You're Golden 30x12, Westerly 24x30

I've turned down 3 prime chances to explore the dark continent, two of them were paid for!  If the opportunity presents itself again I'll be a double fool for not pouncing on it forthwith. One of my heroes is Dr. Livingston of  "Stanley I presume" fame. Between his writings, Hemingway's and Theodore Roosevelt's I've lived a thousand African adventures and through them vicariously tasted both the pith and the marrow of blood-earnest,  life-or-death adventure.  Not that I've lacked for my own mind you. It's just that these stories were the fuel that served as the questionable springboard that sent me flying into numerous tropical and western follies of my own concoction. Teddy R. was a top-notch explorer and a keen observer of flora and fauna and culture and custom...and was as handy with a pen as he was with his favorite gun - a Winchester repeating rifle. I find in Teddy a kindred spirit. Both of us have been on the trail of  man-eating jaguars and we both have had our life-span shortened by a few years from tropical diseases (malaria & etc.) gained by following said trail of said man-eater.  I have also experienced something that has disturbed my mental equipoise on various occasions when trying to relate my scientific socio/bio observations gleaned from years of being tossed around in the blender of third-world intrigue with other supposed intrepid and knowledgeable adventurers. In my varied travels to the hinterlands of central and south America in pursuit of creatures both living and dead (remember the grave robing?) I've noticed that the native hunters, woodsmen, ranchers, gauchos and would-be presumptive go-to authorities on the ways of the wild in any given territory are very often the most ignorant when it comes to the actual habits and behaviors and true knowledge of the beasts in their own backyards.  Teddy observed this same thing. My heretofore well educated and well meaning collegues have been slow to ackowledge this ignorance in favor of  the "sincerity over substance" argument. Well, chapter 3 (pg.55) of T. Roosevelt's Through The Brazilian Wilderness puts my disturbed mental state at rest once again.  Finally someone who understands why I refused to wait up all night for the for the ghost of the lion to appear.
These two ghost-like paintings are available for sale on eBay and ETSY.

Mocking Bird Gonna Sing All Eve

I counted at least two new songs last night.  The mockingbird has been singing outside our window for the last several days, uh, nights.  As in ALL night long.  So far I have counted around 25 distinct songs. I think he found a mate 'cause last night he only went to about 12 and then sang no more.  It's the lonely bachelor that's pining for love that sings at night. It is a bit annoying but it is beautiful. Kind of like having house guests. Since Christmas over 40 people have stayed with us.  In fact last weekend was the first time we've had the house to ourselves in more than three months. That turned out to be a momentary anomaly in the time-flux capacitor because a small party of friends crashed our party on Friday and stayed the night.  We had a musical jamboree preceded by deep contemplation and spiritual agitation.  Strange combo indeed.  Every other Friday we gather to read  the scriptures out loud together.  No bible study is planned, just reading and thinking.  I know it sounds like it has the makings for a boring night out but the house literally fills up with twenty somethings and a few thirty somethings, some teens and even the odd, dare I say, fifty year old geezer can be found in our midst. Anyway, public reading of God's words is a great practice. I highly recommend it. Very encouraging and...a bit agitating.  So, after a time of this (we can usually only handle a few chapters before deep conviction hits, robes are torn and tears start to flow) we breathe a collective sigh and... break out the instruments of cheer. Djembes, banjos, guitars, horns, harmonicas and  fiddles all just magically appear and a great swell of musical gladness fills the air. It would be a regular all night hoe down if ceretain of us didn't have an appointment to go listen to the mockingbird right outside their bedroom window.  He starts promptly at 9:30

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

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

Saber-Tooth dog fish in the Amazon

To consider oneself an expert on any given subject implies that there has been some serious effort put forth over a long period of time. Laboring under every imaginable circumstance to probe every possibility with tenacity, you might, over an extended period of time become, indeed, an "expert" at something. Such is the case with me in a matter with which I have become extremely familiar and, I might say, quite adept. Having had the daily practice now for many moons and having had the blessed opportunity to "try" many brands under many circumstances I do now consider myself to be an expert at flossing teeth. Yes, I have my favorite floss (Reach Total Care by Johnson & Johnson) and favorite techniques (forehand and backhand, middle finger tie off, 13 inches never reuse) and there even exists a small but very close society of fellow flossophiles that share my enthusiasm (Ana & Carmen). The picture above is memorable not because I was in the amazon rain forest dodging poison arrows and catching saber-toothed fish but because I didn't have any floss with me and no way to get any for weeks. Of course I unraveled bits of cloth to make do. By the time we got back to civilization I was barely clothed...but my gums shone with the healthy glow of a thousand sunsets.

Mountain of Dreams 30x40, Fire Storm Sky 36x24

I've been working a lot smaller lately and here's two giant paintings to disprove that theory. I've almost forgotten what a workout making these big ones can be. Lots of energy goes into elaborating a canvas this size and now that I'm not inhaling a 44 oz. Thirst buster-a-day I'm not sure where the nuclear fusion is taking place. I guess being a cinquentarian has its benefits and I plan to continue to plumb the depths of the vast and profound chasms that storehouse the secret treasures of wisdom and knowledge wherein lie hidden all that's necessary to do this. The scroll and the ring were given to me on the 30th of March. The map I can follow...but it's the dang Elvish that I'm really struggling with.

Day of Birth 24x36

I was going for the Maxfield Parrish colors on this one. They are really fun to paint but costly as they tend to use up a lot of cobalt blue. I'm going to guess that cobalt comes from the mines of Moria 'cause they sure are proud of that stuff. Anyway, this is listed for sale on etsy and the bay.

I get letters from folks from time to time via the blog. They come with no way to reply so...if you'd like to write (and for me to write back) and you don't have a blogspot ID than feel free to write me at LosHawkins@Yahoo.