A Nice Walk 24x6, The Long Way 8x

The long and tall of it.  These two newly minted works were not inspired by a recent foray into the great white north.  Three short days in Minnesota saw us driving in blinding snow, slipping through sloughs of  sleet and leaning into horizontal rain.  Eddie and I made a short trip to see his grandpa and we just happened to have to stop by the home of the original Jucy Lucy hamburger.  Eddie ate two and a small mountain of fries. They serve no ice there and, fame aside, had the most remarkably unremarkable hamburgers I've had in at least a fortnight.  Well, the void was filled and at the end of the day I guess that's what matters most.  There was one dramatic photo op that I missed.  A field with a small creek and a few fine-shaped trees has been one of my favorite nondescript locations to describe in paint over the years.  I look for this field every time I'm in MN. and as we passed the area the sun broke through the western horizon just at that magical moment so as to light the little ribbon of glistening snow-melt with golden fire and splashing shards of crystal delight.  I thought maybe I should stop and even mentioned it to my compadre.  "Na, we'll come back this way tomorrow".  Tomorrow never came. Strike while the iron's hot otherwise you might not get another chance at a Jucy Lucy.

River bend 16x8, Windows In Time 8x12

Here's some more fodder for the blogosphere. I'm always changing up my approach to a painting,...  Well, within reason and my small pile of painterly knowledge.  Sometimes I paint on a thinned wash of black and burnt umber, wiping away parts of the painting that will be the negative shapes (like sky and water) and leaving the positive shapes. That's what I did here.  Other times I paint on a ground of burnt umber and let some of it poke through...kind of gives a vibrancy to the image that can be a good effect. Once in a while I will just attack a white primed canvas cold-turkey and throw caution to the wind.  I usually do that on a very large skyscape. I figure the larger and more intimidating the better. I've been toying with the idea of using some new secret techniques that will revolutionize the way I paint and the way we see the world in general. I probably won't let you know too much about it 'cause it is a secret after all and I'd have to go to lethal extremes to protect the hidden, dark arts I plan to employ. Be that as it may, stay tuned and I might just let a bit of it trickle out from time to time.  These are available for sale on eBay here.

The Good Day 6x24

It's funny how just a little change like a unique sized canvas gets me excited about painting.  I'll need to do more of these to keep the juices flowing. Speaking of unique sizes, get a load of this giant egg.  How can a little yard hen put out such a monster? I have yet to crack it open to get at the secret contents but I'm guessing it has three yolks or maybe even an egg within an egg. I know it's not made of gold, already checked that, but the kids were talking about alchemy the other day. I'm still trying to figure out how to turn canvas into gold. I think that won't be discovered til after I'm dead.  Meanwhile, here's another little beauty straight from my heart for your listening pleasure.  It is for sale along with others on the bay...here

Meadowlark Song, Through The Glass 12x12's

I've been adding to the menagerie.  Our latest acquisition is Libby. She is a chocolate colored 6 year old jenny.  She is a sweet little burro and will ostensibly guard the other stock from marauding lions and coyotes.  The chicken coop will be moved into the corral and maybe a couple of Barbados sheep too if I ever get around to it.  You see, I have my priorities and now that I'm officially converting the swimming pool into an aquarium I need to get some fishies in there a.s.a.p.  All these critters help settle my weary soul and the solace I find in watching caged animals lets me concentrate on painting.  Actually, I let the chickens (and pigeons if they weren't all killed at the paw of said marauders) loose to forage around the yard...pretty much how I treat the kids.  Hey, they're healthy and not one has ever been lost to a hawk or bobcat. These new paintings along with a slew of others are available for sale here.

Happy Spring...Snow!?!?

What's with the "travel" part in the blog title anyway? I am found most days chained to the easel in the little desert studio pining for scenes like the ones I paint. I suppose that's fitting and I did just get back from a short foray into old Mexico after all. Easter weekend saw us fighting off banditos and generally doing what we do south of the border...trying to stay out of trouble.  That isn't always easy you know. Here's the dealio on third-world travel;  People are friendly and the quaint and interesting aspects of a foreign land can be very entertaining and quite fun until...you get into trouble.  Once you get in a jam all bets are off. A minor accident ends in an amputation, a seemingly insignificant run-in with the law lands you in jail or a short gun fight flattens your tires.  This is where my imagination travels when I'm not actually in a strange land...I speak from experience!  That said, most of the time we escape with our lives and lots more pictures for the easel.  That was the case this time. However, I cannot guarantee that will be the outcome next time. Here's a link to my latest paintings for sale.

