I stand at the easel almost daily. Once in a while I'll sit but to tell you the truth, there's an energy and a certain adrenaline rush that you get from standing while painting. If you've ever had to "white knuckle" it through a snowstorm you'll have an idea what it's like to stand at the canvas building a painting. The concentrating of all your faculties on the constant analysis of shapes and color and coordinating that between your hand and eye can be pretty tiring. Thankfully I've only crashed into another car once while driving through a snowstorm and never have I smashed into another artist while at the easel...though I do believe they should make a law about drinking and painting. No, my wrecks are more of the metaphysical sort. I have put a few cars in ditches though but never to the detriment of any living creature. However, I am reminded of a blustery day of almost 30 years hence.
While traveling across the barren waste of wheat-field stubble and snowdrifts I lost control of a jelly bean-sized car on I-90. We were on our way home to Minnesota after a successful deer hunt in south central Montana. Dan and Jody were asleep and I was driving. They looked so cozy and comfy and the heater kept whispering love and comfort into my extremities as well. The three deer carcasses on the roof were tied with twine. After all, we weren't planning on doing any off-roading. The last day of the week-long hunt had started early and cold but we were each able to put our tag on a critter that same morning. Yes, we were bone-tired and being the amicable sort that I am, I proposed that I drive first and let my companions doze. The only problem was that after about an hour of listening to those guys snore and the fading country music station broadcasting from Miles City my eyes started to enjoy the momentary rest I'd give them. I called it an extended "blink". No harm in that I thought. My very next thought...Why is Dan's hand on the steering wheel? And why are we driving at highway speed through four inches of fresh snow in the median? A moment later and we were in a spin, the wheels catching the pavement peeled a tire off and the jolt sent the deer flying through the air into a gory pile about twenty yards from the highway. It looked as though we had hit and killed a herd of white tails. At least that's what the highway patrolman thought as he approached our tire changing operation. I told him what happened and he basically gutted me like the young fork-horned buck I was, ...asked me how I'd a felt if those were people laying in the snow that I hit? Well, I don't quite go through all that every time I paint ...but it does take out of me more than my construction workin' buddies will ever give me credit for. This nice little oil painting has all of my forty plus years of artistic endeavors embedded into it like so many journalists hangin' with the troops in Iraq.
