Water & Sky

You value what you do...and do what you value. This handy little maxim is one of the many yokes I've had hung on me. I, in turn, like to put it on unsuspecting passersby whenever I get a chance. The oblivious bovine bask in their ignorance above...or is it that they truly value grass eating over staying dry? Many a man is right in his own eyes declaring himself to value certain virtues and beliefs. But does he do them? That is the question. Do you value money?...then save it. Do you value your religious beliefs? ...Then pursue them with your whole heart. Family?... Spend time with them. How about food?...then hoard and eat as much as possible. Wait, scratch the last one. Anyway, you get the picture.

Muscle Car?

I really didn't expect them to put the super-charged V8 HEMI in the rental car but I was still disappointed. It was used to crash the bachelor party on Friday night in Salem and as gutless as the "economic" six cylinder was the important effect was the cool and sinister profile we struck while cruising around in the charger. Greg and I kidnapped his son (the groom to be) and held him for ransom. I never knew if anyone paid it but we had a good laugh and goofed on them young guys pretty good. I stood up during the dinner and began a solemn discourse about the wiles of women and how difficult and important it was to get them figured out before it was too late. I went on to say that my vast experience, gleaned over many years of marital bliss had been deftly expressed and condensed into a nice little book that I was gifting to the groom. It was titled Everything I know About Women and had all kinds of glowing recommendations printed on both covers. The eager up-turned faces of the twelve or so young single men nodded in reverent anticipation as I expounded the book's attributes...all of them agreeing that they needed and wanted to read it too. As you might have guessed, as soon as I handed it to them they realized...the pages were blank. Yes, the book contained all of man's cumulative knowledge of womenfolk and Greg and I were joyfully accepted into the fraternal order of mindless young bucks who know next to nothing about the most important things. The next day the charcoal grey dodge was designated the "limo" and Carmen and I got to drive the happy newlyweds honkingly through the streets of Salem late into the misty northwest night.

'Tis The Season

If this video (link below) doesn't capture the Chistmas spirit I don't know what does...well, actually, this is the matter/anti-matter version of Christmas cheer-something I will play from time to time over the next few weeks to keep us merry and thankful for all the creepy things that aren't in our lives.

Open this link if you dare...

Happy Birds In Oregon

Here we are in Newport. Can you tell we've just had our fill of a seafood medley? Sorry Oregon but as multitudinous and melodious as your scrumptious culinary offerings are, they don't hold a candle to Sonoran coast fare. The incorrigible, non-PC side of me had a serious hankerin' for a good sea-turtle stew. All the while, our eyes and ears told us that we were being feted with the West Coast's best from the brine...it should have been enough. Craven hearts (and taste buds) are never are satisfied but, short of selling my kids to swing the deal, my eyes had me convinced that the splendiferous beauty of western Oregon should be the site of our next homestead. I hope to post some pics in the next few weeks that depict it's land as I see it. Stay tuned.

Big Mountain River 36x24

The supply of left-over Halloween candy is getting low. You know what that means. Correct, our favorite holiday is just around the corner and it's time to start putting on the weight in earnest. If we're to make it through the winter we'll need as much extra insulation as possible. With that in mind we have began preparations ...by painting large. I use large brushes and a very large palette. It is placed directly in front of the easel-makes for efficient stand-up painting. I rarely sit to paint. Sometimes I get pretty wore out and just to rest weary legs I'll sit and paint but I find I dabble way too much when seated. Dabbling at paint is not good...kind of like running out of Halloween candy. The trick is to stay decisive, think hard about each stroke and its placement. This is best done (for me) while standing...especially at a large painting. The simple landscapes I make lend themselves to large presentations. I hope to make some more wildlife / figure paintings soon. They will be smaller and more intimate pieces. This great Alaska mountain near Homer is available in the studio. See link at top right of page for link to available work.

Montana Moonrise 24x48

The Y2K thing for me was a real yawner. As much as I would have loved to have glomed on to the hype and horded all kinds of stuff I never really gave it much thought. Plus, I really wasn't too keen on the idea of having to kill off my neighbors to save a few months rations of oats and lentils. But now I'm ready. The extreme multiplication of rabbits in our neighborhood has me thinking that we'll be set come hell or high water. I don't know how long we can live on Hasenpfeffer but I definitely have warmed to the idea. The friend that built a silencer for his Kalashnikov has moved away so I'll not be tempted to borrow that to fend off scavenging stragglers wandering through after the next Y2K. No, there should be enough to go around and if/when they run out there are always plenty of pigeons ...and we all know how good I am at catching pigeons. This great Montana landscape comes courtesy of photography by Mike Mahoney-artist and writer. It is available for sale in the studio.

Sheep Cow Bear

The sheep and cow are from Oregon, the bear hails from Alaska. A friend's son is getting married this week in Oregon. Carmen and I plan to attend...and had planned on sight-seeing, fishing and hiking and photographing every beautiful sun-drenched vista we could find. We were warned that it would probably be rainy and wet...to bring slickers and galoshes. To which warning we scoffed and guffawed and cackled and giggled amongst ourselves. You see, to us rain is only a rare and valuable event-something to be savored, measured, photographed, written about and passed down as legend from one generation to another. Imagine greed-crazed starving Texans dancing in the spray of "black gold" around an oil gusher after they struck it rich. Well, that's us when it rains in our little world. To think of days on end with no sun or moon in sight...they forecasted this for us months ago!...makes one shiver with fear for the end must be near. So, I have looked at the weather channel predictions for the coming week...Oregon, you're in for more of the same. The good news is that all this precipitation portents well for the upcoming ski season...and might just make for some unique inspiration this week. If we make it back alive. These paintings are all available in the studio here...can be seen on-line at our eBay store.

Glowering 30x24

"I predict future happiness for Americans if they can prevent the government from wasting the labors of the people under the pretense of taking care of them." - Thomas Jefferson.

