Oregon Trail 24x20

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

Shrouded 24x20

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

Tall Order 36x24

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

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

Golden Bow 24x36

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

Skyways 24x30

Pierce through eyes that light blinding
Open wide windows soul searching
Sometimes seeing ever falter
Groping hoping stumbling grasping
Pierce the crystal globes with fire
Burning purified desire
See now clearly ever after
Bright thy vision clean with laughter
_____________________________
Pierce through heart to break the measure
Metered beat set to suffer
Breaking bone and rock and stone
Doubting fearing ever weakening
Pierced and cleaved and rent in two
Bloodless orb pierced anew
Heart of flesh appears now beating
Ever new by love’s soft pleading
___________________________________
Pierce the ears with the symbol
Unstop them now and pierce through deafness
Whispering on the wind soft pleading
Strain to hear the meadow lark
‘Tis the sweetest sort of singing
Ever flirting warbling ringing
Ever let my pain be gone
Pierce my eyes and heart and song
"...to know Him, the power of His resurrection and...the fellowship of His suffering"

Bob's pick, My tele

What's that red thing on my forehead? If you're guessing I've converted to Hinduism... you're wrong. Those of you who guessed that this is a guitar pick used by my estranged uncle and his pal Eric Clapton, you're right. A good friend and fellow art aficionado has hung out numerous times on uncle Bob's estate in Malibu...A handful of picks from an evening jam amongst old friends made it's way to him in the aftermath of what can only be described as...indescribable. Marissa proudly wears one on a necklace...The other? I keep it handy in my wallet and pull it out from time to time for effect. Here I'm pictured between sets at a local gig...my Fender "fat" tele in sunburst with maple neck sits quietly admiring her master and his headwear.

Sk8 Mountain 24x30

Here's the deal. You either have a ten million dollar camera and some serious training (of which I have neither) or you look back at what were supposed to be beautiful landscape snap-shots and say..."Why did I take that picture?" So were my thoughts a few nights ago when my neighbor, May, whipped out her cell phone as we commented on the awe-inspiring monsoon sky above our heads and clicked off a few rounds. I've learned my lesson. Above is the scene...translated for eternal (almost) posterity on an archival / acid free canvas made with permanent pigment oil paints. Her cell phone "camera" on the other hand...will have some very unremarkable and forgettable images that she will send to a far away grand daughter who will say "Where's grandma in the picture?" Lesson number one- unless you have the above mentioned camera and the photographic moxy to make those landscapes pop, make sure you put friends and family in as many scenes as possible...much more fun to view those in the future than some obscure sky scene over the grand canyon in 1974. Lesson number two- send your pics to me or use them yourself to paint an inspiration that will last a lifetime. This everlasting painting displaying and reflecting eternal goodness in effigy is being offered at auction and, as I've said before, will probably go at a price that will make us shake our heads in wide-eyed wonder in years to come. See link at top right of page for more info.

Sentinal 24x30

Finally, I found the usefulness of My Face and Spacebook (ha). One of the kids signed me up a year or so ago and I'm like..."what up with all these friends inviting me to places I don't know?" I don't have that many friends (In America) and I'm not even that friendly to begin with. (or am I?) And I have no idea how to sign-in to nor do I desire to learn how to navigate another web site. All that cynicism and skeptitude has been washed away this last week or so with some very fun reunions with some very old friends. Again, Carmen and I seem to be the only ones who haven't aged but even in wrinkles and hunched over my old friends look great! My new dilemma is to know just how much of the past twenty five years I can safely divulge without overwhelming them with our rock-star lifestyle. The truth is we have lived a life that would make Indiana Jones shudder in terror and the likes of Captain Kirk and Ernest Hemingway, clamor for our autographs. Well, after having converted several continents and having fought off every imaginable creature and tropical disease known to man, many are left a bit incredulous if not altogether apoplectic at the outrageousness of our stories. You want the truth? Maybe you can't handle the truth. Or maybe that last bought of malaria addled my memory and the bits and pieces all add up to ...one big fantasy. Regardless, it's pretty neat to hear from old friends...like the proverb that mentions how refreshing it is to hear good news from a distant land. I dedicate this new misty field painting to friends old and new...Cheers!

Valley Of The Bear 37x49

Go big or go home. In spite of the daunting aspects of painting large...I do like it! This ginormous bad-boy was a real joy to make...should have made a video of this one. Well, my cameraman was busy making stop-motion movies out of Legos and clay and thus, the camera was filled with thousands of little pictures that all looked the same. It'd be great if the kids could parlay their creativity into worthwhile pursuits someday. As it is, they slurk (combination of slink and lurk) around the house looking for costly things to cannibalize (destroy) in their quest to express the most unintelligible, nonsensical gibberish and madness known to man. Is that normal for teenagers? Somebody help me!

Fall 24x36

This started out as an abstract study...first on a 3x4 inch piece of wood. I liked the shapes and color and transferred it to a large 3x5 foot canvas...It was too daunting! So, here it is in a more manageable size. Painting large is not always as easy as it seems. You have to overcome a number of hurdles, not the least of which is the giant blank snowstorm staring you down. I just talked to my friend and fellow painter Mike Mahoney. He is in the process of making a huge mural...something like eight by thirty three feet. Is your living room wall big enough to handle a big ol' monster like that? If it is, your house is a palace and...you need some windows.

Pinnacle

Wild, woolly, west and windy. That was the working title of this painting. The boys and I just returned from a wilderness journey the like of which would have killed Survivor Man. Well, he might not have died actually. In fact, he would have had his fill of small-mouth bass and catfish so Giardia from drinking the river water on the Apache Indian reservation and subsequent dysentery would have been his main concern...and ours. We saw abundant bear sign (was that the reason why Scott insisted we all pack heat?) and some looked to be from enormous creatures. I don't think we had any real reason to worry though. The last bear attack in the southwest happened about four hundred years ago and it only took about 50 yards of carrying my 300lb. pack to realize the .40 cal semi-auto with two extra clips strapped to my belt was superfluous. Strange how men find comfort in firearms. It's not as though I've ever really needed to shoot attacking marauders on any kind of consistent basis. There's only several that come to mind and those I probably could've just as easily dispatched with a crossbow or a small spear! Guns are way overrated if you ask me. I'm happy to report the kids caught fish, I ate them, we slept under the stars and save for some mild sunburn and a sore back made it back to civilization unscathed and ready for more.

