away was all but forgotten. In the morning the rod and reel were gone. Moments later I lost Pete's gear on a near-death-fall while trolling a spoon through a tall and narrow canyon. This all took place before my erstwhile companion even showed signs of life and the sun was barely waking. After I informed ol' Pedro that we had no more fishing gear and we'd not be frying fillets for breakfast I spied my pole in about 20 inches of water just below the sandy bank. I waded in and grabbed it with a sigh, happy that at least I'd have a chance to redeem myself and prove my piscatorial prowess to my doubtful friend. I shook the water out and reeled in the line and lo and behold if there wasn't a five pound channel cat on the other end! The sky painting above is the view from a ranch about an hour from the disappearing stream of consciousness mentioned here. Available this week on auction.

Cold Water 24x36

The longer I'm away from places like this the more I want to paint them. Recession economics notwithstanding, I'm planning several trips this year...Not the least of which is a teaching workshop in Italy. I hope to hear soon about the dates and then I can start to plan my escape. Mountain lakes are cold lakes and so are the Great Lakes. Lake Superior especially. And since it's the one I know best I will keep my recollections to an honest minimum when I include them all in my analysis of cold water. The times I've dipped or wadded (and there have been many) in the big lake they call Gitchigumee I've become numb in a matter of seconds. Don't forget that numbness (of extremities and faculties) to a Minnesotan is like a little hot sauce to a mexican...No big deal. Right? In fact cold mountain runoff is nothing like falling through river ice at 10 below zero and yet, none of these compares to the time I was dared to dive into the mighty Mississippi from an ice shelf stripped down to my long-johns on a cold winter day. There were six of us standing on the edge of a large ice sheet staring, forlorn and dejected at the open channel of dark water that mocked us in cold, daring derision. It knew as well as us that though there had been enough of a thaw the previous week to open a channel in the rivers deep belly, it was now too cold and the ice too frozen to break off navigable - sized ice bergs for our fun and dangerous enjoyment. We stood there with our hockey sticks in mittened hands pondering our predicament. I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I'm the one who both came up with the dare and ended up accepting the challenge. We agreed to pitch in fifty cents each to the one of us who had enough moxie to strip down and dive in. The hardest part was getting the snow and ice-encrusted boots off my already benumbed feet. Once I found myself standing on the ice in bare feet and underwear I took a moment to reconsider. That moment was over in a flash and as I launched myself into the frigid black froth in the best diving form I could muster I remember thinking this was no big deal. The next moment my life flashed before my eyes! The instant I hit the water I realised I was playing at something I had no business playing at. The current, mixed with paralysis, and hockey sticks a lot shorter than the high dive I made didn't make for a good combination. Well, I did scramble out of there and live to tell about it...and collected my $5.50 to boot. Maybe it's because I had my fill of chilled childhood shenanigans that I've never looked back and considered living in the northland since I left those many years ago. Maybe I'll just keep painting cold water and drinking chilled cactus coolers on warm winter, uh, I mean summer days here in Az.

Forest On Fire 18x24

I've always prided myself on not bragging too much about my kids. I figure there's enough child worship that occurs in America without me adding to it. Plus, I don't want them getting big heads or anything. So, in lieu of the normal praise that is typically heaped on kids these days (trophies just for showing up! What's up with that?) I have gone out of my way to not brag on them overmuch...until now. Yes, call me the indulgent parent given to every whim of caprice that secretly lives vicariously through the great and swelling pride that is our progeny and posterity. But really, what father on the eve of his ???#@ birthday could enjoy more than I the gamboling joy and laughter that I experienced last night with my chillun' and not glean from it volumes of self-congratulatory flattery and pride? The game was a skater version of the sport of curling. Any of you from the northland knows what curling is. The rest might need to do a google search on the term. Well, as obscure as the sport might be, the primal elements found in most sports (ie. throwing or kicking a projectile towards some sort of opening or line) were pursued by us with great vigor and athletic alacrity. The large concrete slab, remnant of an abandoned homestead was the venue. A cold, burnt ember was the score-keepers chalk. There was a "scratch" line...much like in a bowling alley and about 25 feet away the crease in the garage floor that pitched down to the old driveway was the ten point goal. No points if you passed the line. I showed up after the boys had already played a game or two...never figured out why it had to be played barefoot(?) but I joined them in a few rounds of skateboard curling...sure to become a hit in the neighborhood. In short, one player sits backwards...("'cause it's scarier") on a skateboard. The player whose turn it is hurls the "stone" (the backwards seated opponent) towards the goal line. The closer you are the more points you score. Pretty simple and pretty fun. The beautiful Az. sky was dimming yet still glowing with red streams of warmth when we heard the call for super. As we made our way past a few horse corrals, chirping Gambel's quails and prickly pear cactus we bragged on one another big time. Your kid might be a future Nobel Laureat but mine...are the best skateboard curlers in the world!

Amarillo By Sundown 24x36

Sometimes the sky glows
Like burning coals that touch lips from off the altar
Sometimes the sky lowers
Like dreadful dreams that bespeak love, unrequited as they moan
Sometimes a red sky at morn
Portents dangerous dealings and shifty drifters
The sky-stream flows and ebbs and falters
Can you see the heaven's sister?
In the throes of love and hate the firmament speaks not softly
Peals and paeans of thunderous flashings repine the night
The new moon shone bright

La Jolla Fog 15x30

This is a good painting for the blues...If you can't sing 'em, paint 'em. I saw a blues act the other night at a local club. I like the blues. I have friends that are really good blues musicians. In fact, I have friends that think I'm a blues musician. The truth is, there's only so much you can do with 12 measures worth of the same three chords. Yes, I know, there is a huge variety of styles and the old swampy acoustic delta blues are the easiest on my ears but, truth be told, they all get kind of old after a few listen-throughs. There ain't nothin' too bluesy about the SoCal coast...except for the fog...captured here in shades of blue.

Tucson Mall Manicans by Gary Holbrook

Gary is a friend here in Tucson. He's been painting for years and this is the product. Most of his pictures are stored in a musty garage or...have been painted over or thrown in the trash! Yes, this is what happens when the arts aren't supported. I have seen a lot of high realism...in fact some very good artists even sell beautiful and highly rendered artworks on eBay of all places. (see links to the right) But I've never seen anything that compares to this man's work. Could you get him to make a picture for you? Well, that's a good question. I have 4 of his originals here...waiting for one of us to die to sell them to get what they're worth. I hope to get out and paint with Gary this weekend. I'll post the results of our "plein air" pursuits when I have them.

Birthday Boys Fish

Eli turned 14 yesterday. The day before, we fished for delicious mercury laden bass in a beautiful mining reservoir in southern Arizona(top picture). The picture of the boys with trout is from what seems like yesterday. Eddie had his 16th birthday on Sunday. Now, both boys are trying real hard to sport mustaches and are taller than their dad. Life is full of injustices. The hills were crawling with border patrol agents as the sun set over our little fishing adventure. We were just a few miles from mexico and in a remote desert area that is a common route for people smuggling themselves into America. No, I wasn't scared. My friend Scott (who grew up in Mexico) was armed and Eli and I were intent on enticing lunkers with spinners and crank baits into our fish-smuggling cooler....and staying away from the border. News has come down the line that there might be an arrest warrant out for me in Mexico so I'm not too keen on tempting fate by showing up unannounced. Anyway, these photos are bitter sweet for me. Any parent of grown / growing kids can relate I'm sure. You miss those little ones when you look at the pics from years gone by...a sad, melancholy kind of nostalgia creeps up on you as you have thoughts of what might have been...and search your memory banks for regrets(I have none...or I just forget). The sweet part is that they are becoming real people and the joys of childhood antics are replaced by even greater joys...of high car insurance and being outfished on lake Arivaca.

Blown Away 24x30

Sometimes I labor at a painting, sometimes they just come flowing off the brush, jump off the easel and walk around the studio all by themselves. The working title on this was Blown Down. I used the initials BD to save the image and it reminded me of my favorite uncle. As the picture was wandering around the studio I had the thought "Hmm, I wonder if this is what the inside of Bob's head looks like?" Well, I'm not much of a neurologist, let alone a psychologist but I have pondered the use of Voxel-based morphometry and to how it might relate to measuring brain tissue density in hyper-creative people. Speaking of images, this one was difficult to photograph. Some of my favorite paintings are the ones that tend to look a lot less nifty when once captured for perpetual digital immortality. Regardless, I liked this enough to throw it up...on the blog. It's being offered on auction this week and this week only...unless I have to re-list it!

