Cloudshine 30x24

I'd apologize for my tardiness but I somehow don't think anyone is waiting with baited breath to read my updates and...if there is, well, I think I could recommend a few things that could keep him/her from the devil's workshop, viz., idleness which leads to excessive blog reading. I have been fully engaged in the battle beyond the border fighting the forces of the dark side trying to get this adoption finished ...and that without a light saber. I have had all I can handle to keep the inspiration flowing (not to mention the paint), the kids in check and all the while spending more pesos than a shipload of tequila-fueled sailors at Rosa's Cantina on the sea of Cortez. So, I have maintained sanity and am happy to report that our new daughter is fully adopted (we have yet to get permission to cross the border with her) and is as happy as a little Mexican clam. One of my own activities, designed to keep me out of the above-mentioned workshop, has been to read Robinson Crusoe during my travels and while waiting interminable hours between appointments with lawyers and judges. (If they were to make a movie of my life Scott thinks that Chevvy Chase should play me during this part...he must think this all sounds pretty funny)I have to say that the theology expressed by Daniel Defoe (author) is as profound and stirring and as completely encouraging and intellectually satisfying as any of the Puritan writers my beady little eyes have ever had the privilege to read. If you have yet to dive deep into well-thought notions of the sovereignty of Providence and the pleasurable answers to questions of the first order provided in the gospel accounts, I highly recommend this book. Originally considered a children's novel this is good and fun reading and quite wholesome for the brain. FYI, if the word "puritan" turns you off in regard to religion than I suggest you do like Elvis did and toss your TV out the window and ...read a bit of history. Some of the best minds and most self-sacrificing examples of noble-hearted men and women who ever lived and who are credited with some of the most significant inventions, writings and achievements ever were Puritans. Anyway, I'm no puritan but do appreciate the well thought -out philosophy that seems to always accompany their work. This painting is a real beauty. Inspired my my recent tropical voyages and awe inspiring clouds that populate the summer sky. It has some thick paint and is another that has a bit of that Maxfield Parrish look to it. Offered here on auction.

Coming Through The Gap 24x36

I walked through a black widow's web the other day. Several heavy strands stretched across my face as I went unwittingly head-first into and then through the diabolical trap. I wiped and whipped the imagined venomous creature with the hour glass tattoo from my hair and shirt and neck and inside my shirt and, well, you've got the picture. Basically I invented a new dance step that I'm sure would have earned a great score had one of the "stars" done it. How did I know it was a black widow you ask? Well, to anyone worth their salt it's a small thing to know the difference between an orb weaver's web and that of your run-of-the-mill house spider. They are thick like mono filament fishing line, say about 4lb test. When you feel a web that doesn't give as you reach down to pick something up in that deep dark damp corner of the basement (we have no basements in the southwest) you know that you're close to an encounter with a woman who kills her spouse and sucks his guts out. One of the fringe benefits that comes with the beautiful summer monsoons is the proliferation of all creatures great and small. This cool new painting is the direct result of my black widow rendezvous and the thunder storms that have Davey (the black dog) hiding under anything that will cover him. It is being offered on auction here....it's available for 10 days so get it while it's hot.

A Quiet Place 24x30

Listening to a radio show this morning as I paint....Talking about the border problem etc. No one (local callers) seems to have a very broad / historical take on oppression verses freedom. Opinions abound as to how and why and who they should let cross the border. One of the presidential candidates (not the one who owns a Hawkins original oil painting) stated during a 4th of July rally that America is great 'cause of it's people...the great diversity. I believe he couldn't be more wrong. America is diverse because America is FREE. America has been great... because of the unique freedom we experience....really unlike any other country in just about any time in history. (I have both time-traveled and lived abroad) This is the only place where the poor or minority or foreign born can become a doctor or teacher or a governator or whatever...quite unique I think and yet...the greatness is deteriorating precisely because of it's embracing and focusing on "diversity" rather than empowering people through the freedom found here. America lets more people enter the country (legally) than the sum of all other countries combined. (I just heard this stat not long ago) Yet it seems we continue to undermine the very things that make this a desirable place to be, eg., the Tucson Sidewinders triple A ball club is leaving the state, the Minnesota North Stars hockey team was sold to Texas, and the Vikings are trying to recruit by subterfuge ex-enemy Bret Favre. Seems one of the only saving factors is that Bob Dylan still tours incessantly and so, there is hope. If he's coming to your town you better try to catch him. He's 67 years old and still has some teeth left....and his voice is as beautiful as ever. There you have it. My answer to all the worlds problems. Thanks Bob.

Muskrat Love 24x18

I'm reflecting on youth and a few things that go with it. One of them is the absence of sense that comes from experience....and that's no nonsense. (a nice little rhyme eh?) My kids are reading a book written by teens 4 teens. The premise is that the youth of today aren't challenged enough, the expectations that society puts on them are just too low. The book promotes a Rebelution (combine revolution and rebellion) to change the world for the better. There's a lot of good stuff in there and some of it is very thoughtful to be sure. But, the idea that the teens of today are gonna do anything other than grow up is little more than the typical idealism that smites the heart of many a folk before they have their own kids to raise....and they realize just how un-smart they really are. Well, I won't rain on their parade...life does that enough for all of us and in spite of the thunder and getting a bit wet I am all for aiming high...and standing out in the weather. As I look back on the ventures of faith I've been on I am glad no one was there to put the cabash on them. Maybe it would've saved me some heartbreak but how would I know how good a mended heart feels if I hadn't experienced a broken one a time or two? Here's a nice little picture that will serve only as a healing balm and salubrious salve...for your broken heart.