Blasted, Coming Up 12x12's

One of my Coturnix quail got out today.  They are pretty good flyers and I chalked it up to the nature of the business...'cept for one thing; I have a retriever! Both dogs accompanied  me as I walked towards the woods, gun in hand, lamenting the thought that I might just have to make an early harvest of one of my premium egg layers. As I approached the landing zone I saw a bird fly off and down the wash.  Turns out it was a Gambel's quail. I walked toward the shop berrating myself for leaving the pen door unattended for the split second it took for the flighty friend to make his escape good when  suddenly Billie (the Bernese Mountain dog) went on point. The bird was roused and flew again, Sunny the wonder Lab marked it and as it was not used to flying such distances, tired easily. Sunny retrieved it to hand with nary a scratch. Moral of the story? A well trained dog is worth a bird in the bush.
New paintings on auction available here.

Wolf, Swan, Buffalo

More critters that inhabit my perfect world. If I could paint these guys everyday I would.  My only problem is that I don't have much for small brushes, gonna have to get some.  These are available here on auction. If they get some good feedback I'll make more. Bears are coming, so stay tuned.

Out Of Africa

In a perfect world elephants and buffaloes would roam the desert where I live and, oh yeah, there'd be streams chalk-full of trout and bass (peacock bass) and also a few gazelles prancing around cavorting and frolicking with elk ...and moose too. The chickens would peck and scratch around the yard with no fear of hawks and my kids would still be cute little 6 year olds (but be able to drive and work in the shop to help dad)  Yes, in a perfect world I would wish for all this and more.
All my bio-children will be legal adults this month. Eddie and Eli turn 20 & 18 respectively. Marissa will be 24 this year and Ellie the grafted-in daughter turns 18 too.  I'm convinced that painting keeps you young but looking at old photos doesn't help the aging process at all.  I tried to find a picture of me holding a peacock bass fished out of the Amazon from a few years back,  the folder was empty. I think I'll just paint one. As I recall it weighed about 300 lbs...and I have no gray hair and weighed about 20 lbs less than what people think I weigh now.  Thank God for the perfect world I (almost) live in.
The African elephant in this painting will hang on my living room wall to remind me of that world.

The Red Cow, Hawaian Sky

The red cow is the start of a 12x12 painting. Cows are cute. I'd like to paint them all the time.  Here's the beginning of a new painting. I'm not sure how it will turn out but as I define the light source and shadows it should come together.
The chickens are starting to lay again and the birds of song are getting fired up, sure signs of spring.  It has been a long cold winter here in Tucson.  Highs are still only in the 60's and 70's. Pretty chilly I know.  I run the heater in the studio in the mornings and re-heat my tea several times before noon.  It is only then that I venture out to check on the birds and make sure the truck starts. I hear it's not good for the motor to run when it's too cold.
25 year anniversary trip to Hawaii being contemplated. We have friends there that take some pretty cool pictures...inspiring this large 24x24 skyscape.

Cute Little 12x12's

I've been making a bunch of smaller paintings lately. 12x12 inches to be precise.  They are cute, kind of like the cows pictured above. The cuteness of the cows reminds me of the dogs that frolic around me as I paint.  OK, so they don't actually frolic too much.  They lay there sleeping most of the time dreaming of food crumbs falling off the table (which they do way too often when not dreaming)  and waiting for me to grab the gun and to head out back to smote wild game...which I do on a regular basis.  Sunny is the newest member of the dog pack. She is a beautiful little black lab that came to me via a small miracle.  She is a highly trained bird dog with 5 generations of field champs in her pedigree...kind of like my other kids.
You can see these and a slew of other small paintings for sale here.

River winds, Gold Rock 12x12's

I'm off to a good start.  Day two of my new year's resolution and I'm going strong. I have to say that last night I was tempted, almost gave in and faltered a bit. But teetering on the brink of epic failure I mustered all the self-control and obduracy my little craven heart could come up with and made it through.  It's just that at the end of a long day, my feet being shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace and either Merrel hikers or Red Wing high tops, the most natural thing is to kick them suckers off in the most speedy manner possible. That usually means not bending over to untie them.  I have determined, however, to not kick my shoes off like so much discarded waste at the end of the day and to treat them with the dignity they deserve.  Truth be told, it's not so much the shoes I'm so concerned with but rather the avoidance of the tedium involved with having to untie them in the morning before I put them on again.  I hate having to do that.  So, now you see the noble and lofty goals one can set for oneself when one puts his mind to something worthwhile. And you thought I was dieting. Ha!
These paintings are available on the bay...see link below.

