Magic Trees 15x24, Trees Near The Park 24x15 Uncle Bob, Uncle Phil

I have a fairly famous uncle. We are somewhat estranged being that he is who he is and I, well, let's just say that I'm the one who does the staying in touch. He won a grammy award in '97 for best album of the year and a whole bunch of people piled on the BD bandwagon then. All through the late 70's and 80's and even in the 90's nobody cared a whit for my dear old uncle Bob. And there we were, the faithful few pulling for him, praying for him and keeping his memory alive. Now every young pop tart that comes along lays claim to some sort of association with him. These are the neo "musicians" who have never played their harps till their lips bled, never made a harmonica holder out of a coat hanger and definitely never played their music out in a cold field in October in northern Minnesota with frozen fingers...in exchange for beer.
I have another uncle (unbeknownst to him) who lives in rural Louisiana. He is the Duck Commander, his name is Phil and he espouses and aptly expresses (albeit with a Cajun flavor) all I hold dear in this life. A & E cable channel is making a spectacle of my uncle Phil and all kinds of Johnny-come-lately dudes who have never even blown a duck call, let alone made one are gonna be rushing in to get in on the action and, consequently, make it difficult for him to invite me out to the duck blind. So it is with fame. I heard my name over the loudspeaker at the Children's Rehab clinic the other day (one of the kids) I got to thinking that this might just be my fifteen seconds of fame. For what it's worth, I have done the above with both duck calls and harmonicas and it has got me just about nowhere. However, I have a standing offer to trade a painting for a mouth harp or a duck call from Bob or Phil. Until I hear from them and get called out on tour I will be found in my little desert studio painting pretty pictures of fantabulous places both real and imagined.

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!