I ran into this quote the other day. It amazes me how your perspective changes with age. Add a few kids to your life, several years (decades) of marriage, a failed business or two (or three or four or five) the attempted conversion of a couple of countries full of infidels and you have the makings for a closet capitalist. The lofty ideals of youth love to point at the "rich" and curse. Little did we know that a house full of hungry mouths would lead us down the path of hard work and ...giving (not pointing). And not to the government but rather to others...out of the little bit of goodness that hides deep inside every craven heart. To volunteer and give, ...yes, just like your parents did. That's the soothing salve that can cure a lot of wounds. The Lord Jesus said it is more blessed to give than to receive. He is actually quoted by Paul the apostle as saying this...It's not found in the gospels. Interesting, huh? A lot of our well sounding arguments about making the wealthy pay their fair share have turned out to be nothing but mean-spirited vengeance...the same thing most third-world countries' constitutions are based on. And what does it get us? A mouthful of bitterness and cursing and an entitlement mentality that leaves little room for giving. It is so easy to aim stones at the giant on the hill and claim how "unfair" it is for him to have more than me. Well, we are learning...the true high road is to give rather than to receive. And the real and startling and counterculture inconvenient truth of the day is that Americans give a higher percentage of their wealth to help others than anyone else in the world. (Check out this article) This ain't no bragging. It's just that we realize more and more that Uncle Sam doesn't exist to take care of me...or anybody. That's not its purpose. But that's not what we're often lead to believe. Redistribution of wealth-taking by force from the productive(capitalists?) and giving it to the unaccountable (government) is called...socialism-responsible for millions of uncomfortable deaths in the last 60 years or so. Well, this wasn't supposed to be a rant about isms...rather an encouragement for us to look to give rather than to get. I'll end this with another famous quote..."He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain that which he cannot lose." Jim Elliot, martyred missionary

Tail of The Monsoon 24x36

Sometimes I mix too much color. The sky here is a good example. This was left over from another painting, added to and ultimately helped inspire the late-sky feel that this painting went for. Turns out my vision (and photos) jibed with the previous color just fine but that ain't always the case. It's a sad day when the palette is piled high with unusable colors. One of the disadvantages of painting large is that generous amounts of pricey cobalts and cadmiums get squeezed out at regular intervals. I've been tempted to find some use for them before they skin over but have left off the practise in recent years. No, they don't make for good frosting...or eye shadow. This semi-magnificent cloud getting winked at by a flirtatious moon is available here at auction.

Cloudy Day 36x48

I'm back to painting on Masonite and it's a real pleasure. Just like a good old friend the rigid panel of wood fiber coated with gesso (black) greeted me with a smile and a warm embrace...luckily the gesso was dry. I've really missed the slickery surface and as much as I enjoy the springy feel of a nice canvas these boards are like butter...two sticks of butter! I think I will reserve them for extra large paintings... And the black gesso? Well, it's my new secret weapon, been wanting to try it for a while. I finally broke down and took the cutting torch to my wallet (it was welded shut) and splurged on this and a few new brushes. I was exhausted the day I finished this painting and even though there was a succulent roast in the oven I coerced Carmelita and a couple of friends to join me for egg-foo-young. Upon our return a sheriff patrol car was exiting the driveway. Ah, the joys of raising kids in rural America. I asked the young deputy what the matter was. She asked me if I knew about a dune-buggy-kind-of-thing, yellow with a couple of crazy young drivers. I told her while shaking my head in disgust that "It must be them neighbor kids again...parents just need to keep a tighter reign on their charges." Well, it seems the boys were throwing up a little too much dust with their hybrid go-carts and a disgruntled neighbor or two got a bead on where the rednecks lived. Just as the cops were leaving Eddie came flying through the doggy door, (I didn't think he could fit through that anymore) rushed to the phone and frantically threw out the signal to his buddies to lay low till the coast was clear. We never knew if Angel and Fernie got the message but the next morning the dirt lane in front of our place was the stake-out for two squad cars. Seems it paid off 'cause they did catch Taylor in the act ...only to warn him about making dust and... to wear a helmet. Maybe their time could be better spent shutting down a meth lab or two in the area ...or checking into that rumored illegal horeshoeing operation that we've all been so concerned about. This giant work of splendiferous cloudage is available for sale here.

The Green Roof 20x20 -- Thunderin' Lightening 24x30

The land of no rain. That's where I live. So, I find myself drawn to scenes that have lots of it. Of course I'm not completely unfamiliar with dark, dank skies and overcast, socked-in-for-three-weeks-at-a-time places of wetness and wonder. In fact, I grew up appreciating the few sunny days afforded us in our Midwest Land of Ten Thousand Lakes, less than most. As a child I moped around all summer anxiously awaiting the happy arrival of inclement weather. To me it was anything but inclement. Fall and winter signified the donning of foul-weather gear and the frivolous frolicking through marsh and mud in pursuit of fugacious fowl and other creatures. Duck weather it was called. The Mississippi Flyway is a popular route for migrating waterfowl. Except for your salt water-inhabiting ducks and geese(Eiders and Brants etc.) and the few strange species that cross the southern borders (illegally) from Mexico (tree ducks) I have handled (alive) most of the common North American varieties ducks. I made a lot of drawings and not a few paintings of these birds and the wetlands they frequent when my artistic learnings were still nascent . Now, thin blooded and feeble, I cast shy glances to the north when the mercury drops and long tendrils of V-shaped silhouettes honk their wild goose calls to the wind. Here in AZ. the temperature dipped to about 60 degrees with this recent cold snap. I think we're pretty much holed-up for the winter. Soon as the sun peaks out again and warms things back up to 80 we'll come out of hibernation...I can hardly wait. Oh, I guess that would be tomorrow!

Calm Sea Oregon Coast 20x24

The boys were supposed to sleep under the stars. They heard a lion scream, threw the roasting chicken to the woods as an offering/distraction and came running home tail between their legs. Had it been my adolescent companions and I we'd be braggin' still about how we killed, skinned and ate that mangy cat with our bare hands, raw...and danced naked in the firelight draped in it's bloody hide till the break of dawn. They just don't make kids like they used to. I'm gonna have to start them on some Louis L'Amour westerns....or maybe get some counseling for myself. My therapy? Painting tranquil scenes like the one above.

Toro 24x24

Let sleeping dogs lie. The same should be said for bulls. Here's a picture of a dozing pile o' beef. He's enjoying the sunset vista while the last shards of cloud-filtered light illuminate his domain. Have you ever been chased by a bull? It is exhilarating, something I highly recommend. Maybe you should add it to your "to do" list a la adventurer John Goddard. Thankfully I never got wind of John's famous list when I was young and impressionable. I'm sure it would have inspired the compiling of my own version...and I probably wouldn't be here now if that were the case. Nevertheless, to make a list of goals, adventurous and difficult ones, is a good thing to recommend to all children great and small. Aiming high is necessary when taking long shots...just don't get caught by the bull! If you're interested in purchasing this new painting it is available on auction here. Enjoy!

Lego Guitar (My favorite telecaster) by Eli

Freedom never sounded so good. I just erased 99% of this (previous)post...my daughter told me it was a too long rant that had nothing to do with art, my paintings or travel or the general goodwill and cheer I'm known for spreading....Enjoy the photo of one of Eli's many and varied works of art.

