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.

Mountain Song 24x18

Today a hawk flew into our picture window in pursuit of a white winged dove. The dove also hit the window and barely survived. I'll know in the morning if he'll live or not. The Cooper's Hawk perched outside for a while on the gnarled branch of an old mesquite tree waiting for us to leave the poor wounded creature so he could devour it. He finally flew off. I have him (the dove) in a box in the shop...he was out in the grass well hidden but it's going to rain tonight and there are critters out there and, well, there's nothing as innocent and gentle as a cooing dove. They look at you with those big doe(?) eyes that seem to plead for help whether they need it or not. You know doves are really pigeons...At least that's their classification. I have raised both doves and pigeons and have found them to be the most noble and clean birds out there. They keep one mate and both parents sit the nest and bring up the young...regurgitating copious amounts of half digested seed meal-mush into waiting and eager little beaks. For a time we had both chickens and pigeons in the same building. The chickens were layers, Aricanas and Buff Orpintons and... the odd Banty to keep things colorful. They typically wouldn't sit their eggs but since we always had a couple of roosters they were fertile -needing only the typical three weeks of broody warmth to hatch them out. We got the idea to put some chicken eggs in the pigeon nests to see what would happen. Faithful and true as the day is long those beautiful, iridescent and monogamous birds incubated and then hatched giant green and brown eggs as if they knew what they were doing. The fun part was to see them try to feed the young chicks who wanted to be pecking and scratching the ground as soon as possible, all the while the clueless surrogates kept trying to barf their little tidbits into the down-turned faces. We just built a new chicken coop and what with the hardscrabble times we've all fallen on, thought it would be good to raise our own food again. I think it pencils out to be about $10 a dozen (eggs) when everything has been tallied. Is that a good deal?

Chancery Vail 24x18

The weather as a mundane topic of idle conversation. Never! I know it's extremely easy to fall into familiar patterns when addressing farmers and their sort as most of us often do. And, it seems that the lone common denominator in vulgar parlance and everyday chit-chat would be that of looking up and commenting. But, I believe I have taken boring conversation to the next level. A higher degree, if you will, of interest and discourse. I find you can make quite good discoveries about people when the talk turns to weather. A lot can be learned from observing the skies and...observing how others observe them...or don't. Anyway, so as to not bore you with any more of the mundane as some would view it...I offer the above painting of great and blustery clouds over tireless trees..always with an eye on the weather, for their very leafs depend on it!

Catch And Release (Cow & Her Friend) 30x24

Do you ever skip through the channels and wonder who really watches those back-water, cross-eyed, unintelligible rednecks with the Copenhagen tin sticking out of their flannel shirt pockets fishing in bass tournaments? Well, there is probably a long list of things that I could confess to that would lower any kind of high estimation someone might have of me. The thing is they were catching huge muskies on the river near my childhood home. How could I resist? I would fit the above description perfectly if it weren't for some aberrant beliefs I hold to. Unlike the hosts of the fishing shows I watch between brush strokes, I don't really believe in catch-and-release fishing. I love fish...alive and swimming. But I especially like them fried and steaming! Conversely, I do believe in catch-and-release hunting which, it seems, has very few adherents and meets with very limited success. (that's the part I'm used to) The activities mentioned here all serve to get me looking at sky and trees and land which, in turn, inspire me to paint...or write. So, I will continue to pursue not shooting game while walking with gun in hand and try my darnedest to not release any fish I might hook up with. This painting is of a scene not far from some of my latest exploits referred to in this post...and the wild and woolly sky that floats above the western US.

Cliff Hangers 18x24

Por si no me creian todo lo que les he dicho de mis aventuras y trajedias... y por lo mismo, la pequena capacidad q' nosotros tenemos de expresarnos en multiples idiomas y dialectos, les escribo la siguiente descripcion de esta mas recien pieza de arte que salio del humilde estudio donde trabajo. Se llama "Cliff Hangers" y esta hecho a oleo sobre lienzo fijado en una tabla de tri-play o fibracel. Aqui estara en venta de subasta en eBay durante 10 dias.