Don't Hassle Me Man

I just couldn't wait to post this picture. It has a companion sign that says END HASSLE FREE VEHICLE ZONE with a slash across the picture! The last time I passed it my camera froze up right as I was about to take the shot. Lastima! We were about 300 miles south of the US / Mexico border traveling in the "hassle free zone" without a care in the world. We motored down the highway, wind in our hair as we threw unfinished food and aluminum cans out the window with impunity and zero qualms of conscience. With only 79 clics to go before the hassles started I wanted to pull over and get a picture of the last sign. As soon as you leave the special buffered protection of the zone all bets are off. You don't know what's gonna happen after that. I never know whether to breathe a sigh of relief upon entering the zone or to expect more hassles as I leave it. I have been stopped in Mexico at least a dozen times for traffic violations...both on the highway and in small towns. Also, I've been stopped in the hassle free zone and been threatened with the loss of my car, my license plates and my driver's license. Lucky for me I know some of the local jargon and it seems that I am somehow always related, one way or another, to the cops that pull me over. I think only one time did I ever pay a fine. It was for $5...after which the officer apologized for lying about the other "infractions" he had tried to lay to my credit (and after recognizing that it was just my Nordic features that hid the fact that I could understand him and that gave him a momentary lapse in judgement). I gave him a ride home as his shift was ending right after my illegal U turn. So it is that us intrepid world travelers must never take for granted the always wary and ever vigilant keepers of the law. I'm convinced that the Wal-Mart greeters were at one time Costco receipt guards in the prime of their youth and that Mexican traffic cops where...well, very friendly once you got to know them.

Grandview II 30x40

A new scene is pictured in another big ol' painting. I do like to paint big...used to be something I was intimidated by but a large palette and big blobs of paint help to take the edge off the fear factor. There is a lot of paint on this bad boy too. The golden/rose sky is pretty cool and this, in spite of a slow season for eBay, is being offered at auction right here. This particular painting will look especially good in one of our wide profile black frames. (keep that in mind if you bid)Does it bum me out a bit when I sell a large painting at a low price on auction? Well, yes and no. Most of the time a lower priced auction ends up going to a repeat customer...that warms the cockles of my heart. Sometimes it will be a new collector but they are almost always very appreciative if not altogether savvy about art and what they got. Once in a while someone will think that the gallery and retail prices I mention on the sale page in describing the value of the work is just a bunch of hot comedy. There is an awful lot of that out there so I can hardly blame anyone for doubting the stated value... but it does hurt. I'd almost rather not sell at all...just enshrine my little babies in a secure vault and let my progeny sort out the estate after I'm gone. Or,... I could just burn them in effigy.

I guess, after all is said and done, I want them (the paintings) to be happy in their new homes scattered hither and yon throughout the American countryside adorning the otherwise bland and barren walls. Well, if FDR promised a chicken in every pot the least I can do is hope for a painting in every room (they don't all have to be mine)

At The Closing 18x24

A great picture of a Midwest field. This was made with lots of paint and lots of expressive strokes...actually, not really a lot at all. I was very conservative and deliberate in my painting of this cool tonalistic (sort of) scene. It has a real cool vibe to it. Will make for a great wall hanging. Speaking of cool, below is a little known true story of one of my many brushes with fame.

I was a budding rock star at 18, or so I thought. Already the classic rock of the early 70’s and 60’s was considered retro but we had made it ours. I was convinced that the Beatles and Dylan and Clapton et al. would be nothing more than footnotes when the last pages of rock-n-roll history were written. We would be one of the main chapters. So it was that on a windy and rainy Minnesota evening my band mates and I rolled into an Edina neighborhood. We had a gig at a private party…mostly older folks, 20-30 somethings. We played a lot of mellow stuff, two sets worth of Johnny Cash,Willie Nelson and Neil Young, in a dimly lit basement next to a Naugahyde bar. There were mixed drinks and maybe other substances floating around for consumption. Intent on the music as I was, I don’t remember many of the sordid details but what does stand out as a memory was the invitation we received. They said there was this cool guy who had his own studio and was a great musician. He was asking us to come over to his house and jam with him. Having learned my harmonica chops by listening to the likes of Sonny Boy Williamson and Sonny Terry & Brownie Magee I asked if he was a blues man. When they said he played funk and disco I declined. They said his name was Prince…or that’s what everybody called him. I thought the whole scene sounded pretty square and let my friends go over and hang out with “Prince” for the night. I stayed and played a solo acoustic set …on my way to super stardom.

The Mississippi Floods When She's Had Enough

It allergy season here in the desert, has been for a couple of months. The swollen river I just painted reminds me of my swollen left eye, which in turn reminds me of the itching and sneezing and all around irritation I feel all because of a few micro-grains of pollen floating aimlessly in the air. Actually, they do have an aim and I'm sure it's straight for my eyes and throat and lungs. So, as a sort of resignation the following poem is what I come up with. I know, I ain't no poet but I do crank out little ditties like this from time to time without having much control over it. Kind of like automatic writing. Try to guess what it's about before you reach the end.

twitching, tingling, taunting tempting
unseen forces unrelenting
always near yet never reaching
to a sudden stop come screeching
twisting, tickling now you feel it
waiting for something to heal it
running, dripping, squeezing, leaching
unseen juices whisper wheezing
desperate hope relief and pleasure
face contorts as distant treasure
lures & haunts & tricks & teases
unfulfilled ...aborted sneezes

April The Angel

I spent the night in a hotel in a town known for it's dust and heat. Not a mile from this place and about ten years distant the following occured. The summer swelter and familar surroundings brought up the memory and somehow this melancholy, tonalist painting helped seal the muse.