Two Cows On A Hill 24x30

I use a very limited palette on most paintings...about 7 or 8 colors and rarely will I throw a blob of black on there. Both white and black can be too much of a crutch so be careful of them. Not that I don't need crutches from time to time. As a matter of fact I have been limping a bit lately but it's really nothing that crutches or doctors can help me with. Seems there's no easy cure for what ails me. I'd be driven to drink if I were of that cut but the woes of mexed up lives and sin have me plowing a trough with my chin these days. As I look up I do see great and precious promises...in the psalms. W.E. Gladstone said that "...All the wonders of Greek Civilization heaped together are less Wonderful than this simple book of the Psalms." If I knew much about Greek civilization I bet I would concur. "Read them often and make them your own." That's my quote. ...and it will be well with your soul.

Oregon Lake II 24x18

My friend Greg always sends me pictures thinking I'll want to paint them. Well, with this one he was right. A scene as inviting as it is refreshing...wish I knew the name of the lake somewhere in Oregon. I did a bit of glazing with this one. Nothing too fancy but I did let some passages dry and worked over them. I usually stick with a more alla prima approach but there are times when I need / want a richness and depth of color that can only be had by adding glazes of color over color. Not to be mistaken with the glazing over my colorful eyes get when I've been pining for things I can't have.

Swirling 36x24

Upper atmosphere winds swirling and hurling ionized particles and moisture into the ozone...That's the full working title of this painting. A scene overlooking a ranch where I used to work and where I first caught sight of something that was real easy on my eyes. Her name was Carmen Julia and she carried a beautifully figured guitar as she floated across the school yard, desert wind lightly ruffling her plain cotton dress and gently caressing her dark chestnut hair. I made a prophetic utterance to the effect that someday that guitar would be mine. A couple of years later I dreamed we had a three year old little girl. The guitar is long gone having served me well with happy strains of nylon-stringed flamenco goodness for many years and the little girl that was to be is now grown and in her second year of college. Do you ever have any insight into the future? I don't put too much faith in dreams and visions but if they have to do with correcting one of my many personality flaws I'll take to heart whatever judgement I can incur...before it's too late! This too is being offered on auction and will probably go at a price that will make us shake our heads in disgust and utter disbelief in years to come. See the link at the top right of the page.

Tall Moon 30x15 and Tall Bird

The crows wing was missing feathers. They were the large primary flight feathers and are pretty needful for flight, at least that's what I've been told (yes, they speak to me). I was wondering if they molt in the late winter or early spring...or if they do go through a seasonal molt at all. It varies from specie to specie so one can never be too sure about birds....except of one thing - those of a feather flock together. There were numerous flocks flying over the car as we wended and wound our way up and out of the Salt river canyon amongst crimson cliffs, sage, juniper clumps and patches of iridescent snow. The sun was coming up and the crescent moon was whispering in the ear of the dawn. So began our journey to the Apache Indian reservation in the White Mountains in northern, Arizona. It was about mid-morning when we finally reached the summit of our eagle-quest and ...dropped off the chairlift on to fairly fresh snow and promptly smashed into a pile of snowboarders who were in their normal position...on their behinds fiddling with their boots and bindings. I was tempted to call out to one of them who had the definite look of someone with good prospects at becoming a plumber..."Hey, is your but broken? ...'cause it has a crack in it" Well, we all know I'm not that crass... and even those of us who know better would've seen I was way out-numbered. We burned our faces on highly reflective high desert snow and generally had a good time. Eli learned how to ski, Eddie got even better at snowboarding and I...well, I stared at a lot of pine trees silhouetted against rarefied air and listened to crow chatter. More crows flew around all day and peppered our valley-vista-views with shiny dark contrasts. Next to trees I'd have to say that birds are my favorite muse. I used to draw and paint a lot of birds...in fact I'll add a pic here of a life sized heron made out of solid mahogany. I actually did two of these, identical in every respect except for the trout swimming around their feet at the base. Anyway, I love pine trees...will be doing more in the near future. Here's a painting with a unique size / orientation.

Sittin' By 18x24

Shy sheep give short shrift to shunned clouds clinging to the horizon. Isn't that just like sheep? I worked a sheep farm in Montana. One season we lost quite a few lambs and a few ewes to a mountain lion. A trapper from the game and fish dept. came to track him down. We all joined in the festivities walking game trails and sheep trails along the Yellowstone river. I found a set of fresh tracks one day the size of a blueberry pancake. We never heard if he got the big cat but only lost a couple of more the rest of that winter. The sheep weren't thankful in the least, in fact I'd describe them as baleful. Surly sheep bent on gentleness and ignorance...needing kind-hearted farmers to stay up late in the lambing season to help pull their little gangly

offspring out into the frosty midnight world. "Outside in the distance a wild cat did growl. Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl." I had blueberry pancakes this morning, three of them with lots of Log Cabin syrup...and every bite reminded me of the lions paw track and the sheep pictured above.

Simply Bovine 24x20

I was only slightly disappointed with the electric light post at the end of our drive. You see, in our previous neighborhood (pre 1970) we had gas lamps. They were stationed out in the front yard at the street, had a little valve to turn the natural gas on and off and a net/fiber mantle just like a Coleman lantern. I have some faint memories of fascination and mystery that had to do with lighting the lamp but no real recollections of any mischief related to their misuse. By all rights I should have been greatly disappointed because I was getting to the age where the vandal in me could have come up with all kinds of reckless activities related to their potential abuse. The electric version at 7216 Riverdale road held no fascination and no real potential for fire...it just filled up with bugs and had to be cleaned out periodically. Kind of strange imagery I know but an accurate foreshadowing of what my life was to become -a slow covering of whatever light there might be by a bunch of dead bugs...needing a good cleaning every so often to let the little light shine through small and dirty panes of beveled glass. Still, there abides a soft and warm spot in my heart for the one memorable fixture of the old neighborhood that the Riverdale-Rightfooters didn't try to mangle or destroy. We have no gas lamps... or any lamps for that matter burning a welcome glow into the stark and lonesome night here in the desert. If we did some redneck (my sons?) would just shoot it out or drive over it. So you see, a bug encrusted life is better than no life at all. FYI, I still have half a gallon of chlordane insecticide. It has a 500 year half life and it was outlawed along with DDT back when we are all afraid of hurting eagle eggs...things were so much simpler back then.

Softly & Tenderly 20x24

I can hardly sit through a movie anyway and this one would have required super glue...or the fact that I was with friends and it would have been rude to get up and walk out...or lay my head on my chest and start to drool and snore. So began our rendezvous last night with friends Brigid and Brian. It ended at The Lariat, a super club with a large dance floor and two blind men entertaining with a barrage of melodies and volume that seemed pretty improbable considering the source. Corona with lime and a Negro Modelo with burgers is what we ordered. Not ones to stay up too far past our bed-time we sat through a couple of sets and watched the secondary entertainment with an askanced eye. A foursome of way-to-young-for-their-own-good retirees were about three and a half sheets to the wind when we arrived...and should have been in bed an hour before. They kept jamming money into the juke box and dancing and singing to the tunes they picked as the band played on not twenty feet away. Over the discordant strains of music (?) we all made a vow not to look like that in twenty years. In a weird sort of way the eucalyptus trees in this painting kind of remind me of last night....?

Spirit On The Water 24x36

Spirit on the water, darkness on the face of the deep. So starts a line from a Bob Dylan song of the same name. It's one of my favorites of late and as I looked at the lyrics the other day they seemed to make no real sense...just a bunch of good lines strung together. Typical of my favorite uncle and his wiley way with words. Words do mean things though...as any argument will tell you. Some of them have great power to encourage and some have devastating ability to destroy. They can be used to heal or to harm. So, beware how you speak and remember that God is watching whether you're ugly or not and...He has exalted and esteemed His own word above or along with His own name. (Psalm 138) There is something about that name...and there's something about those words...sweet to the mouth, music to the ears and joy to heart. That's all I find in the contemplation of the Lord Jesus and His logos. This sunset reminds me of eternal goodness in effigy or something to that effect.

Sky Lite Sky Brite 24x18

The back lit clouds pose a bit of a problem...But, of course, problem solving is what it's all about. No? I used to work in a wood shop where we often said the only difference between a good carpenter and the rest is that the good one knows how to fix his mistakes. It seems I always had more than my share...maybe it's 'cause I never understood the saying "Measure once cut twice." Seems the more I cut a piece that was too short the worse it got. Hmm, I'll have to think how this relates to painting. Well, I told the kids the other day as we jammed on some groovy tunes in the parlour..."more is less" when it comes to percussion and electric guitar solos. They just play too much of the guitar hero video game and have not made enough three legged chairs... (that were supposed to have four)

Moon Ridge 15x30

Another moon is on the wane...Pictured here is a crescent moon over the sunset mountains west of here. I looked out this am, still dark at six o'clock, and the waning gibbous moon shining bright aiming at the western horizon seemed to wink at me. What could that mean? A sign? A portent? A harbinger of some future cataclysma? Or, maybe...just a little poetic license on behalf of an indulgent artist on his way to wet his brushes in pursuit of the elusive Lost Chord. Speaking of chords...I have been learning new ones on the piano. For any of you old dogs who have worn out your bag of tricks I recommend taking up the piano. It is as enjoyable and therapeutic as any instrument and as far as learning, well, let's just say it's all there in front of you in black and white. Pretty easy huh? This painting is being offered on auction...just go to the link on the top right of the page to see all my available work.