Deserted Moon 24x30

The desert moon really is that big coming up over the Catalinas...in fact, right at the horizon it's just flat out huge. Makes one hanker for a big ol' knife and the largest saltine or Ritz cracker you ever saw. I'll let you in on a little confession here. I would love to paint more night views... A number of my favorite works of art are of scenes bathed in marvelous and luminous washes of green glowing warmth with rocks and cow horns glinting in the subtle glow.(Frank Tenney Johnson, Frederic Remington) I regret that the subtle aspect is often hard to detect over the artificial view-box that is the lowly computer monitor. Thus, I am more apt to describe the higher key / better lighted and more dramatic views caused by direct light with my brushes. I will try these night moves from time to time though and I'm almost always pleased with the results. This desert view captures the harshness and beauty of the Sonora Desert just as the sun goes down and makes way for sister moon.

Little Flock 24x36

An otherwise typical Sunday...and but for the impudent upstarts called the Arizona Cardinals we could all relax the afternoon away contemplating the reason for the high price of tea in China and other equally compelling conundrums. As it is, we are set to perform an American ritual that for a true-blooded Viking is and will be, always and eternally, shot through with bitter-sweet strains of what might have been. I will attend a Superbowl party today. And as much as I hate the role of jilted lover, and as much as you want to say to me "get over it !" I and my fellow axe-wielding, skull-cleaving, tundra-blooded aficionados must bare the burden and ignominy of 4 super-game loses with nary a victory to our credit. Yes, I have exorcised the demons on numerous occasions only to submit to their siren call when once again the team seems to surge and I'm jolted out of my fair-weather-fan stupor by the cries of "they really have a chance this year" or, "hey, they're 8-4 just three more wins and we clinch a playoff spot". Fool heart of darkness and deceit, when will you leave me in peace? But for the tasty treats prepared by skillful wives and some men of extraordinary culinary abilities the occasion would be a total wash. The painting above reminds me of the glory of a Superbowl victory. Not the biggest victory on earth by any stretch but a victory nonetheless.

Desrt Gum 18x24

As we say in ol' mexico..."me agarraron con las manos en la masa" ...and I'm proud of it. The trees are my muse, as I've said before, and will continue to be. As a boy I drew a lot of stumps, branches,broken logs and river stuff. I used to sit by the Mississippi, bottom fishing with a little sketch pad in hand just drawing bark and leafs...till my rod tip would jerk signifying that I better get up and set the hook before a big ol' carp hauled my fishing pole into the drink. So, the trees and all their parts in every season, barren or otherwise inspire the heck out of me. I want to paint a good eucalyptus, will be trying several landscapes featuring them to enter in the California Art Club's 100 year anniversary logo competition. I'm not sure if this one will be an entry but it is a nice looking tree (Silver Dollar Gum) just across the wash from the studio here. Also being offered on auction this week.

On My Mind 24x30

My friend Dave invited me to be a "special guest" at his next coffee house gig. Here's the deal. It's much easier to pretend I'm a rock star than to actually be one. Well, even if I were to be a star it would probably be more like a country jamboree / folk hero / terrorist fighter that schooled Chuck Norris in the Dark Arts kind of thing. Or, I could just keep referring to my stardom as something I would have done in another life. As it is, I now have to prepare a set of tunes adequately to pull them off as if they were the most natural thing to do...Like, yea, I always sit around the house and play beautiful songs with my well tuned voice warbling away to the serenaded delight of my wife and kids and all-comers. Not! I do have a back log of about 200 half-remembered songs that would be delightful to ...play along with while someone else sang them! Anyway, I will not tell you when or where. After all, it is a small coffee house and we wouldn't want to overrun the place. I wish I could sing like I paint...at least like the picture here today. It's a beautiful sunset over a flooded wash on the way to my lawyers house...So don't mess with me or you'll hear from him or,... Chuck Norris.