April came to us a wandering waif blown in by the winds of fate and providence. I think that might be a contradiction of terms but the imagery is flowery so in this case, appropriate. She was a beautiful girl with a beautiful smile and a big black dog for a traveling companion. She had lost her left leg below the knee…cut off by the wheels of a rolling boxcar while trying to hop a train going west. Turns out the accident happened in the same rail yards where I first climbed aboard a moving locomotive with no ticket,… albeit many years apart and now, thousands of miles away. Paulo told me about her. Said there was a girl, a gringa, who was hitching a ride on the outskirts of our little town in the middle of nowhere, Mexico. He had bought her a couple of tacos and tried all the English he knew on her. She in turn, used all the little Spanish she knew to tell him she was hungry and might need a place to stay. So we set out to look for her as the hot summer sun was setting over the coastal plain of southern Sonora.
April’s beautiful name gave way to the beautiful person within. Her story was anything but beautiful and her scarred body which was almost completely covered with tattoos, including her face, tried very hard to hide the secret within. She was an angel in disguise who stayed with us for four days. Carmen and the kids loved her. We hated to see her leave. Hopping trains with hobos and their kind, she had traveled all around the states in an unsettled life of broken hearts and bodies…told us she had lost many friends to heroin, aids, others just disappeared. This was her last “journey”. To hitch-hike the whole country of Mexico and maybe, finally settle down. Nothing about her exterior spoke of the person we came to know in that short time. April the angel sent from above, maybe to show us that books can’t be known by their covers… or just to remind us of the Infinite Love of the Man of sorrows who was acquainted with grief. A shout out to April and a good thought sent her way. I dedicate this picture to her wherever she roams…Available here on auction.

Puff The Magic Dragon Breathed Out His Last

This painting is large and luminous, 30x24 inches...and has a great name. (see above) I am in a clandestine location 500 miles south of the US/Mexico border as I write this and the summer monsoons are already brewing down here... thus, the inspiration for this cool and ominous sky. I spent the morning with some of my wife's family. We had goat stew (birria) over at aunt Esther's. Uncle Miguel, who looks to be old enough to know, told me stories of back in the old days when gypsies would come through and heal people by rubbing them down...kind of a cross between a witch doctor and a chiropractor. Secret incantations and a lot of rubbing and pulling on limbs and joints seemed to cure you of whatever ailed you. The two stories that took the longest to tell were of the hunch-back that was cured and the healing of small girl who couldn't walk. They say that there aren't any as good as there used to be. On our way down here we stopped at a hospital where another dear old uncle is interred. He is in the ICU / emergency ward with about 20-30 other patients and bright fluorescent lights that are on 24-7 and several manual typewriters pecking out doctor's orders at all hours of the day. It was a scene as chaotic as a world war II army hospital replete with armed guards that escorted us in to see him for 3 minutes and ushered us out when our time was up. He has advanced cancer. We're hoping they let him go home today to be with his family since there is nothing they can do for him there. This man has been very good to me...known him for over 20 years. I think it was the last time I'll get see him. A fond and sad goodbye to tio Castulo. May you have a great reward in the afterlife! It's fitting that our girl Trinity will have a new name this week along with a new birth certificate that names her new parents. Pretty cool stuff for a little 12 year old who has dreamed of having a family for a long time and, if we indeed get the papers, (we've been week to week with this for a while) it brings our year-plus long odyssey almost to a close. Tonight we take the kids to a movie to see Indiana Jones use his best archeological Spanish. I'll leave a review here later.

Cloud Mesa Arrive In Time

Mesas are overshadowed by the big thunderhead...That's how I often feel...I won't say who I think the thunderheads represent but they make a big show ...and leave little rain. And us rocky crags, though not altogether beautiful, make up the firm foundation for the rest of the critters to crawl around on. The following story is as true as the day is long. The Mississippi is the water referred to. Billy and JK were the witnesses,...as faithful and trustworthy as the rocky crags mentioned above. To buy this great little slice of Americana click here.

The Treble Hook
A big ,slow moving river, twilight, some worms and lots of mosquitoes were all the ingredients needed to fire a million synapses in the fertile fields of imagination that populated our adolescent brains. There were monsters in that water. We knew it like Texas ranch hands know that Chupacabras roam the western night. There were two or three places where we spied, on occasion, inexplicably large and long predatory underwater creatures. They made giant waves and left a wake as big as any bass boat. These were the kind of things that made tabloid headlines and, if we could catch one, would make us famous. I tied a fist-sized treble hook to a weathered dead-head that had impaled itself on the up-river side of a deep hole. A good three feet of it stuck up in the air almost vertical from the little island and made a secure anchor for the steel cable “fishing line“. I can’t remember where we got the steak meat. I think John kyped it from his (mom’s) refrigerator. We threaded a nice fresh cut of beef on those three hooks, probably ½ lb’s worth, chucked it out in the hole and swam back across the river channel before the last light left us too close to the lurking lunker at feeding time. Early the next morning we found the bait gone, one hook completely straightened and one hook broke off. Many times I tried to touch the bottom of that deep pool and never succeeded. It had to be at least 20 feet deep or…maybe 100.