Earth N Sky 24x36

He held her hand and bowed to kiss
The up-turned face and remembered then
The little one so quick to learn
So soon to fly, time stood still
You can’t conceive all the colors
You can’t believe the songs that seem
To ring so true yet leave you longing
For yesterday…oh heart be still

It’s not from wisdom that you speak
When looking back to yesteryear
And times gone by as if they were
Better then, oh time stand still
Mark the passages and no regrets
See her chestnut hair in light
Glowing bright pearlescent eyes
Fly by night oh whippoorwill

My favorite bird, the whippoorwill
She’s an angel of the first degree
My favorite girl her hand in mine
Sings of Christ my favorite King
The King bequeaths the blessing now
To little birds and girls that sing
And to every child of nature’s own
Tomorrow’s song they will bring

Star 30x24

This is the view we had coming up and out of San Diego last week. A bit of frolicking in the surf and some good times with some old friends were had by our little clan. The heavy atmosphere of the Cali. coast just inspires painting...everything glows with an ethereal luminescence and everywhere you look there seems to be a painting just waiting to happen. I'm sure that's the same thought the man we met at Laguna beach had. That's where our similarities ended. He was painting on his little french easel and we stopped to bother him a bit. Really no bother I thought 'till he began to unload on my boys about the video games (which they hardly ever play) that are ruining their lives and are the sole cause for the ruination of our world. Not that I'd wholly disagree but he kept staring into our eyes as if to uncover some secret sin and cry "ahaa, caught ya". We just stared back at him with a benevolent condescension and pried ourselves away as graciously as possible. Well, my kids are almost too respectful. I was secretly hoping for one of them to "accidentally" tip over the guy's masterpiece. I shudder to think of his fate had he encountered kids like us at sixteen. Lucky for him we were fresh off a Disney vacation and the strains of "It's A Small World" were still ringing in our ears tempering our actions and thoughts and any proclivity we might have towards harmful mischief.

He's Not Alone (The Hanging Tree) 36x24

After a full week of cranial pain and torment, the like of which I'm sure was never even close to being experienced at Guantanamo Bay, I was recovered enough to dance the night away. We met at our neighbor's house for a dessert and to let the kids cavort around the desert a bit. There was a whole pile of 'em (kids) and once the parents got involved... all bets were off. We grooved to the sweet soul sounds of ...the Macarena, Cotton-Eyed-Joe, Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting, YMCA, and a dozen others. Now, I didn't really think we were much for dancing in our family. Sure, I've been known to cut a rug or two from time to time but my wife is shy and the kids..well, they're teenagers. All that presumption was thrown out along with every inhibition and care. All of it tossed straight to the wind! The following day there were sore necks from the head-banging antics brought on by the Stones' version of Get Off My Cloud and both Van Halen and The Kinks', You Really Got Me. Well, it was worth it and we vowed to make dance night a monthly get-together. The working title on this painting was The Hangin' Tree. A beautiful live oak, old as the prairie wind, punctuates this glorious cloudscape.

Green Glow 36x24

I made a new enemy this week, and a new friend. The friend's name is Mr. Vicodin. He really helped my attitude towards my new enemy, Dr. Root Canal. You know, the one who works at the local dentist's clinic. Well, Mr. Vicodin ran out on me and I suppose that's a good thing. I was getting too used to the foggy stupor of pseudo-happiness punctuated by excruciating, throbbing head pain. After a week of writhing in pain and repenting of sins unknown to even the most acutely agitated consciences, I can almost declare myself healed and the demons of my past fully exorcised. On the fumes of euphoric psychedelia I was able build a few new cloudscapes this week. Seems these were all that really came to mind as providing enough inspiration between bouts of pill popping and waiting for the arrival of my new friend. I've been enjoying these clouds lately and wondering if it wasn't about time I got good at painting them. I'll consider that and maybe make a real artist effort to stretch a bit. To that end I have added another couple of new colors to my palette...and retired a couple of others.

How The West Won 15x30

Can we chalk up the distinctives to such a simple analysis of our past? Well, you be the judge. Jamestown aside, the Pilgrims that landed on Plymouth Rock, inspired by their reading of a newly printed (and made available in common language for the first time since the third century) Bible, knelt on the sand and dedicated their lives and government and new land to God. Subsequently they loved their Native friends and one another as best they knew how and governed themselves with an integrity not really found anywhere else in history (The real Thanksgiving story). Abuses and atrocities abounded in the new world but, so did corrections of those wrongs, more often than not by the same Bible-reading founders of this nation- Something also not found anywhere else in history to such an extent. Contrast that with the Spaniards that had no Bible and the lands they conquered, (in the name of their religion) and in all but a very few instances the legacy they left was only that of greed, slavery and murder. Today, Latin America still reels under the cruel and heavy hand of oppression, greed, vengeance and...no law. Rule of law is a big deal. It's where Blind Justice gets her blindfold. It comes from where King David said "...Blessed is the man who swears to his own hurt and does not change." As I write this my friend Dan is languishing in a concrete cell somewhere in the bowels of a Mexican prison. Accused of crime that had nothing to do with him he writes...

The way the law works here is very different than the way it works in the States. In Mexico, you are guilty until you can prove your innocence. The problem is that there is very little that you can do to prove your innocence when you are locked up in jail. All common sense is thrown to the wind.

The lawyers will often do you more harm than good on purpose, because as long as you are in jail, you are a source of income for them. It is a wicked thing for sure! On top of all this, the judge never has to see you in person. The judge has clerks who look at the files and make recommendations based on what they see.

Just so you have an idea, as of over a week ago, my file was over 1200 pages long. Now, just imagine reading 1200 pages of legal mumbo jumbo to find the one page that really has any information at all about you and your case. No witnesses to cross examine, no judge to look at you in the eyes and try and determine if you are like the 85%, or more, that are lying, no jury of peers to hear the evidence and decide. You are simply one more case of thousands with so much paper surrounding you that it's a miracle if you are ever even heard.