Lovely Lupine 24x18

Speaking of food...The hot & sour soup at the Harvest Moon on Rancho Vistoso road is the best...unless you don't like chewing on someone else's finger nails. Yes, the little pre-Valentine's romantic interlude with my wife of 20 plus years was punctuated by a hard and sharp article of indescribable consistency. I almost used it as an impromptu toothpick before I realised it shouldn't have been in my mouth in the first place. Seems the cook had some down time before the lunch rush and needed to clip his nails in case the health inspector showed up unannounced. Can't have them pesky officials snooping around and finding fault with every little thing - like my other favorite Asian eatery that has the best Dim Sum in town...recently cited for cockroaches breeding on the serving carts. Apart from the exotic flavors and aromas, I find the local ethnic eating establishments to be entertaining as well. Last Saturday the waitress at Carlota's Mexican Diner explained to me in her best Spanglish how her brothers and cousins always go to the Chinese Buffet restaurants and eat all they can - how they get up and walk around to make more room to stuff themselves. Kind of funny but wait till I tell you what happened at the Shanghai Buffet last time we were there. As we prepared to leave we noticed a small but growing commotion around the cash register. A man was gesticulating wildly and as we made our way towards the door we could hear his Speedy Gonzales English contrasting interestingly with the sing-song accent of the oriental host. A beautiful picture of racial harmony it was till we got close enough to understand their words. "Hey man" said the customer, "I could feel the rudeness on the back of my neck". "I know you all were talking about us and took the shrimp away 'cause we are Mexicans and we was eating all of it". Cheech and Chong could not have come up with a better skit. Our sides hurt as we laughed all the way home. Now, whenever anyone here feels slighted by a family member we just say..."I can feel your rudeness on the back of my neck." What do we learn from all this? Well, for one, anger and metaphor don't mix well especially if your speaking an acquired language. And, just be glad that cooked stuff generally can't hurt you...too bad. This painting is as easy on the eyes as hot soup is to the belly. Being offered here on auction.

Partly Cloudy Day 18x24

There's been a bit of bluster in the air the last few days. Yes, this is about as harsh as it gets here. The desert southwest has a great sky for artists with a penchant for landscape painting or... craning their necks. Really anyone for that matter. All who have a desire to let their eyes fall and rest on something worth lookin' at find our land beautiful. Not too strange I guess in light of Solomon's psycho-analysis of human beings..."The eye is not satisfied with seeing..." So, we might not get our fill but we can sure enjoy the healthful sights as long as we have eyes in our heads. Speaking of that, I'm do for an upgrade on my reading glasses. I still use the milder magnifications but you know you're in for it when you start groping for them just to look at your bowl of raisin bran in the morning. This painting can be viewed and bid on. Just follow the link on the top right to my work for sale.

18x24 Good Crop

I've reached some sort of milestone. My oldest son Eddie informed me that I no longer needed to impress him, that I was now free to retire. Wew! What a load off. This, after I nearly broke my left shoulder while trying to master some huge aerial acrobatics on skis. I am really grateful for the use of both arms and was able to paint today...not really my final and greatest masterpiece but the eyes still work and all my colors have not run dry...yet. This is being offered on auction here.

Eli's Evolution

See above my youngest bio-child being bathed in salty water near the sea of Cortez. In the concrete water tank (pila) next to the scrub board there grows creatures that inspire evolutionary speculation. Long and thin as horse tail hairs,(I almost said feathers) they swim in a rhythmic motion. At first blush they appear to be ordinary long locks from my beautiful wife or one of her almost equally attractive cousins or nieces, then they start to wriggle and...creep you out (my response) or cause you to think that they were hairs that have come to life.(my father-in-law's assessment) Either way, they shouldn't be in your bathing water. Carmen says all the children in Los Buidbores (her home town...the scene of the living hairs in the water pictured above) had worms (intestinal) growing up and probably all contracted hepatitis before they were old enough to feel it's awful effects. I used to say"when in Rome"...but now when I travel I try to surround myself with a Howard Hughes-like protective barrier designed to let nary a germ enter my atmosphere. Well, maybe I exaggerate. I do drink purified water when possible but I continue to ingest ample helpings of indescribable sea creatures and animal by-products sold by dubious street vendors that would be sure to land me my own show on the travel channel if anyone knew. My wife had dengue fever not long before I was layed low with malaria...The children all had various maladies related to the tropics and we've all undergone heavy regimens of antibiotics to clean out the amoebas that wreak havoc on Anglo-guts around the globe. But the clincher was the hepatitis A. The tasty demon-crabs caught only a few yards from the bathing scene above were the culprits that almost made this blog and it's author nonexistent. Funny how such a cute picture conjures such pathos. Next entry I'll be sure to post a picture that inspires hope and joy and love and ...no reference to illness, mental or otherwise.