http://stores.ebay.com/FINE-ART-by-WILLIAM-HAWKINS

River Crossing

Treacherous River Crossing

It wasn't a raging torrent that swept me under, nor was the deep flow completely unexpected. It's just that I remembered the crossing to be a bit shallower.  Quite a bit it turns out. The week before we had crossed the rain-swelled river in a friends truck.  It was a big ol' Ford diesel, the kind that requires a small ladder to crawl into.  We chugged through the waist deep current, about 40 yards across, with nary a care. This week, I was alone and in my somewhat smaller Chevy Blazer 4x4.  I thought the water had receded since last we met and dove in where it looked like a ranch truck or two had crossed earlier.  Chugging and gulping about half way through with water coming up over the hood I realized I might be in a bit over my head (didn't have to search too hard for a metaphor here) I made the crossing with the motor coughing and sputtering and wiped my brow in temporary relief...I had to come back this way again. The second crossing was more eventful.

If I threw up a prayer or two the first time, at the new approach I was burning through the clouds with a ferocious fervency usually reserved for, well, times like this. I was even  imploring the help of angels (something I never do) and hoping for a divine stroke of  insight as to the condition of the river bed and the water depth etc.  Well, I decided to cross a little further to the right, upstream from the first attempt.  In hindsight I don't know why I just didn't use the gps /map on the smart phone to see that there was indeed another way home from the other side.  Also, I had chest waders in the truck (I was pursuing ducks that morning) and could have easily probed for the shallower crossing point.  As it was I hit the water's edge with a tight grip on the wheel, locked in the 4x4 and gently eased her into the green/brown flow hoping for the best and thinking that the worst scenario would be to stall in the very middle and deepest part of the stream.  About a third of the way through I had water coming up over the hood again and the tailpipe, fully submerged, gurgled its disapproval.  The water then was up to the windshield and flowing up to eye level. I could feel that the rig wanted to float and as I got to midstream the flagging, churning engine with its compartment fully flooded decided it had had enough.  In the dead truck all was still save for the beautiful bubbling and trickling sounds as water filled every crevice of the engine's house and started to leak in to the cab itself. As I sat, water was up to my driver's side window, about shoulder's height. My last and seemingly futile desperate cries for help to an ever-hearing (albeit invisible) God mumbled through clenched teeth were exhaled as I turned the key in foolish hope.  On the seventh try the engine sputtered to life, I threw it in gear and lugged it out of the abyss hardly able to believe my Christmas miracle.  The car chugged and coughed for the first ten miles or so and then was fine and purred like a six cylinder kitten.  When once at the ranch and in the safe confines of our little desert studio I got down on my titanium knee and gave thanks...and painted the picture above. (The top one Titled River Crossing...the others are available for purchase on eBay)

Light Rise, Serendipitious Sunfish, Oasis Pond

Christmas eve greetings to our blogfriends. Now, about Christmas cookies. I was rebuked for my backhanded comments yesterday by my daughter.  Christmas cookies ain't what they used to be and I'm gonna stick by my guns on this one. 7 dozen, moderately decorated supposed holiday delectables arrived this week.  They were the result of a cookie exchange.  I just need to say that, peanut butter, ginger snap and chocolate chip are NOT Christmas cookies.  Neither are a number of other no-account pretzel and Hershey-kiss festooned treats that glibly try to pass themselves off as bearers of holiday cheer.  As tasty as these wanna-bees might be they have no business horning their way in to the time-honored assortment of sugary seasonal victuals. Chalk it up to the high standards of my glorious Swedish and Polish ancestry or to the frigid northland kitchens where a baking oven served dual purpose but somehow and for some reason I have noticed a definite decline in quality and appearance in recent years. It might just be that the desert southwest, being the cultural hodge-podge that it is, is responsible for this watering down of the most sacred of holiday customs. I have determined, however, that I will not let this dampen my cheerfulness...just hoping someone will see the bar being raised a bit so posterity can continue to experience what this season is really about. Oh, wait a minute, it's about getting presents. I almost forgot.

Here's to almond and chocolate spritz cookies with green sugar and silver balls sprinkled tastefully about. Hope you have a wonderful Christmas.