California Oak Studded Hills Call 2 Me & U

I've had a number of non-spiritual epiphanies in my life...one or two of which have been real genuine life-changers. Maybe not on par with the spiritual ones but real and lasting nonetheless. When I was 17, just before the spirit of Bob Dylan entered me, I had a life altering revelation that came in the form of a simple sentence. The little phrase formed itself in my mind like this. It would be a terrible waste if I lived my life without learning to play a musical instrument. That's all. I had no particular predilection to music nor showed any special aptitude. I could sing on pitch but there was nothing really in my background that belied hidden talent or "gifting". (other than the foggy memory of myself at 5 years old in 1967 and my little neighbor Greg sitting on our front porch trying to write a song "just like the Beatles"!) I started to seek out and learn to play music right then and there...figured I had my whole life ahead to do it and it was worthwhile. Not long afterward I had almost the same experience with the same sentence with just a slight twist. Instead of music I interchanged the word language. As in, a foreign language. Today I can play many instruments in many strange dialects...just goes to show when one puts ones mind to something. Now, if I could claim something similar about art and painting... Anyway, I highly recommend the epiphanal experience... both spiritual and non. The above picture has some deep and hidden esoteric message that when revealed gives great insight into the psyche of the artist buried within all of us...I'm sure! It's being offered on auction right here.

Painting In A Day In The Life Of A Raconteur & Artistical Expeditionary

I finally got around to uploading this latest video...Thanks for your patience. I get requests from time to time to add new videos of my patented speed painting technique. No caffeine laced beverages are consumed in the making of these... but you might be interested to know that I do swallow copious amounts of vitamin B-12 and drink green tea every morning. FYI. Anyway, they are kind of fun aren't they? (videos) Especially the ones where things catch fire and unexpectedly explode or a large snake coughs up a baby hippo. (yes, there is one out there) Speaking of snakes, I have a few memoiresque stories that I will be adding to the blawg soon so stay tuned. They are not for the faint of heart either so be forewarned. If indeed you find your heart in a faint here's a beautiful little remedy. Let your eyes look longingly and lovingly on these words that Jesus said, ..."In the world you will have tribulation, but be of good courage, I have overcome the world." "Let not your heart be troubled...I go to prepare a place 4 U,...so that you may be with me where I am"

From Russia with love

Курс по изобразительному искусству
Санкт-Петербург 2008
Art Course for 2008
in St. Petersburg

I've been slackin'...should've posted this a long time ago. Actually, I've been waiting on this interminable adoption. For the last 13 months we have been dedicating every spare ounce of energy (not to mention blood, sweat, tears, fastings and prayers) to get our little girl Trinity Elizabeth home with us from Mexico. We seem to be very close but the timing has coincided with the Art Academy in St. Petersburg, Russia...Still hoping to make it. They are counting on me for a week of workshops, have already processed my "invitation" and now need my passport. Well, guess what? I need it too. Check out the link. This is a prestigious honor and a very cool opportunity...hoping to have plenty of blog fodder when I get back. Please pray to the One above for us...and Trinity. I will do the same 4 U if you ask.

The Other Shore 24x30 Impressionist Oil Painting

Another coastal scene for your culinary enjoyment! I really dig these pictures...more than that, I dig these places. The only drawback is that they serve to remind me of the big trade-off we've made living here in the desert. Great mountains, great biking, great hiking and year-round cookouts yet,...no water! I think, had I played my cards right, I could have been the Mississippi river version of Jacques Cousteau. I don't know how the underwater filmography would have turned out with all that murky runoff but you can bet your sweet Calypso I would have been at the fore of all kinds of freshwater adventure documentaries. Just think, John Denver would have written a song about me, no, wait, we'd get Muddy Waters to do that... I would have my own research vessel made of cottonwood logs lashed together and I would have invented the aqua, uh, I mean the mud-lung. Well, no sense in dreaming about what might've been. Better to be content sucking in the dry air and counting the sunny days. (We've had over 300 so far this year and it's only June!)

Oregon Coast Pines 24x36

This painting has sold

I will have this cool Oregon Coast painting available in the studio (and maybe my eBay store) for $2400... OBO. Speaking of OBO...I'm reminded of the cars I've owned and the ones I've tried to get rid of. There is one in particular that is lodged in my memory banks...So much so I think the following story will make it into a forthcoming book (that might never get written...Don't hold your breath) in an unabridged version.

We lived on a dirt road way back when. There were lots of single-wide trailers and abandoned shopping carts and there was a lot of wildcat dumping that went on in the area. A shady character and one-time acquaintance of my neighbor Doyle, left an old broken-down Cadillac parked in front of our property. The sheriff's dept. wouldn't tow it 'cause the street was an easement (private property). The private tow companies wouldn't take it either 'cause it (the car) was private property & we didn't have the title. I caught Doyle breaking the windows one day and said "Hey Doyle, why don't we try your keys to open this Caddy and see if we can't start 'er up?" I thought that at the least we could push it down the road a ways and donate it to a friendly curb somewhere. He owned an El Dorado with a peeling vinyl roof and faded burgundy paint...not too different from the one we were about to jack. Lo and behold, his keys fit the ignition and the familiar sound of a busted rod and heavy streams of oil pouring out the bottom of the engine meant only one thing; We would have to drive this car that very night to the local police station and leave it in their front lot so they could get to the bottom of this crime. I drove the getaway car...accompanying the perp-mobile so as to give Doyle a ride back to the safe haven of his trailer. You could hear the clanking, thumping noise of an engine-gone-bad three blocks away. Streaming oil and smoke and leaving a carbon footprint large enough to track by satellite, we made the delivery at 9:25 pm. It's such a cathartic thing to clear one's conscience and having done our part to help the neighborhood in this way, albeit seemingly insignificant, makes one proud to be an American. I highly recommend it.