Mar Y Sol 30x24

Do you want proof that I'm an early riser? Well, for starters I can bost a familiarity with early morning test pattern that most people have only dreamed about. Pre-dawn transmissions were rare in the mid sixties (my first recollections) and apart from Jack Lallane (check out this link if you want a little flashback!) I've really had no one to share the rising of the sun with. From time immemorial I have been of the first to muster for Reveille in any place I've dwelt and save for the odd great-grandparent waking up at 3 am only to take his morning nap at 6, I have greeted the dawn alone on most occasions. That all said, I regret not having a keener eye and a more disciplined approach to capturing the break of day on canvas. I've been remiss and will try to mend my ways. This here is a sunset over the Pacific. I have no excuse to not offer a few happy early mornings and, as I said, will try to make one or two before the end of the year. Both dawn and dusk have dramatic light and as much as the charged particles of atmosphere make for warmth and glow at sunset, the sunrise produces a coolness and crispness to colors and shadows that are extraordinary in their own right. This is offered on auction here.

Plenitude 24x20

Several times a day I walk through the family room, stop, grab the remote, turn on the helevision and cruise through my few favorite channels. If Tony Bourdain isn't making a snarky comment about a steaming dish of rice mixed with indiscernible and questionable contents or someone's not pulling a 50 pound, saber-toothed fish out of the Amazon I'm generally not interested. My typical cumulative total viewing for the week probably hovers around seven minutes. I don't think I'm displaying any real virtue in not watching the tube. It's just that I have the attention span of a four year old. Maybe you can get me to sit through a movie...lots of action, some blood and the bad guy gets his due is the best-chance formula. If you can get me to view a modern TV show you might as well go out and buy a few lotto tickets 'cause your luck is running real high. The images that dance through my head, like the one above, are about all I can take these days. Mix and mash them up with strains of half forgotten songs I've learned over the years and this is what comes out...a ramblin' blog and a veritable Play-Doh Fun Factory of multi-hued paintings made available at a couple of galleries... and on ebay of all places. Check out this blog for another awesome review of the BD concert.

Fall Color 20x24

Middle of October, 102 degrees and the Arizona state fair is in the air. A milieu of beer sloshing and corn dog chomping was the venue for our rendezvous with Mr. Dylan. I know, it isn't exactly the kind of place you'd think to bring the kids to expose them to high culture but we did listen to A Prairie Home on the way up to Phoenix from Tucson if that's any consolation. Besides, if a life-long exposure to dear old uncle Bob's singing hasn't annealed them to the sharp edges of reality nothing will. Yes, Bob is like a creepy old spider who's just been sprayed with something...he's always been like that. But he has a certain magnetism and attractiveness that, at the very least, causes an irresistible curiosity. Liken it to a morbid curiosity if you will but a curiosity nonetheless. It was thirty years ago this summer that the spirit of Bob entered me. I was seventeen years old, had my first road bike (Suzuki 550 GT Ram Air), wore an old army jacket wherever I went and played harmonica. At first I was most interested in what kind of cigarettes he smoked and which of the two main styles of harmonic racks he preferred. I was living near his home town at the time and all his songs seemed to make perfect sense to a wayward kid up on the Iron Range of northern Minnesota. Well, that interest has waxed and waned over the years and other things have long since replaced the passions of my youth. No longer do I care what brand of smokes my favorite star might or might not like to puff. Gone (almost) are the visions of uncle Bob ringing me up and inviting me to join him on tour. I don't drag a guitar along every place I go and when I do sing I don't try to sound like Woody Guthrie. After the concert we were discussing the show and I observed how not one member of the band sang any back-up to Bob. Eddie said that Bob's voice cracked so much it was like two voices...no need for any other singers. The autumn scene above is available on auction here. Feel free to bid...if you win this it will be sure to remind you of those crisp days of fall...and the Arizona state fair.

The Old Pier 20x24

I live in an old house. It's not a dilapidated old house but it's definitely not new. The previous owners gussied it up quite nice and we've added a bit o' shine too. But beneath the glowing exterior there are things that would make any self-respecting craftsman snort through flared nostrils and spit generous amounts of Copenhagen-infused juices through stained and chipped teeth. Lucky for me, my life as a remodeler had little to do with book followin' ...or Copenhagen. I did, however, as a licenced contractor, learn to do most things the right way if not altogether "by the book" and as happy as I was to cut corners when possible there are just some things you don't do. Yesterday I tore into what should have been a minor remodel project. We now have no water in the kitchen and the wall, counter top, floor and plumbing are all in need of serious repair or replacement. Arizona is a Right to Work state. That means that unions don't run (or scare) anybody here. Sure they exist but they're hardly recognized in the trades. This seems to fit the do-it-yourself thinking that built the west. Now, if you've ever worked on a union job site as a non-union self-employed tradesman the first and most remarkable thing you'll notice is how slow everybody moves. No, efficiency, thrift and coming in under budget and ahead of schedule are not what these builders are known for. But aside from the molasses-in-January pace and the destructive "entitlement" mentality, I think you can count on most things being done right if not altogether promptly and with a good attitude. Unfortunately that can't always be said for the variegated rabble that passes for construction workers out here in the wild west. To be sure, there are many good ol' boys that know how to throw up a nice, sturdy deck in a weekend but those ain't necessarily the fellas you want building your dream home. So, now that I've conveniently laid the blame for my own ineptitude on unions and the lack of unions maybe I should just keep the rest of my opines to myself. I guess we really didn't need running water in the house anyway. What a wanton, indulgent luxury! Besides, Carmelita grew up ferrying five-gallon buckets of water from the well to the house, two miles... uphill both ways, on her head. So you see, she's used to it ...and the kids are getting a little long in the neck.

Shyly 12x24

Raising kids ain't rocket science, we agreed. This after an exchange with the man behind the counter at the local battery store. For years I have wanted to build a comedic collage of pictures of all the improbable businesses that exist in Tucson. There's the Battery Factory (here mentioned), Nails R Us, Ed's Screens, Rubber Hoses Inc., The Map Store, and a bunch of others that can have no logical reason for existing other than the tickling of my funny bone. Any of these things can be purchased separately or in bulk at your local, ubiquitous convenience store or friendly neighborhood Wal-Mart. They are either fronts for money laundering or...? Anyway, I digress. Grandpa and I (at the Battery factory) were discussing and lamenting the poor quality of Chinese products (batteries) and American child rearing. He wanted to shake my hand after meeting my 16 year old son Fast Eddie. I ain't bragging when I say that not one of my kids has ever talked back to me. Neither am I exaggerating. This is what precipitated the vigorous handshaking from Mr. Battery Acid. Kids love parameters and it's a dark day for little Timmy (and his hapless parent) to be asked what's the matter while he's throwin' a fit. The "matter" is that dad ain't got the kahunas to let lightening strike on the little tike's ass and so bring peace to the household. No, you don't need to do it out of anger and you won't have to do it often if you start early enough, you just need to raise the bar a bit. Anger and discipline don't mix. This is where the very wise and cool-headed injuncture comes in..."Fathers, do not exasperate your children"...discipline them out of love for their own good is the idea. As soon as you start to reason with a little head full of mush you've all but lost the great opportunity to be exactly what that kid needs...a parent. They don't need you to be their friend...that will come later after they realise that you are the most secure person they will ever know. So, parents, grandparents, don't unwittingly turn your kids into a curse on humanity by giving them too much attention or credit. (or trophies just for showing up) Don't reason with them. Make clear rules...and don't discipline out of anger or when undefined lines are crossed. Apart from missing a few teeth and the nervous twitching and cowering every time I raise my hands my kids seem to be alright... (?!?!)