Goldwater 14x12, Near Red Rock 12x24

Light reflections today. I've been doing a lot of commissioned works lately. These two are up for sale on the bay. Check 'em out and get into a bidding war with someone over them.  That's the only war I believe in...oh, wait, I also believe in my war against the bobcats. There are at least three of them I've seen hanging around and twice they got into my chickens...killed 5 and all my pigeons.  They are on the hit list list and I have declared war!

Cloud "A" 18x12, The Old Guard 30x24

How long will I be able to play football?  A question that everyone asks himself from time to time and one that I think, during this season of economic upheaval and gift giving, is on everyone's mind.   I, for one, intend to go on at least another 15 years...maybe 20.   As long as I can keep upping the magnification on the reading glasses, skeet shooting, writing and painting should all be fine...well into my nineties.  But the gridiron does indeed take it's toll and I'm not really sure how many more times the tailbone can take Eli (200 lb 17 yr. old) rushing in on those fourth-down desperation drop-backs. Today, the day after our annual Turkey Bowl, I am walking slowly. Tomorrow I will need to take some aspirin. By next weekend I'm sure I'll be ready for another romp on the playground. Sure it hurts, but you know, it's a good hurt. It's not too unlike the struggle you have with trying to build an oil painting.  It kicks your butt for a while but when you finally come out on top the bruises and contusions you suffered in the heat of battle make the victory all the sweeter. These paintings were savory to me on many levels.

Airplane 1945 18x24, Sundown Seaside 24x30

Another proof of my pettiness. While some people lament the overuse of techno-stuff with kids, materialism at Christmas, bickering between political factions, the high price of gasoline and movie tickets etc.  I hark back to the good old days when you could get a nice fresh apple (only in season) from your friendly neighborhood grocer and not find anything unwashable sticking to the fruit.  I hate having to peel the super-glued, magnetized, RFD chip-implanted atomic tag stuck to every Golden Delicious I want to eat.  Hey, I have a hard enough time just getting myself to consume anything not made of meat and sugar so what's with this obstacle? How am I supposed to get my 2 weekly portions of green stuff? Well, my plan is to start eating the little ID stickers and see if it don't make me sick. I think I've got a lawsuit in the making.  I'll get back to you on this one.  Meanwhile, enjoy the new paintings made for your listening pleasure.

Same Palette two Paintings

People come, seasons go
But we got something that will never grow old
And I don't care if the sun don't shine
And the rain keeps pouring down on me and mine
'Cause our kind of love never seems to get old
It's better than silver and gold
                                        -Neil Young

The good part about being ten times older and wiser and smarter than the pile of teens and twenty-somethings that inhabit my house is that I'm always right.  The downside is that my sagacity is hardly recognized by the ones that need it (and daily rely on it) most. My heretofore diurnal cycle of life has taken a turn this last year or so. For some reason I am needing less sleep prompting wakefulness way before the dawn. I rise a full two hours before the rooster even thinks about crowing (he's doing it right now just outside the study where I write). It's not insomnia, nor stress; I gave those up years ago. My guess is that the extreme narrow mindedness I have developed results in the channeling of all my energies to an acute and finely sharpened point of intellectual astuteness and efficient productivity, thus negating the need for much sleep. Sound reasonable? Or maybe it's just that for some reason I can't see the clock on the dresser anymore.  Or maybe it has to do with going to bed and 8:30 pm. Either way, like I've told the kids a million times..."There's nothing wrong with being narrow minded when you're right".  I painted both of these with the same tube colors.  I use a fairly limited palette of just about 5-7  colors. No sense in muddying things up with too many options. Hope you like these latest offerings.

Three New Paintings

Osa Johnson wrote a book called I Married Adventure.  She and her husband Martin were the first to document with film aboriginal peoples and wildlife in Africa and the tropical islands of Malaysia (in the 1920's).  It was recommended to me by a well meaning fellow who, by force of zeal, was submitted to my eloquent and compelling description of the writings of America's most adventurous and noble president Teddy Roosevelt. The flumsy (clumsy and fumbling) anecdotes that comprise the "adventures" of this couple serve only to throw in stark relief the contrast between the real deal and the fake. It's not always easy to detect the fake but when you come upon the real everything else fades to the background (where it belongs).   Had my book recommender friend ever read Mr. Roosevelt he would have clapped a hand over his mouth before a word ever escaped his gaping verb-hole and simply nodded for me to carry on while secretly shaming himself for even thinking his little novel should be mentioned in the company and light of the true standard-bearer of adventure.   I did, however, listen to his word-in-edgewise and even abased myself to read his book thus, the knowledge I gained to share this with you.
There are a few areas where I think this applies. Politics of course and probably because almost all  politicians seem to equivocate (ignoble trait) when it's convenient; very hard to tell if they're fake.  Art is another area where, if you have access to the real good stuff everything else appears to be student-grade. Honestly, most of us "painters" never develop the eye of the real artist (I include myself here) but, at the very least we can have as our standard the very best.