Ausencia 24x30

I don't suppose too many people doubt the 2nd law of thermodynamics but just in case...I have proof. Entropy is observable in my family from a variety of viewpoints. One of the most interesting is the devolution of housekeeping. Some people believe in strict evolution as in the evolution of species...like Darwin etc. Well, I think, could we travel back in time, that we would find my mothers ancestors so highly evolved and so keenly developed in the cleanliness arts that they would make Mr. Clean and Janitor-In -A- Drum look like soot covered street waifs in a Dickens story. Skip ahead a few generations and take a look at one of my kids rooms. There you will find everything imaginable that flies in the face of any theory that there could be a random ordering of chaos. No, the chaos is the only thing that appears to have evolved and it happily defies every encouragement and influence to the contrary. Believe me, nothing has been spared...to inspire order and beauty and cleanliness. And, nothing has resulted in the desired effect. And wherein I was taught nice and tight nurses corners my disciples think the bed is made when the sheets and blankets aren't all on the floor. They say that the only time there is true ordering in nature is the moment of conception....even growth is a degenerative process. So, maybe the conception of the idea is all that is needed and ...

On the other hand, and since we are so enwrapped and tangled in this multi-cultural web of intrigue, maybe the fact that my little desert flower (esposa) grew up with chickens and goats and kids (human) sharing the straw mat on the floor might have something to do with it. Regardless, I entertain no delusions at this point. As long as there's only a few nits to pick out of our hair and the bed bugs don't bite too hard all will be well. This picture of a glorious field after a good soaking is available on auction at our friendly recession-proof, on-line gallery eBay.

Mountain Song 24x18

Today a hawk flew into our picture window in pursuit of a white winged dove. The dove also hit the window and barely survived. I'll know in the morning if he'll live or not. The Cooper's Hawk perched outside for a while on the gnarled branch of an old mesquite tree waiting for us to leave the poor wounded creature so he could devour it. He finally flew off. I have him (the dove) in a box in the shop...he was out in the grass well hidden but it's going to rain tonight and there are critters out there and, well, there's nothing as innocent and gentle as a cooing dove. They look at you with those big doe(?) eyes that seem to plead for help whether they need it or not. You know doves are really pigeons...At least that's their classification. I have raised both doves and pigeons and have found them to be the most noble and clean birds out there. They keep one mate and both parents sit the nest and bring up the young...regurgitating copious amounts of half digested seed meal-mush into waiting and eager little beaks. For a time we had both chickens and pigeons in the same building. The chickens were layers, Aricanas and Buff Orpintons and... the odd Banty to keep things colorful. They typically wouldn't sit their eggs but since we always had a couple of roosters they were fertile -needing only the typical three weeks of broody warmth to hatch them out. We got the idea to put some chicken eggs in the pigeon nests to see what would happen. Faithful and true as the day is long those beautiful, iridescent and monogamous birds incubated and then hatched giant green and brown eggs as if they knew what they were doing. The fun part was to see them try to feed the young chicks who wanted to be pecking and scratching the ground as soon as possible, all the while the clueless surrogates kept trying to barf their little tidbits into the down-turned faces. We just built a new chicken coop and what with the hardscrabble times we've all fallen on, thought it would be good to raise our own food again. I think it pencils out to be about $10 a dozen (eggs) when everything has been tallied. Is that a good deal?

Chancery Vail 24x18

The weather as a mundane topic of idle conversation. Never! I know it's extremely easy to fall into familiar patterns when addressing farmers and their sort as most of us often do. And, it seems that the lone common denominator in vulgar parlance and everyday chit-chat would be that of looking up and commenting. But, I believe I have taken boring conversation to the next level. A higher degree, if you will, of interest and discourse. I find you can make quite good discoveries about people when the talk turns to weather. A lot can be learned from observing the skies and...observing how others observe them...or don't. Anyway, so as to not bore you with any more of the mundane as some would view it...I offer the above painting of great and blustery clouds over tireless trees..always with an eye on the weather, for their very leafs depend on it!

Catch And Release (Cow & Her Friend) 30x24

Do you ever skip through the channels and wonder who really watches those back-water, cross-eyed, unintelligible rednecks with the Copenhagen tin sticking out of their flannel shirt pockets fishing in bass tournaments? Well, there is probably a long list of things that I could confess to that would lower any kind of high estimation someone might have of me. The thing is they were catching huge muskies on the river near my childhood home. How could I resist? I would fit the above description perfectly if it weren't for some aberrant beliefs I hold to. Unlike the hosts of the fishing shows I watch between brush strokes, I don't really believe in catch-and-release fishing. I love fish...alive and swimming. But I especially like them fried and steaming! Conversely, I do believe in catch-and-release hunting which, it seems, has very few adherents and meets with very limited success. (that's the part I'm used to) The activities mentioned here all serve to get me looking at sky and trees and land which, in turn, inspire me to paint...or write. So, I will continue to pursue not shooting game while walking with gun in hand and try my darnedest to not release any fish I might hook up with. This painting is of a scene not far from some of my latest exploits referred to in this post...and the wild and woolly sky that floats above the western US.

Cliff Hangers 18x24

Por si no me creian todo lo que les he dicho de mis aventuras y trajedias... y por lo mismo, la pequena capacidad q' nosotros tenemos de expresarnos en multiples idiomas y dialectos, les escribo la siguiente descripcion de esta mas recien pieza de arte que salio del humilde estudio donde trabajo. Se llama "Cliff Hangers" y esta hecho a oleo sobre lienzo fijado en una tabla de tri-play o fibracel. Aqui estara en venta de subasta en eBay durante 10 dias.

Deserted Moon 24x30

The desert moon really is that big coming up over the Catalinas...in fact, right at the horizon it's just flat out huge. Makes one hanker for a big ol' knife and the largest saltine or Ritz cracker you ever saw. I'll let you in on a little confession here. I would love to paint more night views... A number of my favorite works of art are of scenes bathed in marvelous and luminous washes of green glowing warmth with rocks and cow horns glinting in the subtle glow.(Frank Tenney Johnson, Frederic Remington) I regret that the subtle aspect is often hard to detect over the artificial view-box that is the lowly computer monitor. Thus, I am more apt to describe the higher key / better lighted and more dramatic views caused by direct light with my brushes. I will try these night moves from time to time though and I'm almost always pleased with the results. This desert view captures the harshness and beauty of the Sonora Desert just as the sun goes down and makes way for sister moon.

Little Flock 24x36

An otherwise typical Sunday...and but for the impudent upstarts called the Arizona Cardinals we could all relax the afternoon away contemplating the reason for the high price of tea in China and other equally compelling conundrums. As it is, we are set to perform an American ritual that for a true-blooded Viking is and will be, always and eternally, shot through with bitter-sweet strains of what might have been. I will attend a Superbowl party today. And as much as I hate the role of jilted lover, and as much as you want to say to me "get over it !" I and my fellow axe-wielding, skull-cleaving, tundra-blooded aficionados must bare the burden and ignominy of 4 super-game loses with nary a victory to our credit. Yes, I have exorcised the demons on numerous occasions only to submit to their siren call when once again the team seems to surge and I'm jolted out of my fair-weather-fan stupor by the cries of "they really have a chance this year" or, "hey, they're 8-4 just three more wins and we clinch a playoff spot". Fool heart of darkness and deceit, when will you leave me in peace? But for the tasty treats prepared by skillful wives and some men of extraordinary culinary abilities the occasion would be a total wash. The painting above reminds me of the glory of a Superbowl victory. Not the biggest victory on earth by any stretch but a victory nonetheless.