Seaview In June (Newport) 24x36

How is it that a tasty rabbit stew makes its way onto the table of Carmelita the wonder-cook? Known for her fantastic seafood and some of the best south-of-the-border chili pepper-infused recipes, she is a true journeyman of culinary expertise able to fill kin and ken at a moment's notice with the most mouth-watering, tantalizing goodness the human tongue should be allowed to experience. If that weren't enough, even her baking would be unrivalled fare in the kitchens of Midwest mothers who deftly channel the trickle-down from generations of Dutch, German and Swedish pantries. Contrary to popular belief, Mexico's bakeries and baking is stuck somewhere back in the 1800's with a one recipe-one flavor fits all kind of thing and although there are a lot of shapes and colors, they serve only to deceive the unlearned palate. No, what comes out of the local bakery on the corner next to the blacksmith shop/oil change/barber shop, beyond the Rio Grande is nothing short of sawdust biscuits when compared to the pie crust mom used to make...and Carmen's pastries! That said, the wonder-cook in our midst is the reason my spoilt kids wince at invitations to dine anywhere but home...and McDonald's. If you'd like to bid on this glorious sunset over the Pacific you can do so here.

Amanezco Colti Por Tanto Mirar Hacia El Cielo(I wake Up With A Stiff Neck For All My Gazing Towards The Heavens) 30x24

Jim & Jesse, a great bluegrass duo and long time members of the Nashville music elite can now count me as an integral part of their fan base. Jesse has a new album coming out and I got a preview...a personal copy of the final studio mix-down. Aside from hanging out with Elvis (just on one occasion) and having an uncle (albeit estranged) that is arguably the best songwriter who ever lived...(I will be seeing him next Saturday afternoon), this is just another of my many brushes with fame. They've asked me to paint an album cover for Jesse's new project- a compilation of Jerry Garcia's (Grateful Dead) tunes, all done with Mr. Mandolin's distinctive styling and wonderful voice. I'm telling you, when I heard this new record it made me want to be the leader of a cowboy band all over again. On the first listen-through I pulled out my Roy Rogers owned (got it from one of his old friends) guitar and just had to play along. This record has some real sweet grooves and is as easy on the ears as this painting is on the eyes. This little beauty (the painting) is slated for sale in one of our galleries in California.

River Bottom 24x30

Ear splitting pain
Tooth splitting crash
Splitting headache moans
Wood splitting bones

Crashing waves alight
Smashing pumpkins delight
Cracking crabs at night
Crushing cans for spite

Breaking hearts in love
Broken wing of dove
Skier breaks a leg
Humpty Dumpty’s egg

These are a few of my favorite things...along with the picture above they make a great ode to October. The painting is of an area I visited near New Hope, Pennsylvania. Available on auction here.

Summer Vines 36x24

Joseph is the friend of a friend. I met him a couple of days ago. His body guards didn't smile. I tried to engage them a couple of times but they just looked through me. The shorter one wore a dark blue blazer but his green cargo pants with multiple bulging pockets (loaded I'm sure with all kinds of deadly accouterments) gave him away. I kept waiting for him to talk into his cuff but that little piece of drama never materialized. There were however several other guards stationed around (apart from the two that are continually at Joseph's side) and some of these had either conspicuous chunks of arsenal falling out of their pockets or less conspicuous bulges protruding from waistbands and ankles. There was a flurry of action and activity right before we met. Kurt and I planned how we would throw Carmen to the floor under the chairs and hit the deck on either side of her when / if the terrorists came blasting their way into the room. We were to meet in a large and somewhat stuffy old church and the "flurry" of activity, it turns out, was Joseph on his way to the bathroom under armed escort. Yes, it was the same one we entered with profound peace of mind a few minutes later knowing that the security detail had swept the room and made sure those old-fashioned 1960's era urinal cakes weren't really chunks of c-4 plastic explosive. We were to spend the evening with Joe and Scott (Joseph's erstwhile companion and roommate) but, as is often the case with friends involved in international intrigue, plans change. I told Joseph we would get together again and go surfing in San Diego. He said he didn't surf. I said I didn't either. (this might have been code-talk) His father is one of the founders of the Palestinian militant group Hamas. Joseph is now an outspoken follower of the Lord Jesus. Needless to say this doesn't sit well with a number of people. There has not been an official fatwa condemning him but there have been threats. He has suffered torture and imprisonment but the separation from family and friends he's now experiencing I'm sure causes some serious loneliness. Remember to pray for Joseph...

Jet Stream 24x36

It seems there are two types of people in this world; those who like fruit trees, and those who prefer shade trees. I used to be fond of saying that the two main classes of people were -givers and takers. This statement, of course, was charged with all kinds of negative invective. I think I have mellowed with age. No longer do I delight in demeaning the weak and faithless stand-in-line-for-a-hand-out generation. No, there is no joy in that, and since there appears to be so many of them these days and since I'd have to include myself in this ignoble grouping if I were at all honest, I've decided to take a different tack. There are those of us who like to sit and wait...Wait for the shade to cool us, wait for the soft breezes to blow and... wait for the fruit-tree keepers to walk by with a basketful of their hard-earned delectable delights, stop to refresh under the shadowy goodness of our cool canopy and share their bounty. We, in turn, will be glad to let them use all the shade they can handle. Yes, shade is necessary and fruit trees aren't that cool...looking or feeling. Truth be told, most fruit trees are rather scraggly and not all that pleasant to look at when compared to a majestic elm or cottonwood or giant oak tree. And lest you believe that the shade tree enjoyers are all apt to be slackers let me say that there is such a thing as to be gainfully occupied with actively waiting. Yes, you can participate in the process of biding your time, purposefully luxuriating in the peaceful security of anxious expectation that the harder you wait the slower time passes...and the better you get at it.

A Cow In The Field Is Worth 2 In The Bush 24x30

I've been reading To Kill A Mockingbird to my kids. My favorite line in the book is..."In Maycomb (Alabama), if one went for a walk with no definite purpose in mind, it was correct to believe one's mind incapable of definite purpose." Here in Arizona people seem to walk all over the place with no definite purpose in mind. What does that say about us? Well, you be the judge. All I can say is, you can bet your bottom dollar that if I had a field like the one pictured above I'd be caught walkin' around that thing just about every evening ...with some serious purpose in mind...shotgun in hand.