Pine Top 36x24

Reverse racism...I've grown to dislike the term only because I'd love to hear it used a lot more than I do. I think I've seen more true racism in my day aimed at the supposed majority coming from the perceived minority than the other way around. 'Course I've never been to Birmingham either. I know, "It's a messed up, muddled up, shook up world...except for Lola" It just seems like everybody is afraid of being called "intolerant" to the point of leaving off their convictions about right and wrong. I'll offer some clarity to my definitions before I go any further with this. The word "racism" should only be used to describe the predetermined and genuine dislike for another race regardless of the quality of the individual. I believe this sentiment is not as common as many would like us to believe and that the word is thrown around by minority "races" and the media in America as if they owned it (and as if they understood it...which they often don't) The correct word, or the one most often meant when referring to racism should be prejudice. Prejudice can be defined as the pre-judging of someones ability or their intent based on racial or ethnic (cultural) factors ...which are most often based on experience and observation. Can this be hurtful or bad? Definitely...but not necessarily. My point? We all have prejudices. We all have experiences and we all base much of our beliefs about others based on previous experience. It's not necessarily right or wrong...it's just natural. The good in good people will often encourage them to give the benefit of the doubt to others in spite of the empirical (or anecdotal) data our little minds constantly store up to the contrary. The sad thing is this - people do often turn that data into dislike and distrust which is the sentiment I often find aimed at the supposed majority by both the media (the white guilt class) and the perceived minorities. I don't like it a bit. Reverse racism...I'm tired of it and I'm afraid we're in for a lot more of it in the future. Plus, my own private heresy about multi-culturalism as regards race is this; The very word is a misnomer. There is just one race. It's called the human race. The more we talk about race as a descriptive feature in people the more it foments a desire to look for differences.

PS. Why do I think I have a right to weigh in on this? I've lived almost half of my adult life amongst people who constantly and continually believe and expect things of me and my race that are incorrect and disparaging. For many years I toiled in harsh conditions under the watchful eye of racism. I've suffered prejudice to a degree no self-respecting Viking from the northland worth his sea salt and helmet horns should ever have to suffer... all the while observing the hurtful effects on me and my family. Yes, I know all too well what it's like to be in the minority and automatically considered stupid or unable to do or understand a task or process or whatever, simply because of my race. It sucks tremendously and I wouldn't wish it on anybody. I guess all I'm asking for are a few small reparations. The Poles and the Swedes of the Midwest are due some respect too or at least a discount on their ludafisk and kielbasa ...and we should all be allowed a little prejudice when it comes to disliking most of the AFC east teams because they've beat up on the Vikings in countless Superbowls. Looks like you won't have us to kick around this year thanks to racial profiling and the NFL's prejudice against purple jerseys and domed teams.

Mike The Snow Bunny

I know I revisit some of the same themes but really, I have to rub it in a bit. Just talked to my sister in Floodwood, Minnesota. The forecast? 21 below zero! Ha, and you call me insane? Just look at my friend Mike...shameful in his attempt at trying to make it appear balmy in his snug little igloo in northern Montana. Well it won't work folks. I don't miss it a bit, in fact the only thing I need from there are the northern pike fillets I was promised... My brother-in-law Jim was a tunnel rat in Nam. One of only a handful of guys from his group that survived the war...Now he spends his time in therapy fishing through small holes on frozen lakes and keeping me in that heart-healthy diet. I am getting sick of fish oil pills so Jim, pull in a few lunkers for me, get some dry ice and send 'em overnight express! Tucson forecast?...70 degrees...It's 4 pm. I think I'll turn the heater down in the shop here.

My Moon 24x30

I was with an old friend recently. We hadn't seen each other much in the last year or so. As we got caught up he filled me in on his children's latest exploits and pursuits. Seems they're set to become the next leaders of Wall Street and fortune 500's list of greatest entrepreneurs of all time. His teenagers are being offered scholarships and internships and awards left and right. My kids?... have yet to learn to clean the shop to my liking. I imagine the conversation around their dinner table to be an interesting series of topics and debates much like an NPR broadcast. Here at home, Eli ponders out loud the serious difficulty a six fingered man would have when trying to give the middle finger to someone... Eddie spears his sister's hand with a fork full of spaghetti sauce and I horse down a plate full of beans and wipe my mouth on my sleeve. At the end of our mealtime my beautiful daughters burp and push away from the table declaring..."Ooee, I'm as tight as a tick". Yes, you have no need to fear us taking over or dominating anything or anyone... unless you're referring to the bag of chips on the sofa next to that vulnerable remote. Then again, if you met some of my neighbors you might get a different idea. I went to the gun store the other day to help my "pacifist" friend who lives in a trailer to the south buy a multi-bullet magazine (clip) for his Ak-47 . On the way we talked about the neighbor to the north of us. Last time I met him he was creeping down the dirt track in front of my house. He was dressed in desert camo with a glok 9mm strapped to his thigh. He told me the government surveillance was so good that they were reading our lips as we spoke. I can't imagine what I could even have to say that would be so important but was flattered nonetheless - he was trying to hide under my truck! Seems there's a lot of paranoia out there. Well, you can be sure of this- fear is the absence of love...and pure love casts out all fear. Embracing the Savior sure has been the antidote to a lot of the absence of love(fear) for many of us sin-sick weary pilgrims. I'm hoping that this coming year our issues with sin and fear will find their resolution in the One who is called The Desire Of All The Ages.

