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.