This comes from a man who has given the last 30 years of his life to help people in rural Mexico...inspired by the Words of our dear Savior who... "Came to seek and to save that which was lost" Many orphaned children and oppressed poor have found encouragement and a home at Dan and Ana's house, not to mention the gallons of blood, sweat and tears (and $) poured out on their behalf . Now, he's being held, indefinitely, in conditions that most of us have only read about. I've been to jails in Mexico and they are anything but cozy. More typically they are like a scene out of "Midnight Express". So, pray for Dan and his family...and for us please. In a round about way, we and our adoption(s) are being threatened by the same people who put Dan behind bars; all because the CPS workers (Mexican gov't. officials) and lawyers apparently tried to circumvent a certain judge. Why'd they do that? We don't know but the result has been pretty alarming and uncomfortable, to say the least. This would all take on a very different flavor if it was about a person that was really guilty of something, if nothing else than by association. But we all know Daniel and the very same police detectives that called to subpoena us to testify (with threats and menace and hot salsa) all but admitted the government's own fault and complicity in their inter-government corruption, calling us the victims but, "oh, by the way, can you pay for the call?" They called again last week wanting to know if we would sign an official letter absolving them from any wrongdoing or responsibility so when the new administration comes to power they won't get hanged! Sad but true stories from south of the border.

Esperanza 24x36

I was trying to school the young girl at the Block Buster counter on the merits of James Tiberius Kirk and why the character he displays was worthy of emulation...traits she should look for in a man. Well, it was all lost on her. She had never seen an episode of Star Trek and William Shatner was relegated to the level of Price Line Negotiator, in her mind. Unfortunate for her but you can bet my kids have been brought-up right. Ample helpings of the Cosby show and Bones and Spok helping our dear uncle Kirk defeat foes seen and unseen have been pretty much the only things they have ever experienced. I keep them locked-up in dark rooms being "homeschooled" - Dylan music is piped-in between re-runs of my favorite two shows and they are fed periodically...when the chores are done. Now that's education! I'm sorry but I almost jumped through the phone the other day when the fellow called asking for my support in begging more $ for the schools. I know 99.9% of everybody is on board with funding public education but really, when did money ever translate into brains? A little common sense, a sharp pocket knife and lots of chores are all most kids need (and don't have) and their education will take care of itself. I'm reading a book written by Shatner on the making of the Star Trek movies...had to go out and rent one. Seems like yesterday that they made those doesn't it? It was 1979!!! Wow, you're getting old. This all might seem a bit incongruous to the painting pictured above but it's part and parcel to what goes into the making of skyscapes. The desire to...go where no man has gone before, or...at least visit those places vicariously through Kirk and maybe a Vulcan mind meld or two.

Medio Alborotado 24x30

It's high time I use this space to spin another yarn of high adventure and courageous calumny...but I wont. Not today anyway. My reputation has suffered enough with all the true and outrageous deeds done in dastardly fashion and without my retelling of the tantalizing, ear-tickling tales. But there are others (albeit few) who have stories to tell that rival mine and merit telling. In this painting it's the trees who have a tale to bear, witnesses to the daily display of spectacular celestial extravaganza and aurorean streams of otherworldly goodness. The cows would have been privy to this too but since they're not good at communicating (except in Far Side cartoons) we left them out. This is being offered on auction...see the link to available work at the top right of the page.

Blue By You 24x36

I once owned a Fiat, ...purchased for four hundred dollars. I remember thinking the stereo was worth more than the car itself. It sure handled nice but it was the Marantz tuner with a Clarion eq./power booster, twin Jensen coaxial speakers and pair of Pioneer high-frequency boxes up front that made that car rock. The '73 128 special was the only Italian friend I've ever had. I drove that car from San Antonio to Minneapolis once stopping only for gas (no food or rest stops) and to dry out the little wells around the spark plugs that kept filling up with radiator fluid. I think my artist friend Gary will travel with us this summer around Italy. He mentioned how the police there drive little Fiats and something about that imagery inspires me to want to get involved in a Euro car chase a la Jason Bourne; The funny sirens wailing and honking and narrow cobble-stone alleys with fruit and vendor's carts toppling and flying all over the place. From what I've seen in movies I probably won't get caught...
I sold that faithful Fiat to my friend Chris the upholsterer. As he cornered the boxy little sports car around Lake Street and Hiawatha the front wheels fell off. That's what I'm expecting to happen to the policia chasing me through the streets of Florence.

Seaward 15x30

A happy sunset view shot-through with glowing strains of romantic goodness. That's the working title of this painting. Again, this is what I feel is my one ode to romanticism -glorious clouds. On second thought, maybe I give in to it more often than I want to admit. The artist in me leans heavily on the esoteric ideals of "high art" and it's lofty definitions. The Wal-Mart shopping, shotgun-shooting red-neck in me says "oooh, that's purdy, let's take it home and tape it to the paneling on the trailer wall next to Elvis" So, you see my dilemma. And I'll let you in on a little artist secret that further fuels this... The more glorious and awe-inspiring a natural scene is, the more difficult it is to capture on canvas. Conversely, the more mundane a landscape appears to be at first view, the better it usually translates into a luscious piece of framed, high-art goodness hanging on the above mentioned trailer wall...or wherever. This is being made available for a time in my eBay store...See link at the top right of page for the sordid details.

The Happy Holstien 18x24

"Often described as the world's largest prison camp, no country is more deserving of international condemnation on human rights conditions than North Korea. ... Millions of North Koreans have perished in silence from starvation, torture and execution in recent decades." --- Human Rights Watch

“North Korea is the worst human rights situation in the world today. While there are many tragic situations and terrible atrocities occurring in the world, the North Korean people are the most isolated, most persecuted, and most suffering.”
Suzanne Scholte Seoul Peace Prize Laureate 2008

--- THE DEATHS BY EXECUTION, STARVATION, TORTURE, ETC. CAN EASILY BE TOWARDS 10 MILLION---

Yesterday was the global day of prayer and fasting for North Korea. Sounds pretty radical I know; as if Sovereignty's arm can be twisted to change the course of nature and fate because of a few people's hearts cry for rescue. Well, that's exactly what many people hope for 'cause without some sort of intervention millions more are slated for the same fate. The numbers are almost too big...They make it hard to put a face on the little four year old whose parents were just sentenced to a concentration camp while she is out on the street crying and begging and eating garbage. Before you thank me for this encouraging update and imagery, remember that some of us were destined for darkness and deep, deep sorrow before ..."God, who said "Let light shine out of darkness," shined in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ". (II Cor. 4:6) Because of that beautiful and awesome "face" we can enjoy life like never before and, be like King David who had "a heart after God" pleading with our Father for His little ones. Yes, the scripture is infused with all sorts of encouragement to cry out to Him for mercy and grace to find help in our time of need and...to stand in the gap, as it were, for those too weak or too oppressed to cry out for themselves. We who have believed -to the replacement of our hearts- ought to be the most willing and self effacing, self sacrificing, joy-filled, heart-broken examples of grateful pilgrims that have ever trudged this earth...having the seemingly foolish and futile practise of prayer to an invisible God...who does see everything and...who works everything for the good of those who love Him...?!?!