Desrt Gum 18x24

As we say in ol' mexico..."me agarraron con las manos en la masa" ...and I'm proud of it. The trees are my muse, as I've said before, and will continue to be. As a boy I drew a lot of stumps, branches,broken logs and river stuff. I used to sit by the Mississippi, bottom fishing with a little sketch pad in hand just drawing bark and leafs...till my rod tip would jerk signifying that I better get up and set the hook before a big ol' carp hauled my fishing pole into the drink. So, the trees and all their parts in every season, barren or otherwise inspire the heck out of me. I want to paint a good eucalyptus, will be trying several landscapes featuring them to enter in the California Art Club's 100 year anniversary logo competition. I'm not sure if this one will be an entry but it is a nice looking tree (Silver Dollar Gum) just across the wash from the studio here. Also being offered on auction this week.

On My Mind 24x30

My friend Dave invited me to be a "special guest" at his next coffee house gig. Here's the deal. It's much easier to pretend I'm a rock star than to actually be one. Well, even if I were to be a star it would probably be more like a country jamboree / folk hero / terrorist fighter that schooled Chuck Norris in the Dark Arts kind of thing. Or, I could just keep referring to my stardom as something I would have done in another life. As it is, I now have to prepare a set of tunes adequately to pull them off as if they were the most natural thing to do...Like, yea, I always sit around the house and play beautiful songs with my well tuned voice warbling away to the serenaded delight of my wife and kids and all-comers. Not! I do have a back log of about 200 half-remembered songs that would be delightful to ...play along with while someone else sang them! Anyway, I will not tell you when or where. After all, it is a small coffee house and we wouldn't want to overrun the place. I wish I could sing like I paint...at least like the picture here today. It's a beautiful sunset over a flooded wash on the way to my lawyers house...So don't mess with me or you'll hear from him or,... Chuck Norris.

Lovely Lupine 24x18

Speaking of food...The hot & sour soup at the Harvest Moon on Rancho Vistoso road is the best...unless you don't like chewing on someone else's finger nails. Yes, the little pre-Valentine's romantic interlude with my wife of 20 plus years was punctuated by a hard and sharp article of indescribable consistency. I almost used it as an impromptu toothpick before I realised it shouldn't have been in my mouth in the first place. Seems the cook had some down time before the lunch rush and needed to clip his nails in case the health inspector showed up unannounced. Can't have them pesky officials snooping around and finding fault with every little thing - like my other favorite Asian eatery that has the best Dim Sum in town...recently cited for cockroaches breeding on the serving carts. Apart from the exotic flavors and aromas, I find the local ethnic eating establishments to be entertaining as well. Last Saturday the waitress at Carlota's Mexican Diner explained to me in her best Spanglish how her brothers and cousins always go to the Chinese Buffet restaurants and eat all they can - how they get up and walk around to make more room to stuff themselves. Kind of funny but wait till I tell you what happened at the Shanghai Buffet last time we were there. As we prepared to leave we noticed a small but growing commotion around the cash register. A man was gesticulating wildly and as we made our way towards the door we could hear his Speedy Gonzales English contrasting interestingly with the sing-song accent of the oriental host. A beautiful picture of racial harmony it was till we got close enough to understand their words. "Hey man" said the customer, "I could feel the rudeness on the back of my neck". "I know you all were talking about us and took the shrimp away 'cause we are Mexicans and we was eating all of it". Cheech and Chong could not have come up with a better skit. Our sides hurt as we laughed all the way home. Now, whenever anyone here feels slighted by a family member we just say..."I can feel your rudeness on the back of my neck." What do we learn from all this? Well, for one, anger and metaphor don't mix well especially if your speaking an acquired language. And, just be glad that cooked stuff generally can't hurt you...too bad. This painting is as easy on the eyes as hot soup is to the belly. Being offered here on auction.

Partly Cloudy Day 18x24

There's been a bit of bluster in the air the last few days. Yes, this is about as harsh as it gets here. The desert southwest has a great sky for artists with a penchant for landscape painting or... craning their necks. Really anyone for that matter. All who have a desire to let their eyes fall and rest on something worth lookin' at find our land beautiful. Not too strange I guess in light of Solomon's psycho-analysis of human beings..."The eye is not satisfied with seeing..." So, we might not get our fill but we can sure enjoy the healthful sights as long as we have eyes in our heads. Speaking of that, I'm do for an upgrade on my reading glasses. I still use the milder magnifications but you know you're in for it when you start groping for them just to look at your bowl of raisin bran in the morning. This painting can be viewed and bid on. Just follow the link on the top right to my work for sale.

18x24 Good Crop

I've reached some sort of milestone. My oldest son Eddie informed me that I no longer needed to impress him, that I was now free to retire. Wew! What a load off. This, after I nearly broke my left shoulder while trying to master some huge aerial acrobatics on skis. I am really grateful for the use of both arms and was able to paint today...not really my final and greatest masterpiece but the eyes still work and all my colors have not run dry...yet. This is being offered on auction here.

Eli's Evolution

See above my youngest bio-child being bathed in salty water near the sea of Cortez. In the concrete water tank (pila) next to the scrub board there grows creatures that inspire evolutionary speculation. Long and thin as horse tail hairs,(I almost said feathers) they swim in a rhythmic motion. At first blush they appear to be ordinary long locks from my beautiful wife or one of her almost equally attractive cousins or nieces, then they start to wriggle and...creep you out (my response) or cause you to think that they were hairs that have come to life.(my father-in-law's assessment) Either way, they shouldn't be in your bathing water. Carmen says all the children in Los Buidbores (her home town...the scene of the living hairs in the water pictured above) had worms (intestinal) growing up and probably all contracted hepatitis before they were old enough to feel it's awful effects. I used to say"when in Rome"...but now when I travel I try to surround myself with a Howard Hughes-like protective barrier designed to let nary a germ enter my atmosphere. Well, maybe I exaggerate. I do drink purified water when possible but I continue to ingest ample helpings of indescribable sea creatures and animal by-products sold by dubious street vendors that would be sure to land me my own show on the travel channel if anyone knew. My wife had dengue fever not long before I was layed low with malaria...The children all had various maladies related to the tropics and we've all undergone heavy regimens of antibiotics to clean out the amoebas that wreak havoc on Anglo-guts around the globe. But the clincher was the hepatitis A. The tasty demon-crabs caught only a few yards from the bathing scene above were the culprits that almost made this blog and it's author nonexistent. Funny how such a cute picture conjures such pathos. Next entry I'll be sure to post a picture that inspires hope and joy and love and ...no reference to illness, mental or otherwise.

Pine Top 36x24

Reverse racism...I've grown to dislike the term only because I'd love to hear it used a lot more than I do. I think I've seen more true racism in my day aimed at the supposed majority coming from the perceived minority than the other way around. 'Course I've never been to Birmingham either. I know, "It's a messed up, muddled up, shook up world...except for Lola" It just seems like everybody is afraid of being called "intolerant" to the point of leaving off their convictions about right and wrong. I'll offer some clarity to my definitions before I go any further with this. The word "racism" should only be used to describe the predetermined and genuine dislike for another race regardless of the quality of the individual. I believe this sentiment is not as common as many would like us to believe and that the word is thrown around by minority "races" and the media in America as if they owned it (and as if they understood it...which they often don't) The correct word, or the one most often meant when referring to racism should be prejudice. Prejudice can be defined as the pre-judging of someones ability or their intent based on racial or ethnic (cultural) factors ...which are most often based on experience and observation. Can this be hurtful or bad? Definitely...but not necessarily. My point? We all have prejudices. We all have experiences and we all base much of our beliefs about others based on previous experience. It's not necessarily right or wrong...it's just natural. The good in good people will often encourage them to give the benefit of the doubt to others in spite of the empirical (or anecdotal) data our little minds constantly store up to the contrary. The sad thing is this - people do often turn that data into dislike and distrust which is the sentiment I often find aimed at the supposed majority by both the media (the white guilt class) and the perceived minorities. I don't like it a bit. Reverse racism...I'm tired of it and I'm afraid we're in for a lot more of it in the future. Plus, my own private heresy about multi-culturalism as regards race is this; The very word is a misnomer. There is just one race. It's called the human race. The more we talk about race as a descriptive feature in people the more it foments a desire to look for differences.

PS. Why do I think I have a right to weigh in on this? I've lived almost half of my adult life amongst people who constantly and continually believe and expect things of me and my race that are incorrect and disparaging. For many years I toiled in harsh conditions under the watchful eye of racism. I've suffered prejudice to a degree no self-respecting Viking from the northland worth his sea salt and helmet horns should ever have to suffer... all the while observing the hurtful effects on me and my family. Yes, I know all too well what it's like to be in the minority and automatically considered stupid or unable to do or understand a task or process or whatever, simply because of my race. It sucks tremendously and I wouldn't wish it on anybody. I guess all I'm asking for are a few small reparations. The Poles and the Swedes of the Midwest are due some respect too or at least a discount on their ludafisk and kielbasa ...and we should all be allowed a little prejudice when it comes to disliking most of the AFC east teams because they've beat up on the Vikings in countless Superbowls. Looks like you won't have us to kick around this year thanks to racial profiling and the NFL's prejudice against purple jerseys and domed teams.