Shady Sheep 16x20

Our northern counterparts do a poor job of selling their weather. Every time I make a call to the barren tundra and frigid wastelands of northern Minnesota and Montana I'm met with some sort of lame diatribe about how "It's really not that bad right now... Sure it's only 3 above zero and the car won't start but really, we like it... it's supposed to get up to 20 degrees by Thursday...and the dog and cat have such thick winter coats, they're just beautiful, you should really see them".

Wow, you "really" have me convinced...as I sit here wandering if I should wear shorts today or risk over-heating and put on a pair of light cotton slacks. Listen, the day they quit trapping beavers at the confluence of the Mississippi and Minnesota rivers was the day you all should have moved south. Frost crystals have addled your minds for sure, and with all this conversation dedicated to pets and your politics going to Al Franken and Jesse The Body it's a wonder the north continues to function at all. Then again, I'm probably no one to brag too much about the efficiency of mind functions what with all the fumes I ingest here. FYI northern tier peoples. Try a little harder to sell your ice cream to ex-Vikings and talk less about your dogs (children and grand kids are permissible topics) This painting of the oft elusive and shy sheep of the cold country is being offered on auction here.

Swift Footed 24x30

Egg nog and rum make for cheery caroling in Catalina. I'm no pirate but I sure can understand why they always had the bottle handy as they chortled like Santa Claus over the seven seas...just not so sure about the egg nog part, they never really seemed to sing much about that. I'm wondering, if I become a connoisseur of whiskey would it improve my ability to appreciate finer things? I've given up on beer as a hobby and try as I might to enjoy the good fruit of the vine I've not been too successful at making myself like wine either. I'm thinking that maybe I'm just to rough to be civilised by the subtle and delicate prodding of these milder drinks and really need some pure straight acid wash to cut to the quick as they say and get down to the nitty gritty. Well, this is hardly the season for taking up a new bad habit and since I weigh about as much as a skinned rabbit I think a little discernment is in order. I will, though, continue to imbibe as much as possible the refreshing draughts of paint fumes and turpentine that permeate everything here. I'll find the kids, from time to time, smelling my clothes or something else that reeks of oil paint with a faraway smile muttering something about how this smells like dad. I won't guarantee that this painting doesn't smell like dad but it should look like a place you want to be. Offered on auction here this week.

Canon in D major

Christmas eve morning jog, dog leash in hand, Bob Dylan singing Working Man Blues on the iPod, and an empty bottle of Seagram's 7 in the ditch to my left. Here's how I fantasize. -Out of the corner of my eye I catch the blur of dark fur and fury leaping from the center stripe on Wilds road in Catalina, Arizona. The air is crisp and the mountain snow shimmers in the morning light as the arching creature, fangs bared, hurdles toward the throat of my favorite man's-best-friend. Moments before, my ears caught a glimpse, or you could say I saw out of the corner of my ears through the headphones the growling bark of what I'm sure was a rottweiler/bulldog-mix, bred specifically to maul people like me and dogs like Davey. Normally, my morning-run fantasies are about Davey and I being attacked by wolves (inspired by neighborhood dogs on the loose) I pull out one of my ever-present knives and dispatch the offending cur by deftly placing a well aimed thrust between the third and forth ribs leaving the miserable demon dog to slowly drain on his way, limping back to his home where he should've been kept fenced or tied or...I join Bob on stage to play along with some sweet groove that moves at just the right beat...in step with the run. This day, however, no knife was found in my running suit so the Seagram's bottle became the tool of my daring rescue and revenge. I lived and re-lived the various possible scenarios of how the dogs would grapple- I would break the bottle either over the attacking dog's head or on the ground to gouge out his eyes with the broken, jagged edge. There really are a number of ways this fantasy could be played out and it takes almost a whole song (Bob's can be quite long) to get to the end of my fanciful meditation. In all my daydreams I do end up rescuing Davey and coming away with only a few stitches and no lawsuits against me...almost every time.