Clouds Amass Over The Unwitting Hills of Alamos 20x24

Another bit of reminiscing today. Just over the hill from the place pictured I have witnessed things that should never be mentioned in mixed company. The clouds were my real muse in this scene. They were witnesses too but are normally silent on the matter anyway. I have been pouring over my Edgar Payne books of late for inspiration and came upon a recent photo that lent itself to painting the dramatic skies of the desert southwest. The skies have been cooperative lately too in lending their hand to help inspire the artist hiding deep within. I am the proverbial onion with all the layers...heaps and heaps of them. Sometimes we get right down to the real artist in me. Most of the time I stop at the painter and let well enough alone. I made a video of this too. I'll try to get it up soon...am thinking about writing / recording a new tune to go with it so it might take a little while. Don't forget to subscribe to the blawg...That way you won't miss nothin' new. This cool mountain / cloud landscape is being offered on auction right here.

California Coast Vagabond

Is this is why people like us go to visit California? This a young guy on Venice Beach...with nothing better to do. I could think of about, say, 7 million or so right off the top of my head.

I went to fill my gas tank not far from there. There was graffiti everywhere. They held my debit card as I pumped the gas, said it was so I wouldn't run off. It was then that I realised I wasn't in Kansas anymore. We saw some very cool art... Edgar Payne, William Wendt...a bunch of the early Calif. plein air masters...my favorites. I also got to hold and caress a very unique candle holder once owned by mine and Edgar's favorite singer. Bob, when you read this ring me up. I know where your candle sticks from LA are.

The Rose Colored Glass (Corona) 30x40

This is how I prefer to see the world...through rose colored glasses! Well, who wouldn't if it always looked like this? This great big ol' monster is full of great color...lots of saturation and very expressively painted with thick paint. I am in California as I write this. We just got off Venice beach, got some good skating in (I'll upload the pics later) and bought a trinket or 2. One young, scraggly pan-handler held up a sign that said "Why lie? I need $ for weed." In small print it said to give a "tip" if you wanted to take his picture. Well, I took the little beggar's picture and for a tip...I told him to get a job and work hard! My dear little wife said in her best foreign accent and kind voice..."There sure are a lot of vagabonds here. I think I would like this place better if there weren't so many". Well, now she knows what Venice, Ca. is all about. The kids thought the weather, surf and skating were real fine. This picture is being auctioned here.

Still Life Dead Plant

I really like this little picture. I set this up in the studio with a few different arrangements. The one without flowers won my vote so I painted it pretty fast, before the mood changed or the leaves wilted. I do paint stuff like this once in a while...used to a lot more. Always a good practice to keep your eye honest and your hand coordinated with that honest eye. The plant is a spider wort...also known as Wandering Jew. We had one growing in a large pot in the living room back in the days of the sonic boom and black & white TV. It was at least 30 feet long. My mother had it draped over a large picture window and down and around the curtains. We would pin Christmas cards to the drapes every year, tons of 'em. The plant and the cards would vie for space and made for a pretty nice little piece of decor. In the past 5 years combined I don't think I've received as many Christmas cards as our family used to every year. Either I'm not worthy of such good and loyal friends like my folks had or not too many people know my address or ...times have changed. Well, here's a little heads-up. You've got 7 months to prepare to send me a card.

Big Sky 11x14 impressionist oil on canvas

A little change of pace here as I reminisce about my forty years wandering in the wilderness...uh, er, I mean our 6 beautiful years in Montana. Yes, apart from all the natural glory that is the mountainous west, Montana was an interesting (trying) sojourn for my little family. It was there, however, I began to paint landscapes and got to know some really good artists not the least of which is my friend Mike Mahoney ...who just sent me some photos of late winter snows.(from which I made this painting) I didn't ask him but I think these are the Crazy Mountains. Do you remember when the movie Jeremiah Johnson came out? Man, I thought that was the coolest flick since Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid. Anyway, the crazy lady in the show? The mountains were named after her. Something about watching her family get scalped made her go mad. I guess I would've too...In every sense. My new palette has been real fun and every painting is a bit of an adventure with these new colors. This painting is being offered for sale here and I'm sure it will go at a price that will cause people to shake their heads in wide-eyed wonder in future years. So, check it out and let me know if you ever wished you could've been Jeremiah.

Backlit 36x24

A large cloud looms on the horizon. Again, pushing some new colors and the romantic fragrance of a good sounding storm. The piece is being offered on auction here. Let me know if you've ever been caught up in a funnel cloud or something like that and I'll publish it here. No lies or exaggerations please...I reserve the right to do that on my own blawg!