PS. I have several friends who live in South Korean and help refugees from the north....another couple lives in China near the North's border and rescues orphaned NK children from slavery etc. Their first-hand accounts are chilling and staggering...I just couldn't help but post this as we are all extremely moved over what we have seen and heard this week.

Parker Canyon 36x24

I'm waiting on fellow artist and instructor Gary Larson to inspire the final decision. Italy awaits and the Art Academy, replete with it's Repin-trained Russian (friends Markos and Marem) teachers is, for some unknown and highly suspect reason, in Florence this year focusing on portraits and classical realism and ...inviting me to help them analyze Michael Angelo's David. I do recall my very first writing assignment that answered the question "What do you want to be when you grow up?" with..."I want to be a sculptor." A drawing of a caveman with club trying to kill a giant brontosaurus accompanied it. So, I guess I'm qualified but I would really like my old friend Gary as a traveling companion / tour guide for Marissa and I. He has lived in Italy and Spain for years and knows the ropes. I, on the other hand, have a pretty good idea on how to stay out of jail but might need some pointers just to make sure. I am toying with the idea of buying a set of water-mixable oils. Have you had any experience with those? I'm wanting something that dries fast and won't need solvents...hoping to sell on the streets by day and play country music in the coffee houses by night, take on another name, rent a flat, drink plenty of red wine and hunt wild boar in the Tuscan mountains. That's all. Anyway, we won't be going till mid-July so if you have any painterly, Euro-travel advice please let me know ...in your best western accent.
The picture posted here is a large painting of a great sky, witness to a vanload of "legal" Mexicans not five miles from the border on our way to Parker Canyon lake last weekend.

Gold Loner 24x30

I had to make at least one picture of the upper Midwest. This is a Minnesota backyard near Minneapolis. What do ex-Vikings think about when they see scenes like this? Well, I for one, apart from the cool colors and leafy goodness, imagine swarms of horse flies, deer flies, wood ticks, mosquitoes, itch weed and poison ivy. It's funny how often my northern counterparts when considering a trip to the desert ask about the biting and stinging creatures here as if they had something to fear. I'll admit that I have encountered and handled (or been handled by) a variety of venomous creatures that inhabit the southern deserts and tropics but really (scorpions aside) nothing compares to the stings, bites, scratches and scrapes a five minute walk in the northwoods will hand you. Give me a dry desert eve with it's odd tarantula slowly creeping through the stark and haunting landscape any day. This painting has some real rich saturation...some real pure color. Very enjoyable to paint dark...I'm back on some toned canvases this week and I really dig it. This is for sale on auction. See the link at the top right of the blog page.

Gentle Ben's Brother 24x18

Have I ever been to Alaska? No. Have I ever dived a dumpster? Well, in order to claim an identification without incriminating myself, I will say that I am as familiar with the aroma of dumpster juice as any self-respecting bear in the north woods. This, however is a painting of a real Alaskan brown bear...basically the same as the grizzly and thus, I can really, technically claim no specific closeness. I have seen a couple amble off into the distance while hiking the woods of Montana but nothing to cause me to want to shinny up a tree or play dead. The black bears are the ones notorious for raiding dumpsters and campgrounds and picnic baskets in cartoons and are the ones with which I feel a real affinity. Regardless, these big bruins are beautiful and probably know a lot less about dumpster diving than some of us...If we weren't ashamed to admit it. And if it weren't for that string of gut-cased sausages that Greg pulled from the slime that one night I might be divin' still. I'm obliged to Clint for some pics of Alaskan brown bears...very cool indeed. I hope to make more of these kind of paintings in the future.

The Old Homestead 1960-2009

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The old gas lamp is still there (the one I wrote about a few entries back) I was lurking around my old haunts this past mother's day weekend. A cheap flight and dad's birthday were the occasion for my little desert flower and I to head north and see the sights. Save for a few pictures of geeses and their goslings I didn't find too much time to capture paintworthy images. The old house on Sierra Parkway is now a rental...and the gas lamp still stands. You would think that the renters would find a way to bust that thing up...or use it to burn down the neighborhood. But then again, these are Minnesotans and except for the errant gang of Somali pirates come ashore, or the Asian gangs that wreak havoc on one another in the Twin Cities, these folks aren't really known for getting too far out of line. Maybe that's the real reason I left. Well, in a perfect world I never would have abandoned the little place pictured here...home of my first dreams, blankie and teddy bear (...knives, skinks, cap guns, salamanders, snakes and fond memories of torturing my sister's dolls.

...There's a lot you can do with a wood burning kit besides etching little brown lines into scraps of wood.)

Ghosts In The Gloom 30x24

When I mix the paint for pictures like this I get pretty excited. Simple, bold and bright they are saturated with color and very easy to look at and...to turn into mud if you're not careful. There were a couple of horses in the mist but I thought I'd leave them out...Or are they really there and you just can't see them? True ghosts in the misty distance, that should be the name of this cool farmland scene. Not far from here I drove an old spoke-wheeled horse-drawn cart along the river. I never did have a sword and a pistol by my side the few times I did that but I sorely missed 'em as I felt like Froggy Went 'a Courtin' (...and he did ride), on my way to spark on little Carmelita. Kind of reminds me of another song by an old friend. Jim Croce sang about dreaming and trains "...and I'd hop a ride to hide across the border with a black-eyed girl beside me all the way." Why is it I'm always reminded of swords and guns when I hear that old whistle blow and when I think about courtship? Or is it the spooky specter of phantoms in the mist that have me on edge? I think it's just that ghosts and pretty girls (and train whistles)have something in common and whatever it is, it's something haunting and mysterious...and something you should be armed for! Attention all would-be suitors. You might do well to take the above real serious, or at least believe that I ain't just blowin' smoke when it comes to watching out for my little debutantes. There's plenty of ferocious implements here to scare the daylight-savings-time out of any young sprout trying to shine on my girls.
So, just a little friendly, fatherly advice today to go along with this painting being offered on auction at America's bargain basement of all things cool and collectible. See link at top right for all my available work.