Well, maybe not what you expected for a beautiful Christmas story to go along with Canon in D major played above in the you tube video. We didn't practise this...I just told the band (Marissa and Ellie) to strike up a tune. It's long and repetitive so I won't feel bad if you don't make it through the whole thing. I wish you well and that you can find / have some good company in these special days.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS de Los Hawkins

Catalina Christmas. Everyone is pictured ...the dog's head is cut off (under my hands) and yes, those are the Santa Catalina mountains in the background. The temperature was a frigid 62 degrees when we took this picture a couple of days ago. So, as you see, we can completely identify with and commiserate with any and all who are in the throes of grappling with the long and lonely winter night that is upon us. And yes, there is a smattering of snow on the mountain tops... just to reinforce my point. (It's only supposed to reach 67 degrees today!)
I've not caved (yet) to my wife's pleading lamentatious eyes and her unspoken desires to go to Mexico for the holidays and as long as I can stave off her piercing stares and unrelenting silence on the matter we should be able to pull off a happy and home bound Christmas. Our friends and family south of the border are completely oblivious to our American style concerns about safety in travel, worry about border crossings and recent warnings from the state department about the multitudinous dangers in Mexico. Not that we're chicken mind you. Danger is my middle name after all and I've never been too opposed to staring it in the eye with an unflinching steely glare. It's just that the kids (the boys) don't really like the travel and having to speak Spanish all the time (teenagers)...and we usually do have some sort of harrowing adventure that includes the "D" word above. To the folks south o' da border those concerns are petty compared with the joy of gathering the family for fried fish, tamales, unsalted peanuts in the shell and sea turtle soup...you know, your normal Christmas fare. Oh, I forgot to mention that they're butchering a pig just for us...expecting us to arrive on the 26th! Too bad I'm a vegan.

untitled commission 30x40

I just finished this large 30x40 canvas. I splurged for this commissioned piece and bought a real nice canvas. In a perfect world I would paint on lead primed linen canvases...smooth as babies bottoms and about the most enjoyable surface to move paint around on I've found. I would be tempted to go back to Masonite as my preferred substrate but the springiness and the little bit of "tooth" on a well primed canvas are like a day filled with sunshine, sleeping dogs and quiet children. I do re-work the less expensive canvases I usually paint on. I sand them and give 'em another coat of gesso, maybe sand again and tone the ground with a neutral mix of ultra marine and burnt sienna. Sounds like a lot of work I know but it's worth it in the long run and, don't forget, I have several teenage slaves, uh, I mean kids that help out a lot.

Silver River 12x36

I've a bunch of new paintings hanging around here, the kids are full of menudo, cookies and Christmas cheer, and there's snow on the mountains. One would think that this would provide ample blog-fodder to throw out there with the myriad Spanish/English, English/ Spanish, mexed-up anecdotes I'm known for. Alas, computer woes coupled with apathy, flying time and a few quail hunts make for an absent blogger. Now, don't let my bird hunting references ruffle your feathers. In my world, "hunting" is a convenient term used to describe a lot of things and a quick perusal of our freezer and it's absence of frozen game will undoubtedly enlighten you as to the fantastical ability us multi-linguals poses to moldify, modify and just generally butcher language. So, I've torn myself away from the eternal pot of pozole bubbling away on the stove to put up this cool rendition of the Tucson mountains just west of the studio here.

Full On Vacation 24x30

The ornaments are on the tree, the lights are strung from the gable to the mesquite out in the front scrub, uh, yard and my belly has already partaken of it's quota of Christmas cookies for the season. What better way to continue the holiday atmosphere of festivation, cheer-making and joy-giving than to paint a pretty picture of the... Caribbean? ...My thoughts exactly. For all my travels throughout the hinterlands of central and south America I've only had the chance to hang out on remote beaches and islands a couple of dozen times. Many a Christmas I've relinquished my senses to the swarmy breezes as I recline under a palm sipping coconut coolers, plater of shrimp piled hi at my right hand and beautiful naked natives at my beck, fanning giant leafs and catering to my every and sundry whim. Oh how I've suffered...the thought of missing snow and shoveling the drive when an arctic cold front moves in after a storm that left twelve inches of snow and the temperature dips to -27 below. If you've ever had Jack Frost nipping at your nose, if you've ever reached for your car keys (unsuccessfully) with frozen phalanges, if you've ever used a propane torch to thaw your sorrel boots enough to get at the laces, than this reverie is for you.