Alamos River Impressionist Landscape Art

I just completed another harrowing all-night bus ride from Navojoa, Sonora, Mexico. Three checkpoints in the middle of the night. Three 45 minute stops being boarded by armed police and soldiers. We were searched and made to leave our comfortable reclining seats, personal travel pillows and ...not one of us was carrying any kind of contraband (that was discovered) After we crossed the US border on foot we caught a 2 hour shuttle van to Tucson. On the way we were stopped by Americas finest border patrol agents. All my dark-haired traveling companions scrambled for their visas and crossing permits as the green & white SUV (the migra) pulled us over on north-bound I-19. When the tall blond patrolman came to me and was confronted by my cold stare, empty hands, inactivity and nonplussed expression he recoiled. I blandly asked him what he wanted. Somewhat complying I told him that I was a @#% American and made no move to show any ID. My cool Midwest accent and even cooler demeanor convinced him and we were on our way. A great time was had near Alamos, near where this painting was made. A fine reunion with old friends capped off a week of clandestine activities that included smuggling a 15 passenger van into southern Sonora with no permit and watching the new Narnia movie at a theater with one of my kids and some amigos. Scott Holmberg says that C.S. Lewis would turn over in his grave if he saw what they did with his stories. I say he'd roll over twice if he saw them in Spanish! Now, I've seen a bunch of movies in Spanish and it's usually no big deal. In our family we like to see how good or close they make the voices to the original and some of them are quite good. But centaurs and British kids walking through mystical wardrobes sounding like they just crossed the Rio Grande?

La Argentina

This piece is titled La Argentina. The word means silvery...or connotes something of silver etc. It's the view from a ranch of the same name I've spent a lot of time on over the years, harvesting wild honey (dozens of stings from Africanized bees), wrangling horses, working cattle, catching Gila monsters and...teaching grade school. This will be offered on auction for the next 10 days...here.

Brasilia

The following is an excerpt from my upcoming book. It's a chronicling of adventure tales with lots of references to fire, explosions, gun play and just plain dangerous stuff. In fact, I had been contemplating getting my youngest boy a copy of The Dangerous Book For Boys but after a bit of a look-through I realized it was just too tame. So, I've decided to make my own. I'll have a blog up soon with bits and pieces and photos to verify everything from the non-existence of Bigfoot to the capture and skinning of a salt-water croc.

The Amazon
Brazilians speak a very bad form of Spanish mixed with unintelligible French sounds and some Japanese mixed in for good measure. I thinks it's called Portuguese. The southern cross was visible from the half- submerged barge that jutted out into deep water somewhere in the labyrinthine jungle/river maze that is the Amazon. We had crossed several rivers to get to this place, the home of giant catfish weighing up to 600lbs! There are two river types in the Amazon basin. The black rivers whose waters are like dark tea, clear enough to see the piranhas strike and devour an 8 inch eel 2 to 3 feet down. The other are the brown water courses that are light tan (my favorite color) and completely murky, almost opaque. We were on the former. The night was still and dark and fresh stories of jaguars, anacondas, crocodiles and 6 foot fish were swimming around in my head. The thing is, I'd love to wrestle one of these critters and live to tell about it. Just not at night. I mean I would tell about it at night but would prefer not to go through it in the dark. I just think the "living to tell about it" would be negated by the "It happened at night" part of the story. Plus, it had been a while since I had seen Marlin Perkins and his helper Jim subdue a 20ft. Python so my technique probably wasn't up to snuff. My companions headed back to camp with all the lanterns and I thought well enough of them for it. I wanted to enjoy this spectacular view of the heavens I had never experienced. Wow, what a maddening display of glory in that swath of multitudinous majesty that all the starry host puts together. Is it still called the milky way in the southern hemisphere? Anyway, I had a half mile walk through tall-canopy rain forest along a small track, my only light, a few faint fireflies. (good name for a rock band) Easy enough for someone of my health armed with assorted pocket tools and knives since birth, ...though my night vision has waned a bit in recent years. As soon as I stepped off the barge and lost sight of the southern cross everything was black. The jungle air that smelled of river water and a moment earlier had comforted me with it's warm, decaying matter, pungent, sweet, and moist embrace now seemed to lock me in a vise-grip hold of pure evil. I could not see a thing! I could have cried out for help. I was sure that even if my Sonoran style Spanish couldn't be understood the commonly heard, desperate squeal of a human caught in the jaws of death would bring them running. As it turned out the only things we had to fear on that trip were the tiny fish that wriggle up inside people who swim in the Amazon tributaries. Seems they are attracted if you take a leak in the water...and of course with those sharp little fins there's no backing out. I won't go into why we had reason to fear them little guys but we heard first hand accounts from a couple of very scarred individuals. Two days after I captured (and freed) a large anteater and landed my first platter-sized piranha a pair of alligators accosted our shallow boat. The native guide hit the smallest one, a mere 9 footer, on the snout as she tried to bite down on the gunnels of the little dug-out we were in. They come to the sound of fish thrashing around of which there were many and of an assortment not seen by me since reading Dr. Seuss' One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish. We celebrated the encounter by swimming in our skivvies right across the channel from where this happened ...just so’s you know what kind of expeditionaries we are.