Mike The Snow Bunny

I know I revisit some of the same themes but really, I have to rub it in a bit. Just talked to my sister in Floodwood, Minnesota. The forecast? 21 below zero! Ha, and you call me insane? Just look at my friend Mike...shameful in his attempt at trying to make it appear balmy in his snug little igloo in northern Montana. Well it won't work folks. I don't miss it a bit, in fact the only thing I need from there are the northern pike fillets I was promised... My brother-in-law Jim was a tunnel rat in Nam. One of only a handful of guys from his group that survived the war...Now he spends his time in therapy fishing through small holes on frozen lakes and keeping me in that heart-healthy diet. I am getting sick of fish oil pills so Jim, pull in a few lunkers for me, get some dry ice and send 'em overnight express! Tucson forecast?...70 degrees...It's 4 pm. I think I'll turn the heater down in the shop here.

My Moon 24x30

I was with an old friend recently. We hadn't seen each other much in the last year or so. As we got caught up he filled me in on his children's latest exploits and pursuits. Seems they're set to become the next leaders of Wall Street and fortune 500's list of greatest entrepreneurs of all time. His teenagers are being offered scholarships and internships and awards left and right. My kids?... have yet to learn to clean the shop to my liking. I imagine the conversation around their dinner table to be an interesting series of topics and debates much like an NPR broadcast. Here at home, Eli ponders out loud the serious difficulty a six fingered man would have when trying to give the middle finger to someone... Eddie spears his sister's hand with a fork full of spaghetti sauce and I horse down a plate full of beans and wipe my mouth on my sleeve. At the end of our mealtime my beautiful daughters burp and push away from the table declaring..."Ooee, I'm as tight as a tick". Yes, you have no need to fear us taking over or dominating anything or anyone... unless you're referring to the bag of chips on the sofa next to that vulnerable remote. Then again, if you met some of my neighbors you might get a different idea. I went to the gun store the other day to help my "pacifist" friend who lives in a trailer to the south buy a multi-bullet magazine (clip) for his Ak-47 . On the way we talked about the neighbor to the north of us. Last time I met him he was creeping down the dirt track in front of my house. He was dressed in desert camo with a glok 9mm strapped to his thigh. He told me the government surveillance was so good that they were reading our lips as we spoke. I can't imagine what I could even have to say that would be so important but was flattered nonetheless - he was trying to hide under my truck! Seems there's a lot of paranoia out there. Well, you can be sure of this- fear is the absence of love...and pure love casts out all fear. Embracing the Savior sure has been the antidote to a lot of the absence of love(fear) for many of us sin-sick weary pilgrims. I'm hoping that this coming year our issues with sin and fear will find their resolution in the One who is called The Desire Of All The Ages.

Shady Sheep 16x20

Our northern counterparts do a poor job of selling their weather. Every time I make a call to the barren tundra and frigid wastelands of northern Minnesota and Montana I'm met with some sort of lame diatribe about how "It's really not that bad right now... Sure it's only 3 above zero and the car won't start but really, we like it... it's supposed to get up to 20 degrees by Thursday...and the dog and cat have such thick winter coats, they're just beautiful, you should really see them".

Wow, you "really" have me convinced...as I sit here wandering if I should wear shorts today or risk over-heating and put on a pair of light cotton slacks. Listen, the day they quit trapping beavers at the confluence of the Mississippi and Minnesota rivers was the day you all should have moved south. Frost crystals have addled your minds for sure, and with all this conversation dedicated to pets and your politics going to Al Franken and Jesse The Body it's a wonder the north continues to function at all. Then again, I'm probably no one to brag too much about the efficiency of mind functions what with all the fumes I ingest here. FYI northern tier peoples. Try a little harder to sell your ice cream to ex-Vikings and talk less about your dogs (children and grand kids are permissible topics) This painting of the oft elusive and shy sheep of the cold country is being offered on auction here.

Swift Footed 24x30

Egg nog and rum make for cheery caroling in Catalina. I'm no pirate but I sure can understand why they always had the bottle handy as they chortled like Santa Claus over the seven seas...just not so sure about the egg nog part, they never really seemed to sing much about that. I'm wondering, if I become a connoisseur of whiskey would it improve my ability to appreciate finer things? I've given up on beer as a hobby and try as I might to enjoy the good fruit of the vine I've not been too successful at making myself like wine either. I'm thinking that maybe I'm just to rough to be civilised by the subtle and delicate prodding of these milder drinks and really need some pure straight acid wash to cut to the quick as they say and get down to the nitty gritty. Well, this is hardly the season for taking up a new bad habit and since I weigh about as much as a skinned rabbit I think a little discernment is in order. I will, though, continue to imbibe as much as possible the refreshing draughts of paint fumes and turpentine that permeate everything here. I'll find the kids, from time to time, smelling my clothes or something else that reeks of oil paint with a faraway smile muttering something about how this smells like dad. I won't guarantee that this painting doesn't smell like dad but it should look like a place you want to be. Offered on auction here this week.

Canon in D major

Christmas eve morning jog, dog leash in hand, Bob Dylan singing Working Man Blues on the iPod, and an empty bottle of Seagram's 7 in the ditch to my left. Here's how I fantasize. -Out of the corner of my eye I catch the blur of dark fur and fury leaping from the center stripe on Wilds road in Catalina, Arizona. The air is crisp and the mountain snow shimmers in the morning light as the arching creature, fangs bared, hurdles toward the throat of my favorite man's-best-friend. Moments before, my ears caught a glimpse, or you could say I saw out of the corner of my ears through the headphones the growling bark of what I'm sure was a rottweiler/bulldog-mix, bred specifically to maul people like me and dogs like Davey. Normally, my morning-run fantasies are about Davey and I being attacked by wolves (inspired by neighborhood dogs on the loose) I pull out one of my ever-present knives and dispatch the offending cur by deftly placing a well aimed thrust between the third and forth ribs leaving the miserable demon dog to slowly drain on his way, limping back to his home where he should've been kept fenced or tied or...I join Bob on stage to play along with some sweet groove that moves at just the right beat...in step with the run. This day, however, no knife was found in my running suit so the Seagram's bottle became the tool of my daring rescue and revenge. I lived and re-lived the various possible scenarios of how the dogs would grapple- I would break the bottle either over the attacking dog's head or on the ground to gouge out his eyes with the broken, jagged edge. There really are a number of ways this fantasy could be played out and it takes almost a whole song (Bob's can be quite long) to get to the end of my fanciful meditation. In all my daydreams I do end up rescuing Davey and coming away with only a few stitches and no lawsuits against me...almost every time.

Well, maybe not what you expected for a beautiful Christmas story to go along with Canon in D major played above in the you tube video. We didn't practise this...I just told the band (Marissa and Ellie) to strike up a tune. It's long and repetitive so I won't feel bad if you don't make it through the whole thing. I wish you well and that you can find / have some good company in these special days.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS de Los Hawkins

Catalina Christmas. Everyone is pictured ...the dog's head is cut off (under my hands) and yes, those are the Santa Catalina mountains in the background. The temperature was a frigid 62 degrees when we took this picture a couple of days ago. So, as you see, we can completely identify with and commiserate with any and all who are in the throes of grappling with the long and lonely winter night that is upon us. And yes, there is a smattering of snow on the mountain tops... just to reinforce my point. (It's only supposed to reach 67 degrees today!)
I've not caved (yet) to my wife's pleading lamentatious eyes and her unspoken desires to go to Mexico for the holidays and as long as I can stave off her piercing stares and unrelenting silence on the matter we should be able to pull off a happy and home bound Christmas. Our friends and family south of the border are completely oblivious to our American style concerns about safety in travel, worry about border crossings and recent warnings from the state department about the multitudinous dangers in Mexico. Not that we're chicken mind you. Danger is my middle name after all and I've never been too opposed to staring it in the eye with an unflinching steely glare. It's just that the kids (the boys) don't really like the travel and having to speak Spanish all the time (teenagers)...and we usually do have some sort of harrowing adventure that includes the "D" word above. To the folks south o' da border those concerns are petty compared with the joy of gathering the family for fried fish, tamales, unsalted peanuts in the shell and sea turtle soup...you know, your normal Christmas fare. Oh, I forgot to mention that they're butchering a pig just for us...expecting us to arrive on the 26th! Too bad I'm a vegan.

untitled commission 30x40

I just finished this large 30x40 canvas. I splurged for this commissioned piece and bought a real nice canvas. In a perfect world I would paint on lead primed linen canvases...smooth as babies bottoms and about the most enjoyable surface to move paint around on I've found. I would be tempted to go back to Masonite as my preferred substrate but the springiness and the little bit of "tooth" on a well primed canvas are like a day filled with sunshine, sleeping dogs and quiet children. I do re-work the less expensive canvases I usually paint on. I sand them and give 'em another coat of gesso, maybe sand again and tone the ground with a neutral mix of ultra marine and burnt sienna. Sounds like a lot of work I know but it's worth it in the long run and, don't forget, I have several teenage slaves, uh, I mean kids that help out a lot.