The evangelical fervor I employ to propound the excellencies of the writing and the downright manliness of Theodore Roosevelt and his tempered (some would say skewed) world-view must come in second however, to the fierceness of the burning heart that is experienced by knowing the Lord Jesus. When once His standard is raised in the heart of any person all religiousness fades to the background in the light of His unequaled glory...One of my favorite words.

Crimson Cows, A Red Land 24x18's

Just to clarify regarding my last post.  Yes, I know, my little litany of slight sufferings is a pathetic way to garner sympathy. I did, however, preface it by begging the indulgence "this one last time". So, I thought I'd throw it all out there to impress myself. Well, I'm not impressed (though you gotta admit those pics of  busted bones send "Obama tingles" down your [left] leg) especially since I know we all have had our own physical trials.  Our brains are good at stuffing away memories of grief and pain and if not for that grace from God I think we'd all be in a mental jam. Percocet and Vicodin aside, the third best therapy I have found for restoring your mental equipoise is to break out oil paints and slather them liberally all over a canvas.  That's what I did here. With all the painting therapy I do you must wonder what kind of pain I continually find myself in. And, you must wonder what are the top two remedies I refer to. Read Psalm 119 out loud to yourself and you will see.  To turbo-charge the effect, do it while painting a masterpiece...or something of the sort.

Water's Edge 12x16 Tib,fib, ankle break

I know I've already milked this for all its worth but indulge me this one last time. One year ago today I suffered an injury that rivaled all my previous physical travails.  That includes, hepatitis, malaria, pneumonia, one root canal, amoebic dysentery, 7 other broken bones, concussions (2), stitches, hundreds of bee/wasp stings, scorpion stings and the birth of my children. (vicariously obviously...hey, I did cut an umbilical chord on one occasion and had to stand by and watch them resuscitate one non-breathing kid)  Anyway, I'm very glad to be able to say along with one of the men I most admire in all this life (and the next) that the sufferings of this life are not worthy to be compared to the glory that will be revealed.

Moon Water 24x12

Blood splattered all over the shop. It should have tipped me off that something was amiss.  Well, I thought, as long as no one came running in to wake me from my sweet and happy dreamworld it couldn't have been that bad.  Later, in the shop, I saw a whole fingernail...not attatched to a finger! Eli grows them out real long for guitar playing.  I guess they're not that effective at staying clear of the belt sander.  So the studio floor as well as the stairwell sport a new and colorful motif and there are strips of gauze and band aid wrappers strewn all over the house.  They make (the kids) such a big deal out of a little blood loss.  Back in my day we didn't go to the doctor's unless our legs were broke in half by a rampaging atv.  Speaking of that, next week is the one year anniversary of the left-leg titanium implant.  The new leg works great for painting.  It's real easy to chain to the easel and there I stand most days building masterpieces while casting pitiful glances out the window at all the other children who are able to run and free to play.  Such is the life I lead. I only thank God for odorless mineral spirits...helps keep me sane and... keeps the ghosts (of ducks) away.

Puffer Fish 36x24, Solitary 24x24, The Wind & The Lion 12x24

One of the great benefits of 3am rising is that I get a chance to listen to Coast To Coast AM with George Noory while driving the duck truck. This early bird habit is brought on by the autumnal urge to be knee deep in swamp water to watch the sunrise and listen to mallard chatter. So the other morning the guest was a parapsychologist who also happened to be a professional chocolatier and excelled in a number of other completely unrelated and equally wackadoodle pursuits. Well, to quote my uncle Bob Dylan, "You ever seen a ghost? No, but you have heard of them"  After reciting a long list of pseudo accomplishments the ghost whisperer, who takes himself way too serious, offered to mentor would-be ghost chasers. I say if you don't want to stay up all night listening to the radio but still would like to experience some first-hand conjuring... just watch what I can do with a duck call and some oil paint.  These paintings were all made with a lanyard of calls around my neck and 7 ducks (Black East Indies) just outside the studio door. Ghosts can fly but they can't quack.