Dan The Man 1982

That's me in the plaid shirt, circa 1982. Dan was tuning up and I was ...? I don't remember but there was probably a guitar somewhere up there on the stage that had my name on it.

Dan and I played together a good bit back then. We had a few gigs and even recorded some stuff (his) in a high-priced studio in south Minneapolis. They charged by the hour, I think it was sixty bucks. We hurried through every take and it was pretty stressful. I kept wanting to kick the big reverb box that was part of the studio's effects station. You know that sound when you drop a guitar amp? Well, they have a small box of coils and magnets and steel plates that make up that echoey, auditorium sound. The one in the studio was as big as a furnace. I figured if the recording wasn't a hit at least the studio people would have something to remember us by. Dan died in 1991. Way too early and way too young. If only the good die young what does that make the rest of us?

Rocky Mountain Way 24x24

I was only joking about bagging the desert "big five". Someone misunderstood me 'cause the four foot venom-fanged devil was coiled at my front door shaking his tail with such gusto that Carmen nearly knocked me over as we both instinctively leaped out of striking range.

He would have been a trophy specimen to me about 30 years ago (pre-desert dwelling) but Sunday night as we approached the "safety" of our cottage at 8 pm, peacefully strolling arm in arm, he was a menace and a diabolical sign of the evil that comes too close for comfort in these modern times. He was literally right on the stoop waiting to slaughter us there where we stood, or stepped, as it were. And but for our "spidey sense" and quick reflexes this would just be a post-mortem report. A deftly placed .17 cal. pellet was all it took to dispatch the serpent and send him into the lake of fire. Eddie is a good shot and the multi-rattled tail is proudly displayed in the girl's room. My friend Warren asked me the other day if he could send me some pics from Montana to paint. I obliged him with this cool mountain view (above) ...being offered on auction this week here.

River Dance (Redwing) 24x24

I've been building some paintings lately on 24x24 canvases. I am finding this size quite enjoyable for composing landscapes...think I'll keep it in the rotation. This river view is of my true Alma mater. (soul mother) Most people refer to a college or university when using this little Latin phrase. I however, being the genuine scholar that I am, (?) use it in the truest and purest sense. Short of incubating in it's belly for nine months of gestation, I spent all my formative and educative years suckling her nectar, feeding on her crayfish, wallowing in her mud and cavorting in her current. It's been a while since the Mississippi has made it into the pantheon of my subjects but, truth be told, I think one could easily spend an entire lifetime depicting the river in all her splendiferous glory. Alas, my religious zeal and affections for her beauty have been

co-opted by a life-stream whose course has drawn me farther and farther away from her silty shores. Someday I hope to wash my feet in her murky milk, never more to roam.

River Boat 24x18

Here's a little change of pace for your ocular enjoyment. Could this be the Amazon? The Seine, the Rogue or the mighty Mississippi? You guess the river and ...maybe I will surprise you with a gift of some sort. Or maybe I'll just be quietly awestruck with your impressive powers of divination. (That's the word we use to say "guess" in Spanish by the way.) A friend sent me this image...a photo from a fairly exotic place...I've never been there but I have killed a crocodile.

Wuthering Heights 36x24

I think there should be a fraternal order of cloud painters. I get a lot of correspondence from artists that have their heads in them (the clouds) and it has me wondering if there isn't something primal about looking up. I was on a zealous tear the other night expounding my own private heresies to a semi-permanent captive audience. (my family) For the most part they are on-board with my somewhat passionate view of the return of the Lord Jesus. It's not that I have set ideas about the when and where it's just that I find it immensely encouraging to contemplate...not scary and fearful, just curiously encouraging. My daughter asked how we would know it's really Him when He comes. Good question. "Take heart that no one deceive you (saying "Look, he's over there", or "he's inside here") for just as the lightening comes from the east, and flashes even to the west, so shall the coming of the Son of man be". That's pretty awesome imagery. In another place He says, "The Son of Man is coming on the clouds of the sky with power and great glory". So, here you have all the ingredients necessary for artistical fanaticism. Don't worry, I'm not about to start painting The Last Supper and angels...(haven't seen many of those) Besides, I have yet to make a cloud worthy of the above-mentioned occasion. It's just that there is something that goes way, way back in our little psyches that causes us to look up...maybe it's the imprint of that first colorful mobile dangling above little Billy in his crib back in 1962. Or maybe, in this tarnished old world, we are all looking for beauty beyond description...the sky comes close.

Trio

Here's a trio of paintings. These should be as easy on the pocketbook as they are on the eyes, no? Not too often the case with fine art but here you can find it that way...hopefully. I know a lot of folks who can't just walk into a high-falutin' gallery and lay down 2 or 3k for a pretty picture. That's why we exist...to serve humanity glorious helpings of artistical goodness and everlasting renditions of beautiferous bounty for the otherwise bare and drab walls that surround us. Next to reading a good book I recommend the enjoying of visual art...after, of course, ...time spent fishing.

Above 9000 24x30

A stylish view of our little mountain range here in Catalina, AZ. This was an easy one to work out (I look at these everyday)...One thing you must do if you have a skyscape with a lot of clouds is anchor them by establishing shadows. When you can show defined shadows it makes the picture more solid, more believable, thus, "anchoring" the clouds. For sale here.

Boy with Dog 30x24

This is Eddie and Davey walking north from the house. They were on their way to try out their skateboard skills at an abandoned slab of concrete a few doors down from our place.(yes, the dog too) and but for a rebellious camera and it's fumbling operator I would have been with them and never would've captured this picture. Davey, being the faithful friend that he is, is here shown displaying his divided loyalties. "Do I go with Master number one, the true Alpha-leader of the pack (me) or do I stay with fast Eddie, the funnest boy-master a dog ever had?" As you can see, the dog is closer to the boy and even though he continued to cast anxious glances my way never really turned tail and came home to papa. Spurned once again and relegated to the ranks of sulking artist alone in the studio with my imaginary muse making up pretty pictures so I won't feel so alone, I purposed to make this one to remember. I should probably keep it since I've never painted my first-born boy child before this. Alas, the child must eat...it is for sale here.