Silver River 12x36

I've a bunch of new paintings hanging around here, the kids are full of menudo, cookies and Christmas cheer, and there's snow on the mountains. One would think that this would provide ample blog-fodder to throw out there with the myriad Spanish/English, English/ Spanish, mexed-up anecdotes I'm known for. Alas, computer woes coupled with apathy, flying time and a few quail hunts make for an absent blogger. Now, don't let my bird hunting references ruffle your feathers. In my world, "hunting" is a convenient term used to describe a lot of things and a quick perusal of our freezer and it's absence of frozen game will undoubtedly enlighten you as to the fantastical ability us multi-linguals poses to moldify, modify and just generally butcher language. So, I've torn myself away from the eternal pot of pozole bubbling away on the stove to put up this cool rendition of the Tucson mountains just west of the studio here.

Full On Vacation 24x30

The ornaments are on the tree, the lights are strung from the gable to the mesquite out in the front scrub, uh, yard and my belly has already partaken of it's quota of Christmas cookies for the season. What better way to continue the holiday atmosphere of festivation, cheer-making and joy-giving than to paint a pretty picture of the... Caribbean? ...My thoughts exactly. For all my travels throughout the hinterlands of central and south America I've only had the chance to hang out on remote beaches and islands a couple of dozen times. Many a Christmas I've relinquished my senses to the swarmy breezes as I recline under a palm sipping coconut coolers, plater of shrimp piled hi at my right hand and beautiful naked natives at my beck, fanning giant leafs and catering to my every and sundry whim. Oh how I've suffered...the thought of missing snow and shoveling the drive when an arctic cold front moves in after a storm that left twelve inches of snow and the temperature dips to -27 below. If you've ever had Jack Frost nipping at your nose, if you've ever reached for your car keys (unsuccessfully) with frozen phalanges, if you've ever used a propane torch to thaw your sorrel boots enough to get at the laces, than this reverie is for you.

I'm surprised at how little Ive painted palm trees and beaches...maybe 'cause they're too romantic or too overdone, I've just seen too many renditions of over-romanticized scenes. Regardless, I think I could learn a bit about light and it's play on water so I think I'll try more of these in the future...let me know what you think.

Jupiter Moon 12x36

Well, the leftovers are gone and after a week of family visits and much festivating I hope to have the play-doh fun factory, uh, art studio back up and running at full steam. It's hard to paint with relatives looking over your shoulder. After a while and especially after painting outdoors in public you do become a bit annealed to any effect Looky Lous might have on you but lately I've been more intent on sequestering myself in the hidden underground bunker that is my shop. So, I just had to shake off the piercing stares, keep my eyes on the road and play the man.

Turkey is a favorite food...the birds are interesting too, some of the most stupid critters in all creation. If you've ever raised 'em you know what I mean. As dumb as they are they provide some of the best table fare and for that I offer the following ode.

Thanksgiving Turkey

When you hear them coming stomping
And you feel the heartbeat thumping
Then a quiet whisper whispers
A red bird starts to sing

When the fish are just not biting
And the June bugs cease to crawl
On the screen at evening
The porch light says it all

Early dusk late sunrise
Crisp the windy blow
A warming light at evening
Warm the hearth and glow

How they come so happy
Shake the white off boots and brow
Yonder turkey gobbled
Now he lays the table low

He heard the footsteps coming
He heard the cardinal song
He laid his crown on yonder block
He roasted all day long

Call My Bluff...Home On The Range 24x30

Thanksgiving and another happy day is upon us. You know, it's a healing thing to be thankful...regardless of circumstances. A grateful heart is incapable of criticizing others and a thankful tongue is not able to complain. A good practise is to effuse, out loud, thanks...to God whether He feels near or far. Your own ears will hear yourself giving thanks and your brain will tell your heart to chime in. Soon you will be persuaded that there is much to be thankful for and your countenance will be changed to a glowing bright orb that radiates goodness and cheer to all mankind. Or something like that. Whew...I think I should try to follow my own advice once in a while. The picture above and psalm below are for your viewing and reading pleasure on this, my favorite holiday.

Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless His holy name.

Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits-

Who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases,

Who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion,

Who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.

Psalm 103:1-5

Long Mount 12x36

I had just enough wine the other night to remind me that it's pretty easy to have too much. Not that I overindulged, it's just that the delightful soothing draught of liquid warmth can be subtly...well, intoxicating....especially to an empty stomach of a not large person who hardly ever imbibes. The following is a word to the wise...another little poem that has nothing to do with the new painting pictured above and even less to do with my circumstances the other night. Offered for sale here.

Red sparkle lets you know
The warmth and joyness fill your head
I hope that we don’t stumble
On our way to lay our head
Down to sleep the sleep of fools
Inviting as it is
You take in hand the crystal globe
Where swirls the one that says
Drink, drink your fill and drown your will
Give no thought for the morrow
I’ll take good care of you and yours
...And haul you in a barrow!

Above The Vines 20x20

Dont Put Your Trust In Stars

Star bright and starlight…I hope and pray and hope I might
Catch a star to wish upon and catch a wish when hope is gone
Gone from my head the happy thought that weaves and spins tomorrows joys
And just as true as wishing might bring to you the hopeful sight
Of dreams come true Dreams old and new
to have and hold and to hold anew
But truth be told that falling star will burn a hole right through your heart
And if by chance your pocket fills with falling stars for tomorrows ills
That flaming spark much hotter than a million suns will come again
And bake a hole right through your leg and heart and heel coming limping beg…
It wasn’t even a rainy day and all my hopes are gone away.

Rose Coast 20x20

The other day I was invited to a Mexican birthday party at a local park. Some of the folks were close friends and it was quite a pachanga. A while back I had presided over the wedding ceremony of the couple who was celebrating their third child's first birthday (One of my disguises is that of a Mexican pastor). Over the blaring ranchero music we ate shredded beef stew (barbacoa style) and drank coke and Bud Light...the favorite beer of Mexicans in the US. I played around with some of the kids for a bit to get away from the loud music. The cutest one of the bunch had been our foster daughter a few years ago. She is now seven and calls me papi. She lives with her mom and a younger sister and brother...all from different dads. I saw her again last night and was reminded of the divergent backgrounds of people in America. I am a half Polish Swede from the northland ....often putting on like I'm some beaner from La Tierra Caliente and raising a bunch of mexed-up kids in the process. In spite of that (the mexed-up part) we can all hold our own when it comes to slinging slang in at least a couple of languages, and next to kielbasa my favorite sausage is chorizo. Looking into little Leticia's face I was reminded of the strange and very kind love of God that keeps spreading out His common grace on His little ones far and wide. Two years ago on Christmas the little girl's mom was kidnapped by the Sinaloa drug cartel here in Tucson. She (the mom) had become like a daughter to us through circumstances that had happened a couple years previous...Leticia (the little girl) was placed with us by child protective services. Anyway, several of us got together and were able to pay the ransom the narcos were asking. Get this, the police recommended that we pay them to get her back telling us how lucky we were that it wasn't the Jamaican drug gangs 'cause they would just kill her when they got the money. After 7 days she was returned safe...a bit bruised and frightened but that Christmas had a happy, albeit tearful ending. This girl is someone many of us would have written off a long time ago. Of course they still have a steep hill to climb but to see the little chamacos happily cavorting around the dilapidated, drug-free trailers and dog carcasses on Tucson's far south side really warmed my heart and made me think there was yet hope for America...I just don't want her voting till she's read all my blogs and my forthcoming book!