I'm surprised at how little Ive painted palm trees and beaches...maybe 'cause they're too romantic or too overdone, I've just seen too many renditions of over-romanticized scenes. Regardless, I think I could learn a bit about light and it's play on water so I think I'll try more of these in the future...let me know what you think.

Jupiter Moon 12x36

Well, the leftovers are gone and after a week of family visits and much festivating I hope to have the play-doh fun factory, uh, art studio back up and running at full steam. It's hard to paint with relatives looking over your shoulder. After a while and especially after painting outdoors in public you do become a bit annealed to any effect Looky Lous might have on you but lately I've been more intent on sequestering myself in the hidden underground bunker that is my shop. So, I just had to shake off the piercing stares, keep my eyes on the road and play the man.

Turkey is a favorite food...the birds are interesting too, some of the most stupid critters in all creation. If you've ever raised 'em you know what I mean. As dumb as they are they provide some of the best table fare and for that I offer the following ode.

Thanksgiving Turkey

When you hear them coming stomping
And you feel the heartbeat thumping
Then a quiet whisper whispers
A red bird starts to sing

When the fish are just not biting
And the June bugs cease to crawl
On the screen at evening
The porch light says it all

Early dusk late sunrise
Crisp the windy blow
A warming light at evening
Warm the hearth and glow

How they come so happy
Shake the white off boots and brow
Yonder turkey gobbled
Now he lays the table low

He heard the footsteps coming
He heard the cardinal song
He laid his crown on yonder block
He roasted all day long

Call My Bluff...Home On The Range 24x30

Thanksgiving and another happy day is upon us. You know, it's a healing thing to be thankful...regardless of circumstances. A grateful heart is incapable of criticizing others and a thankful tongue is not able to complain. A good practise is to effuse, out loud, thanks...to God whether He feels near or far. Your own ears will hear yourself giving thanks and your brain will tell your heart to chime in. Soon you will be persuaded that there is much to be thankful for and your countenance will be changed to a glowing bright orb that radiates goodness and cheer to all mankind. Or something like that. Whew...I think I should try to follow my own advice once in a while. The picture above and psalm below are for your viewing and reading pleasure on this, my favorite holiday.

Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless His holy name.

Praise the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits-

Who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases,

Who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion,

Who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.

Psalm 103:1-5

Long Mount 12x36

I had just enough wine the other night to remind me that it's pretty easy to have too much. Not that I overindulged, it's just that the delightful soothing draught of liquid warmth can be subtly...well, intoxicating....especially to an empty stomach of a not large person who hardly ever imbibes. The following is a word to the wise...another little poem that has nothing to do with the new painting pictured above and even less to do with my circumstances the other night. Offered for sale here.

Red sparkle lets you know
The warmth and joyness fill your head
I hope that we don’t stumble
On our way to lay our head
Down to sleep the sleep of fools
Inviting as it is
You take in hand the crystal globe
Where swirls the one that says
Drink, drink your fill and drown your will
Give no thought for the morrow
I’ll take good care of you and yours
...And haul you in a barrow!

Above The Vines 20x20

Dont Put Your Trust In Stars

Star bright and starlight…I hope and pray and hope I might
Catch a star to wish upon and catch a wish when hope is gone
Gone from my head the happy thought that weaves and spins tomorrows joys
And just as true as wishing might bring to you the hopeful sight
Of dreams come true Dreams old and new
to have and hold and to hold anew
But truth be told that falling star will burn a hole right through your heart
And if by chance your pocket fills with falling stars for tomorrows ills
That flaming spark much hotter than a million suns will come again
And bake a hole right through your leg and heart and heel coming limping beg…
It wasn’t even a rainy day and all my hopes are gone away.