24x36 Roseburg

The Umpqua valley near Roseburg, Or. These are the shapes that most capture my eye, second only to clouds and water. It's foliage in all it's unrivaled splendor, green or dry, short or tall, but especially tall...as in, trees, that most readily grab my attention. I would like to know them better. A few have spoken to me over the years. Not often and not with many words mind you but remember, the Ents don't believe anything is worth saying unless it takes a long time to say. Yes, there are those who talk to animals ...and there are those of us who converse with the woods. I used to be able to do a sort of Vulcan mind meld with woodwork. Just by touching and caressing, especially an unfinished piece of milled lumber or furniture, I could feel and sense the inner workings of the cosmos through the fibers and grains. Therein lie hidden secrets of the ancient world many of which remain heretofore undiscovered. Alas, I have all but lost the touch. Anymore a piece of wood to me is just a stick for building a frame or paddling a kid. Sorry to let you down. This great scene, however, will not let you down...being offered on auction at our favorite on-line community marketplace.

Red Sky At Night 24x24

When you've taken the life of as many creatures as I have the sound is more than familiar. Some call it the death rattle. Your quarry, or victim as it might be, lays there writhing in a puddle of indescribable agony, a pitiful, wrinkled mess of carnage waiting for the coup de grace. I often oblige the defeated one with a sharp poke in the eye, even digging out, with a certain gusto, the last vestiges of life...licking the bowl clean as it were. Yes, there usually is some wheezing, often accompanied by a distinctive, plaintive call akin to that of a mourning dove on a lonely road somewhere at 5 am. I am quite fond of this awkward, somewhat morbid last waltz...it invigorates only in that it bespeaks new life. Life begets life. Don't forget it! Nothing ever comes of nothing and there ain't no such thing as a free lunch.
So was the recent demise of my last tube of rose madder paint. She died while making this nice desert sunset...gave her life in order to bring to life a simple picture. It is truly the circle of life. Hakuna Matata!

Apple Eye 12x24

This painting was made over a few days with fast drying translucent glazes...gives a real 3d kind of feel to the clouds. Speaking of clouds, there were none overhead the other eve when the hapless diamondback happened across my path. Bad luck for him 'cause as much as I believe in the theory of live-and-let-live he was just too dang close to (smack in the middle of) the path where my kids walk everyday. Leti (my would-be-one-time-estranged-prodigal son - daughter) whom we love with all our heart is just getting over the effects of a bite. Two weeks ago she stepped on a small rattler in her house. It wrapped itself around her ankle as she tried to shake it loose, fangs sunk into her instep. Not much venom was injected and aside from a benumbed lower leg and foot she got away relatively unharmed. So, I have bagged the Desert Three this summer. I know, it ain't the African Big 5...but maybe we can add fire ants and Gila monsters to the list of the fearsome man eaters of the desert(?!?)

Jewel 30x24

Monsoons over the desert make for the best skies in the world. I spend more time these days on cloudscapes. Sometimes I get to laying it on pretty thick (figuratively and literally) The trick is not to let it get away from you. Start with thinned darker washes/blocking and build from there. I've been using more stand oil lately and have really liked the results. In fact, I'm making more studio paintings that are built over time using a process reminiscent of techniques used by the old masters. I find I can get an almost three dimensional effect by layering translucent colors. I will label these "Master Series" paintings when I make them available...not to sound presumptuous, it's just reflective of the technique employed. This painting is available on auction here.

The Marshwiggle 30x24

My new favorite blog...Hawksquill If you want some delightful, good-for-the-mind-and-heart reading check it out. Yes, I am prejudiced. "Remember" I often tell the kids, "I am your creator!" I know, it ain't good theology but my goal is to strike the fear of God (and dad) in my chillun for their own good. Anyway, the writing in Marissa's blog is at least as easy on the eyes as this painting. Leave her constructive comments and don't forget to lather on the praise for her dad if you do. She discovered long ago that I don't really have a third eye on the back of my head so any help I can get will be appreciated...

Shadows Are Fleeting 24x30

How many people do you know who can claim dried, shredded shark meat as their favorite breakfast food? Go ahead and count me if you have any fingers left. Mix it with some hand-made tortillas and a few chiltepin peppers fresh off the bush in the front yard and ...my mouth waters just thinking about it. My father-in-law is here this week. He blew in from the south with the latest hurricane and brought with him fresh fish and dried shark and manta ray direct from the Sea of Cortez. Neil Young wrote a song about Cortez ("...the killer") and I wonder at the reasons for naming a whole sea after such a murderous rascal. Of course they celebrate the likes of Pancho Villa in some places so go figure. Anyway, shark is good as machaca and as many times as I've had it in this dried version I don't think I've ever eaten it fresh.

The painting pictured here is an image that could never even remotely remind me of sharks or Cortez. That's why we put them together. It's all about being original.

Water's Face 20x24

September is fast upon us and you know what that means...Right, more inspiration for landscapes/seascapes like this to make their way onto canvas and into happy homes for never-ending enjoyment. Truth be told, I think there aren't too many things that qualify for such a description. One of them might be the love of a dog (actually you've got about 14 years max). Another might just be the sound of my favorite uncle's voice. He'll be in concert next month in Phoenix. Will I attend? Well, in all the years I've known him he has yet to send me a VIP invite and I don't expect him to start now. I know, he has no idea what he's missing by not hanging out with his estranged nephew. If we measured him in dog years that doesn't give him too much time to make things right. Regardless, I will keep painting...and remembering my old dog's faithfulness.

What Cows See ('cept in black n white)

A happy meadow with content cows...doesn't get any better than this. I was reminiscing about the old days. Do you remember when there used to be all kinds of abandoned buildings everywhere? The countryside was peppered with little outbuildings, boarded up homesteads, defunct hamburger stands etc. The early-mid seventies was a kid's dream for breaking into old shacks and searching for collectibles and ...burnables. On the edge of this field I'm sure there's a dilapidated structure just waiting for exploration....unless of course these brash bovines already put a torch to it. I wouldn't put it past 'em. For sale on auction here.

On The Bay 30x24

I don't typically like high key paintings ...but I do find it somewhat therapeutic to express my inner angst...always comes out as bright and cheery. Well, maybe I'm not one to store up too much guilt and sorrow and unfulfilled dreams, crushed hopes and frustrated and fractured fantasies. But then again, what about that time...? and how about when...? Wow, I really do have some serious issues. Well, artist or not, I think all of us, could we lie down on the proverbial couch, would be able to come up with sufficient work for even the dullest of therapists. After Painter of Light and Cowboy Singer I think my next career choice would have been that of a friendly shrink. I imagine myself sitting there doodling in a sketch book, drawing pictures of cows and trees and writing down song lyrics and as my patients describe their inner turmoils I throw out little anecdotes and platitudes that make them feel better...and prescribe a healthy dose of reading the Psalms...Truly the most cathartic thing you can do is to read (out loud if you're able) the psalms of David. Make them your prayers and you will experience a soul-cleansing like you never thought possible. And, if that doesn't work...take a couple of Vicodin.