Cloudset On The Flats 24x30

I've been working on a book. The working title, which I'm sure will be changed, is All Mexed Up...memoirs & musings of a poly-lingual multi-culturist and his noble, albeit sometimes misguided attempts at changing the world. Of course with such a pretentious introduction I'll have to write it under a pseudonym...can't have people finding me on eBay you know. That would totally deflate any hype that our marketing team will try to create. Anyway, this has taken the place of the coffee table book which I'm setting on the back burner for the time being. That will probably be my second published book after the first hits best seller status and propels me, reluctantly, into the limelight. In all reality, I should have written it a few years ago for timing is almost everything in this business. (as if I knew this business) I have a good-sized leather pouch hanging from my belt that contains numerous jewels and precious stones. Some are still rough and dirty but others are rare and highly polished...quite reflective in fact and these would serve to bring to light a lot of questions and conundrums our modern age is confronted with concerning the border and immigration to the US. Of course it will be filled with all kinds of little anecdotal stories of exaggerated heroism and third-world exploits, so it should be entertaining if nothing else. I will post more about it here and maybe even open a blog with excerpts and a forum for others to comment etc. The glorious skyscape pictured above is being sent to our Florida gallery.

The Earth Below 36x24

Morality, like art, means drawing a line someplace.
Oscar Wilde

He also said that melancholy is the joy of sadness.

Well, if king Solomon states that with much knowledge comes much grief and that insight and understanding bring much sorrow, I think that drawing the line someplace just sets us up for a whole bunch of melancholy. Do you wallow in self loathing and decadent crapulence more often than not? Well, if you do, you might have the makings of a great artist...or you might just need to draw clearer lines. Thanks to God (and a lack of personal crapulence), I have refrained from overt and extended bouts of melancholy. Unfortunately though, according to the above, my artistical endeavors are sure to suffer. I am, however, quite adept at covering up my shortcomings (or lack of line drawing) as you can see in the painting pictured. A fine example of American art (and subterfuge) that any vodka-bottle-strewn studio would be proud of. It's being offered for sale here. PS. From now on we will wonder if our joy is true and happy or just the embracing of sorrows...thanks Oscar

Stream O' Plenty 24x36

My son was given an asignment today. He had to write a short story or poem that had something to do with autumn. So, in the true spirit of father-son solidarity I write the following.

Autumn is now in full swing even here in the desert. And with it comes a veritable cornucopia of memories and images, not the least of which is that of the venerable pumpkin. It dances through the back roads of my mind conjuring hallowed, albeit foggy pictures and scenes of yesteryear ...that serve to almost bring a tear to my bright and hazel eyes. Multi-use vegetable as it is, there are countless varieties and just as many things that can be done with almost each and every size and color variant of this, mostly orange and tasty squash. There is one thing, however, that the smaller grapefruit-sized gourds have been used for and for which I am quite ashamed and cannot recommend.
The word "trolling" is as part of the vocabulary of Midwest fisherman as "tortilla" is to the southwest bean eater. In regards to fishing, well, there is just one typical connotation. Concerning vandalism and aberrant behavior though, there might be several uses of the word. Here I am referring to the dastardly act of throwing snowballs, light and fluffy, at cars and passersby from behind the hill at Riverdale park. We called it trolling. At first it was just a bunch of blood pumping, adrenaline flowing fun. No harm was intended. And save for the odd car screeching (or sliding as it were) to an abrupt and blustery halt on the historic West River Road, no one was ever hurt. (although the one police chase incurred was quite invigorating) Well, unfortunately for the unwitting passersby, adolescents grow...into bigger and stronger adolescents and...snow melts away. This leaves a horrible vacuum and necessitates that something replace the little round fluffy projectiles that we so eagerly and happily heaved at unsuspecting travelers during rush hour as the sun was setting over the Mississippi. Of course the most logical option was to go down to Peterson's field and do a little pre-season harvesting. You can imagine how this quickly turned into one of the most perilous activities that the Riverdale Right Footers ever partook of. To our credit I will say that as trolling turned into a more popular sport in our neighborhood and was taken over by older kids who soon grew bored with gourds and pumpkins and turned to rocks and real damage, we quit the practice. Every once in a while I pine for the northern climes and my hands begin to grope, involuntarily for something to chuck at unseen cars careening out of control over the next hill. This is my curse. This is my burden. This is my favorite fall memory. The painting pictured above remotely and in only a very esoteric and obscure way relates to pumpkins and fishing.

The Marsh 20x24

You mess with the bull, you get the horns. That's what my son told me the other day after I hit him in the belly. I have two teenage boys...and that's the wrong thing to say to a dad like me if you know what's good for you. Now, this did come from the same kid who pulled his own teeth (that weren't loose) to make room for braces. I told him that he'd be saving his dad about a hundred bucks per tooth and that if he pulled them himself I'd pony-up and give him something special. The next night he walked into the room with a bloody grin...and a large moller in his hand! However, this is also the kid who likes to hold his blankie and play with legos while a lot of youngsters his age are already planning their escape. No, I'm breeding them to stick around and keep up on the chores and to hunt and gather what the earth brings forth...and a couple of them show real promise ...as artists and future presidents! I will vote today...but I'm curious as to the hunting / firearms use background of candidates. I had a thought the other day as I hiked the desert hills not far from here, shotgun in hand, that went like this. I am not interested in voting for someone who has never walked fields or forest of this land...who only knows the city. I guarantee there will be something amiss in that persons world view. I think I would have the same thought about someone who didn't play piano or the saxophone so you see my opinions might not be altogether scientific or even that logical. Anyway, I don't really know about the two who are running today...I suspect that according to my new criteria neither of them are worthy of my vote...Oh how I wish they were offering a chicken in every pot! But wait, they are. ...but who will pay for it?!?

Piled High 36x24

There were several scenarios running through my mind as I walked up to the bank to make a small deposit. The man getting off the bike near the front door was the reason for my suspicions and musings. He looked bedraggled and scraggly and as I watched him unfold a large, army issue duffel bag I knew something was amiss. Or did I? A hot breeze escorted me into the double lobby / foyer of the Norwest bank branch as cool breathe from the air-conditioned climate met us with a smile. Tucson, mid summer and everybody wants to be at the pool, inside where the air is nice or...robbing banks! Of course, it's the perfect time of year for all of the above. Well, I had business to take care of so I went about it as best I could, pushing away the distracting and fanciful image of myself thwarting the robbery attempt and the glory that would be bestowed on me afterward. Finished with leaving my small wad of hundred dollar bills in the safety of an American bank I fully indulged myself to meditate on the potential scenarios mentioned earlier. But first, I must mention the sheriff deputy seated by the door with his 70's era mirrored sunglasses. (The same ones I wore as I tooled down the road in 1977 with my long hair flowing and glowing in the sun astride my Suzuki 550 next to Lake Superior.) I smiled and waved to him...noticing how his presence was sure to put a twist on any thwarting I might be partaking in...and the fact that he didn't smile back. My first reaction was to think how rude he was. That bank should get rid of that @#% non-friendly, anti money-depositing-customer element. Bad for business. Regardless, I was too busy planning my thwarting to follow-up on how I was going to fix the bank's PR problems...I'd get to that later. The glass double doors offered a perfect spot for me to feign a heart attack. I could just lay down in front of them clutching my breast and that should give the vigilant, albeit preoccupied-with-not-smiling sheriff time to disarm the thief. Quickly my thoughts raced to a horrible conclusion...the perp opens fire right inside the crowded bank killing all the tellers and I'm to blame. No, I thought, as I walked past the doors, we need to get him outside. This is where we can take him down. It would've been so easy to slash his bike's tires. I have experience at that you know and I was carrying at least two knives at the time. Sure, that would be the easiest and least obtrusive. However, the fleeting moment of opportunity passed as a few errant brain signals mentioned the possibility of him catching me in the act. I've never been caught for all the tires I've slashed and I wouldn't want to press my luck. Anyway, in all reality, I should just tackle the SOB and take him down just like so many movies I've seen and gun fights I've lived through vicariously thanks to the elite training I received via Louis L'Amour westerns. As I crawled into my work van I paused a moment, staring at the entrance waiting for it to explode...it didn't.

Needless to say this all gave me a good chuckle as I drove away realising what a beautiful, creative and artistic mind I must have. To think that I even entertained the idea for more than a second, that I might prevent a bank robbery. Wow, what an imagination. Two hours later I drove by the same bank only to see it surrounded by squad cars, lights a flashin' and the whole area cordoned-off. That night I heard on the 6 o'clock news..."The bank robber got away on a bike with an undisclosed amount of cash" The painting pictured here is a place not far from yet worlds away from the true story above.