Sister Twister 18x24

A little art process FYI today. I was inspired to make this by looking at some pics of storms and squall lines. There's a lot of freedom in being able to follow your muse, as they say, and even though I didn't really have a photo at hand that depicted the old Kansas homestead being uprooted I figured a little funnel cloud peeking out from under a scary squall wouldn't hurt. After all, it is oil paint and you can easily scrape off and paint over any part you don't like. I will say though that this usually works well only on subjects that you're very familiar with. It happened to work well here and if you're wondering why...Do the words Pecos Bill mean anything to you? Look him up and you'll basically find my biography (less the polish sausage and lutefisk)

Curiosity Killed The Calf

Mister coat said to hat “Won’t you accompany me?”
Said the hat to the coat ”Please leave me be”
So happy was he high on his hook
Tilted just so he could steal
A look or two at the boots and shoes
And shut his eyes for a little snooze
When no one saw his feathered band
Or crown of crisp beaver fur felt
Made just for a night so stark and bleak
Too dark for song nor even speak
Poor coat would wonder alone in dark
Damp and gloomy shadows looming
Specters fleeting cold head shivers
This night the fright of hatless quivers
The lid was hid on a polished pole
In the hall by a stand and an old mink stole
Said the mink to the hat “You covered not your master”
“You left him alone there’ll be a disaster.”
Rain on head sans cap of wool
On a blustery eve makes even a fool
Return ere the cold prevents the vespers
Return ‘fore the winter chill whispers
Get back O man the sleet seeks vengeance
The rain saw her chance to harass the head
The pestilence lurks and will not weary
Till head and heart succumb to dreary
Thoughts of fearful tossing turnings
Fever stalks the midnight burnings
And save for a source he keeps in his pocket
The man would be lost without hat or locket
The locket contains what the hat could not
A picture of love…and a little spot…
Of brandy

Chinchorro lleno de lisas

Had I told you we caught more fish that day than the nets could hold you never would have believed me. That's me and Evaristo, my sister-inlaw's husband. See how handy Spanish is?...we have a specific word for that relation- concunyo (I think that's how it's spelled) Anyway, him and I pulled on the dad-blame (no Spanish equivalent) net till it started to rip and the boat was already half-full of fishies. We took the "panga" to shore and drug the last 100 yards of fish-laden gill net up onto the beach as tio Hector looked on. We fed half the village that day...and were cleaning and eating disc-fried fish till the late hours of the night. The disc comes from the tractor-pulled plows used to cultivate/turn over the soil. The hole in the middle is welded closed and it makes a pretty handy and efficient (Large) frying pan. When the fish were done we used it for roasting garbanzo beans to make coffee. Really it was the best fake coffee we've ever had. Just roast the dry, uncooked beans over high heat with sugar. The sugar melts and forms a re-action/chemical amalgam with the beans. It turns into a heavy, not sweet, tar-like substance. Let it cool, break it up and grind it in a coffee grinder or hand mill. If you make it in a clean iron skillet or a piece of heavy sheet-metal your coffee won't even taste like fish which, believe me, is a real plus. There are lots of foods you don't want to smack of the sea and coffee is one. However, there is a tantalizing treat that might sound as deadly and diabolical as the above mixture but whose result would be a delight to the senses of men and children alike on both sides of the rio Grande...might even help stop the spread of swine flu. That's how good it is. Just last night, somewhat inspired by my culinary exploits south of the border, I made banana splits for the kids...with a twist. Imagine Neapolitan ice cream, hot fudge , whipped cream and maraschino cherries...with two strips of bacon! Save for my questionable vocabulary and redneck tendencies I would be a shoe-in for one of those Travel Channel food shows. I'll publish more recipes in future posts so stay tuned.

Apex 30x24

What is the biggest problem that plagues America, ignorance or apathy? If you answered "I don't know and I don't care", than I think we might be in a world of hurt. Well, that seemed to be the consensus sentiment the other night when I gave the van-load of teenagers the option of going to the county fair. Oh how wrong I was. I swung a U turn right in the middle of a busy multi-lane road and headed for home. It took less than a block to persuade me to swing another U'y and get us back on track for the 4H exhibit barn. The livestock auction was in full-swing right next to the tiger tamers. Both were good shows and I'm probably not the only one who fantasized about a few of them Siberian bad boys breaking loose and getting right in to the thick of the food chain. Now that would have been something to blog about. As it was, we thoroughly enjoyed the many rows of fancy pigeons (my fair favorite), chickens, sheep, goats, Ferris wheels, roller coasters (our new 13 yr. olds' first) and a few stuffed toys won by adept dart throwing and a steady aim at the water gun race. The barkers have all but lost their bark. They now have electronic bar-code readers that scan your "ticket" and discount the value per game etc. None of them were toothless and not one of them yelled at me to win something for the beautiful senorita I had on my arm. Quite disappointing. All in all it was a nice outing and that I was able to resist buying a 4 dollar "hand dipped" corn dog is a testament to my great self discipline... The fact that we spent over ten thousand dollars trying to win a stuffed banana might have had something to do with it but I don't want to talk about that.

Vines On The Hill 30x24

We have a gypsy camp down the hill from our house. There's a pile of dread headed kids that roam around barefoot in all weather (don't worry this is Arizona) and are constantly on the prowl for creatures great and small. They have baby birds, geckos, lizards and now...four huge king snakes. The scaly serpents had congregated in an old shed and as dangerous as they are to rattlesnakes (they eat them) they are quite docile and easy to handle. The children played with them for a while...we took some pictures and instructed them to let 'em go around the house in strategic places. A little while later 7 year old Naomi runs in exclaiming at the top of her voice that the snakes had mated. Her dad asked how she knew. "Well" she said, "One bit the other one and they squeezed and then they were done."...and that's how the world as we know it became populated with snakes...and Vampires.