It's A Wonder (Tall Trees Ain't layin' Down) 24x20

Getting our fill of piniferous aromas and ocular chlorophyll we hiked through many a stand of tall trees this summer. This view made it into perpetual perpitude as I permanently dedicated it to everlasting (almost) perpetuity by using archival pigments and acid free canvas substrate. It was a joy to paint these trees-descendants of the Ents...at least that's what they told me as I wrested one of my kids from the gnarled limbs of a particularly large and smelly one. Offered here for your continued enjoyment

Rogue River 24x20

Mid-summer and 50 degrees at the coast. That should be the name of this very cool new painting...near the mouth of the Rogue river in Oregon. The late sun blazed through the misty cold and was giving everything a bath in it's warm light, tinging with a golden lava glow all the colors. My fingers were getting so cold I could hardly work the camera. In the summertime... that ain't right.
This was a little tricky to paint but when finished...quite easy on the eyes. Available for your permanent collection here.

Montana Moon 24x18 Montana Family '97

Once upon a time we lived in the American west- Billings, Montana to be exact. We ate wild game, we walked the trails that Lewis & Clark blazed and trained Lassie (Max was his real name) to rescue our kids from mountain lions and ...machine gun-toting gang bangers on the south side. I prefer to remember the Montana pictured here in this cool moonrise. Also, I prefer to remember ourselves as the beautiful young couple pictured with their budding family. The kids are now 20, 16 and 14. They have changed a lot. Carmen and I? Well, if you can believe it she is prettier and I am stronger. This painting is being offered on auction here.

PS. If you were worried about the kid that needed to be resuscitated in the previous entry fear not. He's pictured in my arms here...and is now bigger than his dad!

Avery Field 30x24

Twenty years ago today the Vikings won a pre-season game on Monday night football against the Miami Dolphins (23-17). I stayed up late in the birthing room glued to the TV screen that was set at an odd angle up in the corner next to the ceiling. The curtains were teal blue and the walls were a soft pastel pinkish tan. I remember the corridor, I remember the lighting, I remember something about contractions and was hoping my first child's arrival wouldn't interrupt the game. What a relief it was when the final displayed a "W" for my team! Oh, and what?... we have a baby girl? I think I'll name her Marissa in honor of the win. I hear she was born at about 2 am and that I was there. I don't remember that part. Anyway, how can I be expected to recall the details of something that happened so long ago? Plus, I've had to witness other kids being born and I get all the details mixed up what with all the "Mr. Hawkins would you like to cut the umbilical chord?, Mr. Hawkins, would you like to swaddle your newborn? Mr. Hawkins, can you leave the room, your baby is not breathing and we have to get people in here "STAT" to resucitate him?" The painting of a field across the way from our friend's house in Oregon is for sale here.

Table Mesa 15x30

The tarantula was too small and agile for his own good. Had he been a bit larger (and slower) I would have let him live. As it was we were all gathered on the front porch and the southwest sun was goldifying the last few clouds on the western horizon. He scooted around the sandal-clad feet of our guests and headed for the ever-open front door. A spider of his caliber and renown should never act in such an undignified manner...I squashed him. We hardly ever see scorpions around here...maybe one or two each year. It kind of depends on your neighborhood whether you have a lot of them or not...same goes for giant cockroaches. Anyway, I have killed four scorpions in the house this summer,.. Add the tarantula and now I've only got to get me a rattler and I've bagged the Desert Three. Table Mesa is for sale here...kind of reminds me of my favorite dish ...Chicken Con Pollo.

Early 18x24

Davey is starting to show his age. His muzzle is getting frosty and he trips sometimes descending the steps on his way to the shop. For years I have thought how nice it would be to have my favorite dog stuffed, sitting in the corner, his head cocked with that winsome inquisitive look good dogs are known for. It's halfway between bewilderment and joyful excitement at the possibility that master might be paying attention to me. There he'd set for perpetual head-patting enjoyment never needing a bath or a brushing...and never shedding again. The almost perfect pet. An on-line search for "pet preservation" came up with an array of morbid possibilities all of which convinced me that when it's Davey's time to go to that big ol' dog pound in the sky the best place for his remains will be...where the red fern grows. No, I don't think I want my best friend freeze dried forever, thank you. Here's the auction for this painting.

Runnoff 36x24

Rain's a' commin'. That's what you say when that familiar damp earth smell hits the nose and the memory synapses fire to bring you back to where you first recognized that aroma as something new and exciting...a portent of change for the better. Or, in my case, rainy afternoons stuck inside till you just couldn't take it anymore and you put on your rubber galoshes with those unbelievably inefficient black buckles. I know it might be hard for some folks from the northland (or anywhere there's black dirt) to not associate rain smells with the excitement of seeing and catching earthworms. The streets would fill with them and the puddles that formed along the curb would harbor their stinking forms for days after a good soaking. They are some of my very first and fondest memories and well, rain smells just don't have that wormy ingredient here in the desert. We do however, have a swamp cooler on our house. Actually, we have three. (You should pity the Tucson dweller that does not have air conditioning) They effectively bring in the outside air and cool it quite nicely when the humidity is low. But when there's been rain you find out why they're called swamp coolers. To me it's a beautiful reminisce every time my duct work sends out wafts and draughts of moist air that reeks of rotting worms. So you see, my kids haven't been completely deprived of childhood essentials just because we live in a desert. This writing relates directly with the painting pictured above.

La LLamada 24x36

Crispy, crunchy creamy clouds- Words that at first blush don't seem to go together well but here they describe perfectly these wafting enigmas of ethereal effervescence. (as well as your favorite donut) This is being offered for sale at the place America loves to shop...and no, I'm not referring to Craig's list.

The Hills Alive 20x24

Just up the hill from Sacramento, past Folsom on the way to Placerville. That's were Chris lives and were we stayed...and had views like this for a few days. This is being offered on auction here.

Mt. Shasta 36x24

This is how Mt. Shasta looks in the middle of summer. The area had just experienced some of the highest temperatures and still the snow remains. I had several views to choose from but liked this one from the west, southwest. This is available for sale at auction. See link top right.