As Clouds Go By 24x30

Absence of blogging usually means that some kind of purification is going on in the life of the blogger. "Purification" is code for trials and tribulations, which seem to abound in this strange terrestial existence we're all tied to (for the time being). Yes, it's a life infused with all kinds of wonderful and glorious little moments, to be sure, but there is always something looming, foreboding, it seems, just ahead. Well, germane to this life of endless streams of sorrow are good comforts and a few peaceful night's sleep brought on by hard work and...ear plugs. Have you ever been kept awake all night by inebriated revellers and their distorted strains of "music" blaring at high volumes through inadequate (or much too "adequate") speakers punctuated by whoops and hollers? Well, I have and that's where the ear plugs would have come in handy. Speaking of excessive festivating, my friends and family south of the border have had their share of rain and deluge this season and not a lot of reason to celebrate. Lots of flooding and loss of stuff, mostly personal belongings...but one young man, Cornelio, swept away by a flooded wash cannot be replaced. He was the youngest brother of one of my bosom buddies and a sometime companion on our many and varied ventures into the wilderness of the Sonoran desert. I've seen him on more than one occasion pluck a Tootsie-Roll colored iguana off the bark of a gnarled mesquite limb (of the same color) with a sling-shot at thirty paces. A dead aim with both a rifle and a rock...is now gone. He will be sorely missed. This painting is an ode to "El Conejo" as we called him. Being offered on auction here.

Skyliners 24x30

As I see my paintings prices fall with the markets and peoples fears of the future increase I can't help but wonder where all this will end up. I've considered listing my kids on eBay. After all, I am pretty savvy about selling stuff there and but for fear of having to deal with Child Protective Services I think I could make some serious bank off one or two of them. Truth be told, I feel pretty calm in the midst of this little storm of media hyped fearsomeness and I'm fully set to follow my own counsel. So, here's my latest stock market advice. Buy...truth and do not sell it; buy wisdom, instruction and understanding . This is from the proverbs of Solomon (23:23) I am reminded today of the huge contrast between news media information and the reading of scripture. Wow, what a refreshing bath in cool, comforting and clear water it is, especially when compared to reading the days headlines. The old saying is as true as the day is long - No news is good news! ...and even more so the older saying that refers to the washing of water by the Word of God- A cleanse of this sort should be highly recommended in these times. This painting is being offered on auction here. Just like Chicago voters I would like you to bid high and to bid often!

Two Cows 18x24

In the previous entry I talked a bit about lawnmowers. Here we have pictured a couple of nature's best. Cows were invented to mow the lawn..or to make milk, uh, I mean for eating(?!?) Anyway, they are quite useful and as ubiquitous as they may be it seems we can never get enough of them. Truly one of my favorite animal shapes...they just come off my brush or pencil with hardly any effort. Kind of like how firing up the lawnmower is second nature to those of us who grew up taking care of giant yards of crab grass and dandelion-plagued blue fescue. I would've given just about anything to have one back in the day. I'd pull out of the closet my pair of handy Holsteins whenever mom yelled at me to go out and cut the grass. But wait, where would all the clippings end up? I hated cleaning up after the dog more than mowing...What have I gotten myself into? The picture above is of a Midwest field...not far from Chicago. A fellow artist gave me the photo a few years back and I've built a couple of cool paintings from it. This is the coolest so far. Being offered for sale here.

Iris Dream 24x30

This is a studio rendition of my purple iris' growing out front around our mesquite tree centerpiece in 33 square feet of grass. We mow our grass year 'round with an electric mower. It's a lot like the one the Johnsons owned and preferred me to use when I mowed their grass. Our "lawn" takes about fifteen seconds to mow...the Johnsons yard - about three hours. They lived on Riverdale road about four doors down from the Hawkins' and were smack dab in the middle of the turf of the infamous vandal gang known as the Riverdale Rightfooters (read previous blogs). Theirs was about the only 1/2 acre lot in the whole neighborhood that didn't have huge oak and elm trees. Thus, we were able to mow with the longest extension chord known to man(I think I only mowed over it once). By the mid seventies they had not only already invented the riding lawnmower but a few fortunate ones in the hood even owned them. I don't think I ever even got a chance to ride one till I was eighteen or so. It was a mysterious and wonderful image that I often caught myself lusting after...gliding over seas of green sipping Koolaid with a transistor radio earplug dangling out of my ear leaving a trail of grass clippings in my wake...Alas, it was reserved for the handful of retirees that were interspersed throughout our sphere of lawn care domination. No, they were no threat, just a source of envy and unrequited love. None of us kids had dads that could afford stuff like that anyway...or so they wanted us to think. Here in Az. our grass grows all year long...there are really two types sown in the same ground. In the winter the summer grass dies and the new blades of the perennial winter grass sprout through. Just add water...and the desert blooms. I paint a lot of pictures...and get a lot of comments like "wow, that must be a new "style" for you.", when they see something that looks a bit different from the clouds on the horizon I'm known to make. Well, believe it or not, I have painted all kinds of stuff from costume-clad models to ships to tortoises. Dog portraits, album covers, firearms, dead lions, fish (both fresh and salt water) vases, fruit, partridge, chickens, cars, cabins, pheasants, peasants, queens, castles and, of course, ducks and geese and herons without number have all made it into the pantheon of subjects that I have painted and am familiar with. Yet, the laudable lush and lingering landscape in all it's simple beauty is what mostly makes it into my pictures. This large oil painting sans landscape is available here on auction

The Ganga 15x30

On our way to find some "ganga" deals at the local yard sales we were arrested by this view of the Santa Catalina mountains just north of Tucson. I try to oblige my wife's desire / need to rummage through other peoples discarded junk every week or so. On most occasions I can only take about 2 or three stops before I get to complaining or...I just sit in the car and honk my horn, hoping that she doesn't spend too much of our money that could otherwise be used for important recession-proof purchases like...a new guitar (I only have 5). I've trained my kids with various archaic and twisted sayings and metaphors over the years. One of them regarding garage sales is this- "Just remember kids, one man's junk is...your father's junk too." That has stood me well and I'm sure it has saved a shekel or two in the up-bringing of these my dependants. Somehow, I think the metaphors are lost on my little Desert Flower though. Don't get me wrong, her English is great and she is much more "well read" than I. But, having not grown up on the banks of the venerable Mississippi, I can't expect her to know all the nuanced subtleties of American slang.

Speaking of metaphors, I have to mention Montana. Never have I been to a place where the general populace is so adept at mixing them. As in, "That's all for one and...two for a dollar". Or, "A bird in the hand is worth...a penny earned" I'm not even kidding. Maybe it's the ranch heritage or...heavy metals in the water. Or maybe those Montanans just need to step up to the plate and grab the bull by the horns and quit counting their chickens before putting all their eggs in one basket. So, now you know what inspires me to make paintings like this.

Mr. Misty On The Mountain 20x20

If I had a picture of Mrs. Johnson pulling bee stingers and cactus thorns out of my but it would be priceless...at least to a blackmailer. I'm referring to the most extreme cartoon-moment of my life. ( top ten anyway) I had been called to remove a hive of Africanized bees from the soffit of a ranch style adobe house in Tucson, Arizona. Up under the eves on an aluminum ladder, I was festooned with assorted squirt bottles filled with soapy water. They were my deadly and effective defense against the aggressive killer bees. I had them hanging from belt loops and hooked in my pockets and stationed all around the site just in case there were more of these little zero fighters than expected. They kept swarming as I alternately sprayed them and tried prying loose the fascia and soffit boards to disgorge the house of hundreds of pounds of honey. As the first few stings on my face began to really distract me I realised I might be in a bit of a predicament. Supposedly the pest control team had been by a day earlier and assured us that the hive was dead. A few errant, wandering workers that might fly by to have a look-see at all the commotion and honey smell in the air was not unusual. But here there were hundreds of them and the more I banged on the rafters the more they swarmed. My ladder was now soaked with a slippery, soapy film and I was set up over a large patch of prickly pear cactus. Yes, just like in the movies....Can you see where I'm going with this? Well, I was running out of solution, my face was swelling and sweat and soapy water stung my eyes. I could hardly hold the hammer and flat bar I was using to pry open the boards as honey dripped over the already greasy slick steps of the ladder. The last straw was the last sting on my face...right between the eyes! I turned to make my escape, now about 8 feet above one of the biggest clumps of cactus you ever saw. My head throbbed with the humming of the bees and the high heat of summer mid-day in Arizona. As I turned my foot slipped and I went down, back-first into the deadly foliage. I'm not exaggerating when I say my whole backside, from my neck to my calves were covered with small, medium and large cactus thorns...and bees buzzed around me like the Fear Factor episode when they wore them as beards. When old Mrs. Johnson got to me (after I ran around the house a few times) my wounds were bloody and many. She tried to help but what I really need was some morphine. The next day she called to say that her house was filled with bees...the exterminators came and found another colony, a dual hive, right next to the one they had poisoned. There were thousands more bees in that hive and... I might be the only person you know who has ever escaped a full-on attack of Africanized Killer Bees. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.(as my grandpa Jake used to say) The painting pictured is for sale here...near a place of numerous wild bee hive harvesting adventures and stings too numerous to count.