Farm House 18x24

Shadows
Shadows are falling though it’s not dark all the way
Thickening gloom though I don’t see it that way
A mist has gathered strange silhouettes
That fade and focus through the shrouded veil
The peripheral eye catches movement so slight
The eye of the hunter pierces the night
The owl sees from his gnarled perch
From the snaggly limb his deadly search
But shrouded in mystery and veiled to his sight
The cat will catch the prey tonight
And but for the haze ‘round a dead live oak
That covered the ground in a milky cloak
Would have feasted the fowl, Would have famished the cat
The beak and the talon would have fixed on a rat
Darkening shadows means light to large eyes
Covering mist leaves something revealed
In a moment you see it though not all the way
Keep your eyes peeled for here comes the day

Coastal Clouds Converge 24x24

It’s no toil turning dirt to gold
Treasure and light combine in this
Lump of clay and mortal bliss
Are housed in light and sparkling mist

It’s but a vapor clothed in earth
Small seed fallen to the ground
Small indeed yet grows to be
The purest proof of alchemy

Golden smile shining heart
Ere it grows in golden sun
All is bright in wistful years
Water seed in silver tears

It’s no toil turning dirt to gold
But dear the price when all is counted
Your life the cost to leave behind
One shiny proof of love divine
Children Are Gold by Hush Puppy Hawkins

The painting above is of the coastline near the croc adventure described below in a previous post...just off the Mosquito coast in Central America. I was in the area on two separate occasions, got a lot of pics and a few tall tales to impress the kids ...and my neighbors who have never left the desert. Being auctioned this very moment on eBay

Clouds Alone 18x24

There's something about this painting that smells of western wildlands. According to my wife of over two decades I reek of woodchips and sawdust. Well, she didn't really say it like that but was it a compliment? I read an article a while back that quoted a young and pretty hip-hop starlet to say she thought Bob Dylan smelled like old wood. I don't think that was a compliment but if Carmelita was comparing me to my uncle Bob than I guess I'll take it as a kindness. I'm sure if this gets back to him he'll wish the comparison was reversed...jealousy runs pretty deep in our family. Regardless, I would be flattered if someone held me in such high esteem as to compare me with old wood. Any kind of wood for that matter. Old wood, new wood, Norwegian wood...hey didn't my uncle's friend George write a song about that?

Out The Window 24x30

So you fancy yourself a non conformist eh? I'll show you what not conforming is all about. Forty seven years young, the ball fields smell of fresh watered grass, springtime is a buzzin' all around us filling every sensory receptacle with glad tidings of a new dawn, in the middle ground between two baseball games under the tall-posted lights attracting night-hawks as the sun was leaving room for the cool spring eve and chatter of baseball teams near and far filled the air, we were playing ...football! And what do I get for my non conformity? A nearly broken collar bone on a beautiful over-the-shoulder touchdown catch on what should have been the last play of the game. I gathered a handful of teens and tweens who I could tell are just achin' to get tatooed and pierced, told them to drop their skateboards, cell phones and soccer balls and come over to play a real sport...a real man's sport. Well, as persuasive as my words seemed to me, the expressionless stares of my soon-to-be teammates told me it wasn't so much the words that convinced them as the fact that they needed a ride home. So, I guess in a way I coerced them to indulge my non-conforming fantasy and in the process turned a couple of 'em into Heisman trophy candidates. Back in the 70's, had some young handsome man encouraged us to be real men and invited us to play a bit of smash mouth we would have risen to the challenge.(Or we might have run away suspecting the worse of some old dude that had nothing better to do than to hang around a dimly lit park at night with a bunch of kids) This new breed of reluctant pseudo-rage-filled teens with their non-stop messaging makes one wonder what the future holds for the modern world. Well, if you haven't noticed, the non-conformists have all conformed to their non-conformity and look to be the most easily led group of people that have ever lived. Maybe these new ones will finally realise that Wal-Mart isn't their enemy...it's their employer and if they work their buts off they might get to eat more than just a plate of runny pottage...and be happy and thankful campers in the process. The painting here is the view just south of the scene of my glorious athletic exploits...and our studio. I used a lot of paint on this and am pretty happy with the outcome. I've painted this mountain a number of times and in various moods...these are kind of rare colors for early spring, just after a good soaking.

The Real Croc Hunter ...?

I know...It ain't a fourteen footer but we did eat it and it did taste like chicken, ...a rubber chicken with frog water oozing out of it. The natives on the island were deathly afraid and seems this one was feared responsible for a few lost dogs...and maybe a small unwanted child or two. A four-ten shotgun loaded with #4 duck shot is all it took. It was 2am and we had just slogged through a salt-water swamp. At midnight we were together, four trepid, would-be croc slayers and me, the only one who could be accurately described as intrepid...until my headlamp went out as I was staring down a pair of glowing orange eyes about fifty yards away. My companions had gone on ahead not wanting to "spook" the 12 foot croc we figured him to be. They left with the parting words "Just remember Paco, keep the beam of light right on their eyes. The cayman and the alligators (for there were a lot of them too) run off when they get spooked but the orange eyes belong to the crocodile. If you can't keep the croc mesmerized by the light, head to higher ground (one mile away) or get your gun ready." Well, I was knee deep in mud, spider webs all over me and I was sweating profusely. It was pitch black and a big ol' croc was after me, tic toc tic toc...and I was armed with a single shot .410 shotgun with three extra shells in my pocket. Two hours later we found the one we were after. He was a real man-eater (?) and was laying on the bottom in about five feet of water. I slipped a dull gaff hook under his jaw and lifted him to the boat. We just about had him to the gunnels when my fearless companions began to howl and scream into the dark and majestic Caribbean night. Yes, they were afraid and armed...until everyone dropped their guns and lamps and ran to the back of the 12 ft. skiff. I didn't know whether to laugh or shriek at the exhilarating thought of the small fiberglass boat sinking to the bottom of croc infested waters with it's bullet riddled hull. As the poor creature thrashed around the surface calling others of its kind to come and check us out and the floor of the boat projected light beams like a used car lot's once-in-a-lifetime sale a gentle peace wafted over me. I knew everything was gonna be alright and that I would live to see my children's children. We did save a small village that day and were duly celebrated as heroes. They feted us with crocodile stew and shrimp gumbo and waved palm fronds in our honor. (only a very few parts of this story have been changed due to time and space constraints.)