Umpqua Field 24x20

Oregon near the coast...summer 2009

Bandon Bluff 24x20

Questions of the first order is what I've heard them called. They are the big questions, the why and how of existence. I grapple with them from time to time and I grappled about them the other day with a young man who fancied himself intellectual and a bit of a philosopher. Well, I'm by no means a mental giant but neither do I readily embrace cognitive dissonance as a practise. This young fellow was more than willing do that and it was discouraging and frightful to see and hear what passes for "reason" in some circles. Now before you get to thinking that I'm fixin' to pull myself up by my own bootstraps let me say that I comported myself in my usual humble and dignified manner ...worthy of the best self-effacing lambs out there. No, I take no joy in gloating my brain or it's prowess over others.(not that I have a lot of opportunity for that) It's just that sometimes the quantum physicist in me gets to cringing overmuch at the improbable theories foisted upon us continually by the modern media and intellectual elite; people who should know better. The details of the beliefs or lack thereof aren't what rankle as much as the quick and easy embracing of dishonesty. Truth on the inward parts...that's what God desires. King David prayed that God would keep him from secret sins...ones he wouldn't / couldn't even know. Now that is really peeling back the layers for some serious soul-searching...something that will bode well with anyone hoping to develop a systematic life philosophy. I for one have a hard enough time just looking in the mirror... which I do everyday as I paint. Seeing the picture in reverse gives fresh eyes and especially helps in the drawing and composition stages. How did I turn this mini rant into an art lesson? ...it's not the turpentine anymore for I now use odorless.

Johnny & Me

What do Johnny Cash and I have in common? Well, for one thing, we've both been to Folsom prison. Also, I can imitate him pretty good for being about half his size. I don't think he ever really had a chance to imitate me though. Too bad 'cause I think he would have done a bang-up job of it. I saw him at the Pine City fair sometime in the late 80's. My sister was working as a traveling gypsy selling leather goods to bikers as she followed the Midwest county fair circuit. I went to check up on her one time to make sure she wasn't involved with shifty drifters and down-on-their-luckers. It was mid-week, the middle of the day and it was hot and humid. I couldn't believe my luck when I heard Johnny's name announced over the loudspeaker. Hoping beyond hope and wishin' upon a star that I could somehow find my way into a grandstand that was sure to be full to capacity I hurried across the fairgrounds. To my amazement and dismay I found the place all but empty. No one in that whole dad-blamed county had the good sense or cultured taste to recognize a true American legend. Their loss was my front row gain. Turns out my sis was involved with the aforementioned drifters and pistol packers so I had to decline Johnny's invitation to join him on the road for a few shows. FYI, even though I missed my call in life to be in a cowboy band there ain't much in country music I like...Johnny, Roy, Merl and Willie are exceptions.

Adonde Vas? 36x24

Yes, when it gets right down to it, I can be pretty dang funny. See picture above for proof. That's me in Chinatown, SF. with a new friend in a gift shop. Her only intelligible English word was "beautiful", which I took to mean she liked me in the Chinese cap and long braid. I was able to practise language skills heretofore never used to such an oriental extent and got on quite well with the natives. Thankfully the rest of our antics weren't recorded. We did purchase some trinkets hoping it might help mitigate any potential political unrest caused by whatever possible offensive cultural faux pas I might be guilty of. I almost bought some roosters and a peacock but thought better of it when I was reminded we still had 3 thousand miles to travel with 7 people in the car. I settled for some of the best dim sum I've ever tasted and a walk across the golden gate bridge. The painting pictured is for sale...saw a lot of scenery just like this all over central California.

Oregon Trail 24x20

The Oregon trail beckoned ever so gently but, convincingly...and I finally gave in. Save for it's depressed economy, cigarette puffing population and non self-serve gas stations Oregon and it's people are a virtual paradise of natural beauty and kind hearted folks. Yellow teeth seen easily through frequent smiles punctuate the landscape and weather extremes we didn't expect greeted us at every turn. I had to pick up the lost remnant (three of our kids were in Or.) or we probably wouldn't have had the reason that precipitated our journey. Anyway, we're all happy and none the worse for it and now that I'm back to work all I can think about is that glorious coast...and heading back up there to do some fishing with Cam. This painting is available for purchase on auction. You can see it by opening the link to the top right for "Link To Art For Sale".

Shrouded 24x20

Last Sunday was spent in Phoenix. 117 degrees greeted us with a zephyrine slap in the face and a new found appreciation for the coolness of our little gypsy camp here in the shadow of the Catalina mountains in Tucson. The monsoon rains are threatening every afternoon and tarantulas come out to greet us every evening now. The warm west wind (zephyr) reminded me of balmy climes to the south and visions of one of my past lives came reeling through the back roads of my mind as I lay on the hammock gently swinging and softly singing a tune from a foreign land...couldn't help but make this picture of a muted sun shrouded in mist, wrapped in an enigma covered by conundrums...and palm fronds and banana leafs.

Tall Order 36x24

Some people's kids learn to read at age four. Some children are walking at 8 months. Child prodigies abound in our day and accelerated growth and development is what getting ahead in life is all about. No? Well, FYI, the guys who were shaving in junior high go bald in their twenties and die of prostate cancer when they're forty. The early readers all need glasses and some sort of therapy and the Punt,Pass & Kick champions all end up in drug re-hab. I know, it sounds like a bleak scenario but if you're a late bloomer take courage. I'm convinced that those of us who have taken our time to grow up will outlive most of our contemporaries. The oldest man in the world just died at 113. I think I'll pass him by at least five years and my kids...? Well, they learned to talk at age six (before they learned to walk) ...I think they might go for a century and a half. Consider this- Most people suffer that first pang of parental-offspring separation when little Billy is five years old and is sent off to his first day of school. Mom wrings her hands as the big yellow and black box, belching diesel fumes and grinding gears roars away with it's precious cargo. I just experienced that for the first time! My kids are 14 and 16 for Pete's sake,

and here we are, a couple of basket cases wringing our hands and fretting and worrying and the kids will be away for only a couple of weeks. They've been gone just 48 hours and I've already burned up all my allotted text message privileges and cell phone minutes for the month. I think all this is indicative of the long life we are going to live. That said, I plan to make paintings like this for another 60 years or so....If all this fretting doesn't kill me first.

Golden Bow 24x36

We were surrounded on a bald mountain top, rain coming down on every side and lightening cracklin' like Jiffy Pop on a hotplate. Then the bow appeared. There were actually three of them within view and the late light on the Catalinas with the virga coming down and the rain leaking out of the clouds at specific points made for a pretty spectacular scene. For lack of a better word I refer to those patches of rain as sticks. As in "Look at that cool stick of rain coming out of that cloud". I've tried numerous (invented) terms over the years to adequately describe the phenomena and all seem to fall short. It's not a herd of rain. That doesn't work. Neither does patch or shock or pile (though I think "shock of rain" sounds pretty good)...I'm sure there is correct nomenclature for such things. As I'm sure my kids think it's officially called a "stick" of rain. (Even though Marissa, who is the college "brain" in the family, snickers every time I toss out one of my westernisms for public consumption) Anyway, the rain was literally all around us and making the clouds drip and droop in every direction...and nary a drop touched us! (We did get struck by lightening a few times but that was a small price to pay for such a view) This large summertime oil painting is offered at auction this week. See link at top right for all available work.

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 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