Freight Train Impressionist / Abstract Landscape

This 24x36 inch canvas on panel piece is titled Freight Train. I was imagining the whistle blowing looking out over this prairie landscape and man, a flood of memories came a-steamin' into my brain. Good ones at that! I've lived a number of places where the old train horn howling was as much a part of the landscape as the clouds and trees. I made a picture similar to this not long ago. I often work off an old painting of mine and try some new angles. Maybe the same palette just a bit of nuance to flavor it different. I definitely liked the colors in this one so I thought I'd try something like this in a different size. I build a lot of paintings from inspiration. Remember, it's the abstract relationships between shapes and color that float my boat. I'm not looking for an exact representation of a specific scene. Of course I will do that when I'm painting from life or a commissioned picture with a photo reference. But sometimes I just get out the colors and build backdrops for the adventures that continually roll through my mind as if on a never ending track. Plus, I have some new colors to experiment with. Speaking of train whistles. After living for a while in ol' Mexico I found myself waking up one morning in Tucson, Az. In that world between sleep and wakefulness, just at the crack of dawn (the moment the druids called the time between times when passing from one dimension to the other was possible...I've only done that once) I heard the most awful rooster crow that my ears ever laid eyes on. I rolled out of bed onto the floor wondering where I was and how did the rooster get so close and so loud. ...It was the 5 am hot shot rollin' through Tucson's Armoury Park. This is available on a shorter-than-usual 7 day auction here.

Faithful Witness To All She Sees

Here's the antidote for the sad news we're all exposed to. Take a deep breath, sigh as you exhale and...look at the moon. Always works for me. When I gaze at the heavens everything on this old earth looks quite small in comparison. Good medicine to be sure and a good washing for the soul. By it I conclude that the glorious, celestial beauty in all it's amazing order mixed with the regenerative and creative life we live (in spite of entropy...and earthquakes, war etc.) must have a purpose and... must have been made by Someone. So, look up! I'm giving myself this little pep talk 'cause I've been feeling blue about some heavy circumstances lately...And the new moon on the rise soon will be faithful and true as always! The following great tune has been recorded by a bunch of folks not the least of which was Elvis...I saw him leave the building... at the St. Paul civic center on his last concert tour. We left before the encore. Turns out there was none and as we walked by the underground garage ramp...here comes Elvis leaning against the smoked glass, still in his sequined jumpsuit and dark shades. My sister and I were the only ones on the sidewalk and we waved for him to stop...just about touched the glass on the limo. He was like a fish in a bowl. Didn't move or blink. Had he known who I was...?!?

How Great Thou Art

O Lord my God, When I in awesome wonder,Consider all

the worlds Thy Hands have made;

I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,

Thy power throughout the universe displayed.

Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,How great Thou art,

How great Thou art.Then sings my soul, My Saviour God, to Thee,

How great Thou art, How great Thou art!

On My Way

A big fat cloud painting was in the offing this week...had a vision of this, of sorts and, well, this is how it turned out. One of my most glorious pieces of late and yes, this is romantic art. Except for the size (30x40) it would be just a soft and gooey piece of romanticized indulgence. The scale tempers it a bit I know. However, I do give in to the mushified urge to make pretty stuff once in a while. This is as far from making a statement as one can get in creating art. Sure, we can always read into a piece all kinds of messages and meanings but as Bob Dylan said, "I ain't lookin' for nothin' in nobody's eyes." To be honest...these kind of scenes really sooth the savage breast and we all know there are a lot of savage breasts out there. If there is any slight of subterfuge intended it would be that we are ever so subtly, if not altogether completely, transported to that celestial shore of no cares and ethereal bliss by this painting ...and no, I'm not referring to Wal-Mart (for my family south of the border) This one too is available on auction at America's favorite place to shop for all its' fine art needs (and no, I'm not referring to Wal-Mart)

Black River

A happy day spent on the Black river. Well, half the day on Roosevelt lake and the other half on the river that feeds it at the northeast end. Here's a view looking upriver from the place my friend's bass boat lost its' prop on shallow rocks. They said the lake had never been this high and that this was the first time in history you could go up the river in a boat. We decided to see just how far up the river we could go. I can tell you in detail if your interested. Just write and ask. My boy Eddie learned to wake board. I did it too but for me and sports there's no learning...Just doing! It was easy...after swallowing 500 gallons of lake water. (I'm still sore four days later) The bass weren't biting ...only a few, which is my normal fishing experience. I hate to sound like I'm whining but...only a few times since my Huck Finn days on the Mississippi have I really killed 'em. I'm beginning to think that talking about fishing and watching people catch fish is more enjoyable than going fishing. I tried to build this painting as much like a plein air piece as possible. (In the studio from photos) I get a general composition arranged and then lay down some dark shapes. After this "blocking" I work from top to bottom waiting to put in highlights towards the end. You know we read from left to right. I always have that in mind when I put down the initial shapes for the composition. It's just more pleasing to the eyes to follow the familiar pattern so I try to get things to flow that way if possible. Just a little artist FYI. Click here to see the painting on eBay.

At Long Last

Lately I've been threatening to use some new tube colors. To change an artists palette is akin to removing a perfectly good finger ...and then adding two more. Well, maybe that's a little dramatic but it is a bit of a culture shock nonetheless....and a good one at that. I am so pleased with the new additions that I plan on keeping them hidden for fear someone will discover my secret. I still suffer from the limited palette/plein air purist mind-set I've been influenced by. The only real problem is that the new colors I like make my mortgage payment look like a kid's allowance. Anyway, here's a great close-up view of the Santa Catalina mountains near the studio. I spent last Monday on a lake fishing for delicious bass and taking lots of pictures. I was hoping to come home, unload my camera and inspire myself with the new photos. Instead, I paint this...something I have to look at everyday. I hope you feel bad for me. Write and send condolences please.

Mexico lindo y querido si muero lejos de ti...