Cover Me with Clouds 24x36

You might say my mettle was tested today...while trying to explain the meaning of the word mettle to my mejico-born soul mate. But really, we are used to linguistical conundrums around here as we all fancy ourselves amateur linguists. Very amateur I might add. (I can give you accurate definitions of only five of the 8 parts of speech) Truly there are frases and words that need a lot of explaining, depending on the language they're coming from and the one they're being translated to. I've heard it said that the meaning of the expression to abide is a hard one to translate. And indeed it is. There's just no easy way to express the meaning of this in Spanish, at least in some of it's uses. English isn't known for it's precision as much as it's abundance of terms and lack of clean grammar rules but here it really shines. What a great word and full of all kinds of multi-hued implications. A huge mouthful of meaning is found in the expression to abide as used by the Lord Jesus. He said something that's often quoted with the important part being left out. "If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." Well, half the people who heard Him got their dander up and promptly and proudly declared how they had no need to be set free since they weren't slaves to anyone. Typical of us humans I guess. Anyway, I won't be angry with Him for telling me I need to be freed (nor with the ones who don't want Him telling them they need His words) I'll just keep trying to figure out how get at that wonderful place of knowing Him and letting His word abide in me...and no more wearing stripped pajamas and ball and chains.
Also, concerning the quote above, I've often thought... "hmm, what is truth?" Well, I've concluded only two small things from my mystical meddling in mysterious musings on this point. The first is that my version of circumstantial reality isn't necessarily truth. At least not in the philosophical sense and second, that it's purpose, when once discovered, is to make me free...not to rub someone else's nose in it. So, here you have my little theology/ language lesson for the day, brought about by my mettle being tested ...not to be confused with the tempering of metal or with any intent to meddle with your own heresy or theology. The painting pictured here has something to do with truth and love and the American way...or something to that effect. It's being offered on auction here.

Rancho Ridge 18x24

Things I don't get....Why some people don't like John Madden's football commentary or how anyone could say they don't love Bob Dylan's singing. This, my Midwest-American, slanted heavily by a Texicanish California version of the world would be a hollow and lonely place without them. John just retired and save for his Raider years nothing but fun and happy redundant belaboring of the obvious will be a fondly remembered legacy...and football will never be the same. Bob, on the other hand just keeps going. The day he retires I think we should all just re-string our guitars (whether you have one or not) and tune our radios to that 40's station that you find in every town and wonder who really listens to it. Well, FYI, here in Tucson it's am 580 on your radio dial. You can hear Bing and Frank and Andy and, well, all your (my) favorites. This painting has the classic feel of those crooners we all grew up listening to. It was the view we had last Friday heading out of Catalina state park.

Green Tree Mystery Water 24x18

Mystery water is right. What could be lurking just under the mercury-green vale that separates our world from theirs? Don't worry, there's only a few trout and some small oxygen deprived crayfish in this emerald hued mountain lake. The warmth of the glowing golds mixed with the coolness of the blues and greens are fun to paint...make a great combination that's as easy on the eyes as it is on the heart. In the foreground to the right there's a slight ripple in the water, the remnants of the wake left by a young beaver...Or was it some other, unknown creature? I know a couple of college kids that want to go to Scotland and search for the Lochness Monster. One of them lives here. (the student not the monster) For my part, I would enjoy a ride on it... just once or twice around the loch would be fine. Once they finally catch that thing they should let me have a go at it. I figure I've seen enough bull riding and done enough exploring of the Amazon to qualify. Plus I'd love to read the headline..."Once Again, Europe Has Reason to Thank America ...This Time For Taming Nessy". Just something subtle like that.

Contemplation or Green Cow Monday 30x24

The more you paint large the more the intimidation factor wears off...unless the painting stares back at you! The obstinate cow pictured here would not let me out of it's sight. I talked to my old buddy Randy not too long ago. His dairy farm is the last of it's kind but they still work their buts off so my cheerios don't get lonely and my cookies have something to swim in before they go down the hatch. An old bull wouldn't take his eyes off him either, much like my experience with the painting pictured here except for a slight difference. His bull charged and tossed him around like a rodeo clown before he got up and over the fence. Oh, there is one other difference too. I didn't run in and get my shotgun to teach the critter a little respect. Turns out that he gave him a little too much teaching and the bull up and died. I guess both barrels of 00 buckshot (I'm sure he used birdshot) was a little too stiff of a reprimand. I'll have to keep that in mind as I school my paintings...and my kids. See the link to the top right for this painting's auction page.

Young Cooder Hawkins

Young Cooder Hawkins hoists a stringer of pan-fish sometime in the late 60's. That's how we referred to crappies, sunfish and the like. I suppose rock bass would qualify as the "like" but no one really liked 'em. They were considered bad for eatin' and were viewed as a sort of rough fish. Rough fish of course are bottom feeders. They spend their life vacuuming off the floor of the deep which can hardly be said for rock bass. I always kind of figured they got the short end of the stick when it came to fish reputations. I have eaten them and save for a few extra bones they were fine. Of course, I have eaten Coot too...How many people can say they've dined on their namesake? Well, Coot would be one of my nicknames...if my name were really Cooder.

View The Vines 24x30

better than gold from earth derived
earth and sky conspire to lend
from nectars deep and hid within
the secret sources flow and blend
the mighty man brought low to earth
the lover's heart made to see
what goods' perceived from this thy perch
shimmers gold from sea to sea

golden mead and drink of gods
from whence comes thoughts and noble deeds
waves and rows, leaves and earth
sunshine ripens heaven's seed
return now meadows drenched in dew
and forget not all I have is thine
return oh man to this thy toil
harvest gold from grain and vine
Cooder Hawkins

Scene From Argentina Ranch 20x30 1987

Miguel Angel and Elfido showed up at about noon. They hollered to me to come out and "see something". I was in the middle of a dang quesadilla and it was hot (both the food and the air...and spicy too) and there were flies everywhere. The ranch house was next to a mesquite grove with a corral for the cows and a big ol' chicken farm and it's manure piles were just over the fence. We ate a lot of soup in those days. Hot and laced with atomic chili peppers the stuff would flow out your nose and land on your spoon on it's way up to be ingested again...this time with two or three flies in it! I am not even capable of exaggerating how bad the flies were. In fact, I have spent many a sultry afternoon with the temperature hovering around 130 degrees covered in them! Times too many to count I've spit them out of my mouth one after another just to breathe or to finish an important conversation...about the weather. You know the flies are bad and your existence tenuous when you let them land on your face and mouth and hardly think to shew them away...That's how bad they were. I told the cowboys to hang on as I gulped down my last bite of mosca-cheese delight and noticed one of their horses dancing around out in the front yard. His ears were pinned back so I could tell something was bothering him. They had shot a big female lion at a watering hole not far from the ranch headquarters. She was strapped to one of their horses and we all know how good horses and mountain lions get along. I don't know how I found a camera but I did and took this shot. The big cat had killed a number of calves so it was a relief to the cattle people and non vegetarians amongst us. My handling of human figures was still pretty clumsy back then but this turned out OK.

Cooder Hawkins Brands A Calf

That's me helping my friend, cowboy Jack Blankenship work calves in Montana. I used to wrestle and I'm sure it helped to have those skills when we pioneered back then. Come to think of it, no one really ever thanked me for taming the west. Now, we all enjoy the fruit of the hard labors of us drifters and grifters...and painters of pretty pictures. I painted a couple of small canvases that day after the branding was done. A study of the mountains between Red Lodge and Roberts and some flowers in Jack's garden. I don't know what ever came of those paintings but Jack does have one I made of a couple of vaqueros with a mountain lion strapped to a horse...think I'll look for it and put it up here. I've got to offer some proof of my tall tales from time to time or you all will get to thinking that the tongue is mightier than the pen.

Sky On Earth 24x36

It had been a while since I was involved in a police chase and the little adrenaline rush last Sunday did my heart good. We hoped the fence at the not-yet-open-for-business skate park on the south side of an unnamed city somewhere in the southwest. The area is home to a large grassy park and is one of the most popular for snow-bird homeless folks (yes there is such a thing) and all kinds of park bench dwellers and stand-in-liners populate the place especially in the winter. For the most part they are normal people, maybe a little down on their luck or just a couple of cards shy of a full deck. Some might not be considered the sharpest tool in the shed or might even possibly be considered the dullest knife in the drawer depending on how you look at it. But they are normal nonetheless and seem to fit most peoples criteria of humanity. Anyway, I actually have spent a few nights in mission shelters and on the streets sleeping in cardboard scavenged from back alleys in big cold cities ...and I'm not ashamed to admit I've stood in my share of soup-lines on not just a few occasions. So, I feel that common bond that unites all the disenfranchised of the world...witnesses to our daring and brazen escape of Sunday last. A couple of us had exited by climbing the turnstile-gate-come-ladder moments before the sirens barked their warning and approach. In a deft pincer move two squad cars came on and circled the enclosure. Eddie was one of the first to clear the 7 foot tall steel barred fence. The kids with the bikes had the hardest time having to throw their BMX's over the top before they could follow suit. My son, using his inherited smarts, deftly and with appropriate dissimulation handed his skateboard to an unwitting little friend and quickly joined his brother and I as we walked boldly and stiff-legged between handcuffed bikers and a pile of trespassing skaters being handed warning tickets and who knows what else. After we cleared the main parking lot we galloped and skipped the rest of the way playfully tossing a baseball back and forth and giggling like the bunch of red-necks we are. It was good to see my hard-earned taxes at work and next month when the park officially opens you can bet my boys will be there and show the respect the new park and it's fence deserve.

Swept Along 15x30

I really do think I would shine as a Costco door greeter / receipt patrol. Not that I've been offered the job or have applied for it but with the way art sales are going it might not be a bad idea. One does wonder just how certain people perform certain tasks in jobs of high public interaction. Doesn't one? I know just the kind of customer I would make to wait extra long as I checked and re-checked their items too. ...anyone like me! But how about the food sample people? Now there's a gig! Especially if your the one doling out pieces of pizza or chocolate or frozen cream-puffs. I wonder if they line up in the morning as the boss hands out assignments. They're probably listed on a dry-erase board next to the time clock. You punch in and see that asparagus and four bean salad are slated for the day's offings. If you're in any kind of gregarious mood you'll definitely want to stay away from giving those out. We just got back from Coscto. I cringe every time my wife mentions going there 'cause it seems we never get out without spending at least $100.

PS. I spent a few extra moments with the lady at the free dark-chocolate sample cart. Down the isle a little ways was the lonely lady at the cart with the four bean salad...no line, no one to talk to...piles of uneaten beans and oil and vinegar at her feat!

Saddle Back 24x30

I heard a fellow say in a tearful shaky voice that no one ever told him he's a man. That his father never said "now your a man son". And he was determined to make a big to-do about his sons and have coming-of-age ceremonies for them and tell them they are men before it's too late, ...at age 13? I heard another man describe that what makes you a man is being responsible...Giving your word, keeping a commitment even if it's not convenient or painful. That's what makes you a man. Now, I'm not about to tell you what makes a man but at the risk of being labeled a redneck @#!!% I can tell you what real men don't do. Real men don't stand in line well ...especially at functions that involve a lot of moms dropping off and signing in kids for some school activity. No, a real man, in a situation like that fantasizes about building clearing bomb scares or sudden rat infestations or 7.1 magnitude earthquakes that shake the earth to it's foundations as he fidgets and fumes waiting for all the happy-to-be-there-and-chat-with-one-another-moms...and a few dads with shock collars fastened tightly to their necks to hurry up and sign in and get out of the way! I also note that a real man pulls out of the parking lot of said line-of-humiliation trying his best to squeal tires and hurry off to fulfill his responsibilities, imagined or otherwise. Thankfully the kids finished their proof of manhood ...uh, state aims testing today and no more ignominy of waiting in interminable lines of shame is slated for their father.

Zephyr 36x24

What happens to the stream of consciousness when a person is unconscious? Does it stop flowing? Does it dry up? Does it go underground? I know a river that goes underground for long stretches only to re-emerge as a crystal clear and deep running spring of everlasting bass fishing and catfish catching delight. I camped on it's shore one evening next to a mountain lion-proof fire. As the embers grew dim and my eyelids followed their lead the large dead frog left on my hook not twenty feet away was all but forgotten. In the morning the rod and reel were gone. Moments later I lost Pete's gear on a near-death-fall while trolling a spoon through a tall and narrow canyon. This all took place before my erstwhile companion even showed signs of life and the sun was barely waking. After I informed ol' Pedro that we had no more fishing gear and we'd not be frying fillets for breakfast I spied my pole in about 20 inches of water just below the sandy bank. I waded in and grabbed it with a sigh, happy that at least I'd have a chance to redeem myself and prove my piscatorial prowess to my doubtful friend. I shook the water out and reeled in the line and lo and behold if there wasn't a five pound channel cat on the other end! The sky painting above is the view from a ranch about an hour from the disappearing stream of consciousness mentioned here. Available this week on auction.