Another border skirmish and successful sortie into enemy territory this week. I just got back from ol' mejico. This is a picture of me in leaner days...in every sense of the word. I was teaching grade school in a small town in the countryside where Pancho Villa once roamed. ...in fact I knew an old guy from a nearby village who had fought alongside him in the Mexican revolution in 1910. I just purchased a small plot of land about 250 meters from the school room pictured. The town is the same place where I lived back in the 80's and early 90's...and where I experienced most of my Latino-flavored adventures (and death defying illnesses) you might have heard about. The town council had given me a two acre lot and an old adobe house back then. I fixed it up rather nicely for the style and fashion of the day, but sold it for a song when I left for the gold fields of Montana. Well, I didn't actually sell the place for a song. It was a saddle... that I gave away several years later in a garage sale. So, yes, basically it was sold for a song as the figure of speech goes.
The adoption is moving along...according to our lawyer. According to every other normal measure of time like clocks, watches, calendars, almanacs, sun dials etc. it is moving like an ice flow on the Mississippi on a cold January day in Minnesota. I need patience...NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's a good thing I'm not armed (usually) when in Mexico and that there is no equivalent there to "going postal" I'd have to be a vengeful mafioso in order to be understood for any acts of violence. Better to be the peaceful pilgrim I've become and to be known as "El Guapo". I am quite fond of a few things there and the little town where we have land is one of the most picturesque places on earth...I'll throw some pics up soon of this area.

Rolling Hills

Here's a little demo for your listening pleasure. There are 7 (I think) of these videos...Just double click the video screen and the You Tube page opens. Go to more from "pacocarmen" and there you should see the options for the other videos. I tried to make 2 of these painting demonstrations lately but it seems I'm plagued with techno-inabilities at every turn. When it comes to mechanical, biological, artistical, linguistical or even metaphysical (la fuerza ciega de la naturaleza=Spanish definition) activities and brain functions I can sort of hold my own. But this nano-eletro-spacial stuff has me burning brain cells at an unbelievable rate. (If you have to have the kids run the DVD player you know what I mean.) Anyway, feel free to subscribe. There should be more coming soon. Also, it's always cool to leave feedback and comments. I just read an article about how your brain fires off more feel-good sensors when you receive compliments than when you get a bunch of money. Either one is fine with me.

Moon Walk 18x24

The moon is anything but fickle...There she is, every month appearing right on time exactly in the place anticipated...the eastern horizon is her bedroom. She gets up at the close of day, puts on the night like a shimmering black velvet cape studded with starry white sparkles and...the odd satellite streaking across her path. This is how the sky looks opposite the setting sun as sister moon comes up to take brother sun's place. Dark on the horizon and lightening to salmon pink and then, finally a darker almost Prussian blue as you look straight up. I don't recommend looking straight up too much 4 too long however...unless you're flat on your back on a cool desert night. That's what we used to do a lot until brother sun went and baked a bunch of holes in our trampoline and we had to trashify the thing. Yes, there are even jealousies between the celestial bodies. A little FYI for your listening pleasure.

Superior 2 Me 16x20

A view of the shore...The North Shore to be exact. I spent the better part of two summers along "the big lake they call Gitche Gumee". One motorcycle accident, one Chippewa Indian girl-friend and quite a few unmentionable activities that involved fire, fire look-out towers and firecrackers are what I took from there as memories....oh yea, and lest I be remiss, a new found love of Bob Dylan's music and the Moody Blues!?! I did do some sketches then too and even have one hanging on the wall here in the studio...A life drawn portrait of my dog Flop dated "summer 1979" This is a typical scene looking east from Gran Portage out over Lake Superior.

Huddled Masses

Do I ever get tired of clouds? Well now, if you're asking about cloudy days...I would have to say that here in the desert southwest if we have over 24 hours of consecutive cloud cover there's a good chance we'll go nuts. The odd storm cloud, thunderhead, puffy cumulus or even high cirrus cloud, well, no, I don't get tired of them. They are welcome to pass on through, accent our upward view and cross the horizon. I think Tucson is the number one or number two city for average sunny days per year. This is the place in America they had in mind when they said "Bring me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free". So, the climate here is great. It's just all us tired and poor and huddled masses of locals that you'll have to put up with if you come.

Into The Mysterious Mystical Mist

I've been pining away for a few weeks now...longing for cooler climes and a view with no cactus. This mood hits every once in a while...usually when I've had my fill of third-world intrigue south of the border. This cool little picture was found in my stack of photos...very evocative and tonalist. Just what the Dr. ordered for my latest bought of melancholy. It's almost monochromatic but I did push some color into it especially in the foreground...to make it live. I call these kind of paintings less romantic and frankly they are among my best work...and least understood. No need to worry though. The studio floor isn't strewn with vodka bottles and like you, I'm used to being misunderstood and... misunderestimated.

Big River

The river took my good buddy Kavin back in '79 and for that I'll never forgive her...but she is beautiful and she is strong. No one would argue that. I tried to drink from her soothing aqua-brown delight in the winter of the same year. There was a little bubbling rill meandering bright and inviting ...in the very middle of an ice clogged channel. When I was within 6 or seven feet the ice broke out from under me and I went down...tiptoes on a sand bar, current pushing my neck and chest up to the ice edge. Well, by all rights I should be in a pine box sleepin' away eternity, or better yet, under the mud down in the delta somewhere waiting for one of Katrina's friends to wake me. Seems the King of the river had different plans...one of them was to make this here picture....great colors and a rather pleasing and unpretentious composition.