Rose Coast 20x20

The other day I was invited to a Mexican birthday party at a local park. Some of the folks were close friends and it was quite a pachanga. A while back I had presided over the wedding ceremony of the couple who was celebrating their third child's first birthday (One of my disguises is that of a Mexican pastor). Over the blaring ranchero music we ate shredded beef stew (barbacoa style) and drank coke and Bud Light...the favorite beer of Mexicans in the US. I played around with some of the kids for a bit to get away from the loud music. The cutest one of the bunch had been our foster daughter a few years ago. She is now seven and calls me papi. She lives with her mom and a younger sister and brother...all from different dads. I saw her again last night and was reminded of the divergent backgrounds of people in America. I am a half Polish Swede from the northland ....often putting on like I'm some beaner from La Tierra Caliente and raising a bunch of mexed-up kids in the process. In spite of that (the mexed-up part) we can all hold our own when it comes to slinging slang in at least a couple of languages, and next to kielbasa my favorite sausage is chorizo. Looking into little Leticia's face I was reminded of the strange and very kind love of God that keeps spreading out His common grace on His little ones far and wide. Two years ago on Christmas the little girl's mom was kidnapped by the Sinaloa drug cartel here in Tucson. She (the mom) had become like a daughter to us through circumstances that had happened a couple years previous...Leticia (the little girl) was placed with us by child protective services. Anyway, several of us got together and were able to pay the ransom the narcos were asking. Get this, the police recommended that we pay them to get her back telling us how lucky we were that it wasn't the Jamaican drug gangs 'cause they would just kill her when they got the money. After 7 days she was returned safe...a bit bruised and frightened but that Christmas had a happy, albeit tearful ending. This girl is someone many of us would have written off a long time ago. Of course they still have a steep hill to climb but to see the little chamacos happily cavorting around the dilapidated, drug-free trailers and dog carcasses on Tucson's far south side really warmed my heart and made me think there was yet hope for America...I just don't want her voting till she's read all my blogs and my forthcoming book!

Cloudset On The Flats 24x30

I've been working on a book. The working title, which I'm sure will be changed, is All Mexed Up...memoirs & musings of a poly-lingual multi-culturist and his noble, albeit sometimes misguided attempts at changing the world. Of course with such a pretentious introduction I'll have to write it under a pseudonym...can't have people finding me on eBay you know. That would totally deflate any hype that our marketing team will try to create. Anyway, this has taken the place of the coffee table book which I'm setting on the back burner for the time being. That will probably be my second published book after the first hits best seller status and propels me, reluctantly, into the limelight. In all reality, I should have written it a few years ago for timing is almost everything in this business. (as if I knew this business) I have a good-sized leather pouch hanging from my belt that contains numerous jewels and precious stones. Some are still rough and dirty but others are rare and highly polished...quite reflective in fact and these would serve to bring to light a lot of questions and conundrums our modern age is confronted with concerning the border and immigration to the US. Of course it will be filled with all kinds of little anecdotal stories of exaggerated heroism and third-world exploits, so it should be entertaining if nothing else. I will post more about it here and maybe even open a blog with excerpts and a forum for others to comment etc. The glorious skyscape pictured above is being sent to our Florida gallery.

The Earth Below 36x24

Morality, like art, means drawing a line someplace.
Oscar Wilde

He also said that melancholy is the joy of sadness.

Well, if king Solomon states that with much knowledge comes much grief and that insight and understanding bring much sorrow, I think that drawing the line someplace just sets us up for a whole bunch of melancholy. Do you wallow in self loathing and decadent crapulence more often than not? Well, if you do, you might have the makings of a great artist...or you might just need to draw clearer lines. Thanks to God (and a lack of personal crapulence), I have refrained from overt and extended bouts of melancholy. Unfortunately though, according to the above, my artistical endeavors are sure to suffer. I am, however, quite adept at covering up my shortcomings (or lack of line drawing) as you can see in the painting pictured. A fine example of American art (and subterfuge) that any vodka-bottle-strewn studio would be proud of. It's being offered for sale here. PS. From now on we will wonder if our joy is true and happy or just the embracing of sorrows...thanks Oscar

Stream O' Plenty 24x36

My son was given an asignment today. He had to write a short story or poem that had something to do with autumn. So, in the true spirit of father-son solidarity I write the following.

Autumn is now in full swing even here in the desert. And with it comes a veritable cornucopia of memories and images, not the least of which is that of the venerable pumpkin. It dances through the back roads of my mind conjuring hallowed, albeit foggy pictures and scenes of yesteryear ...that serve to almost bring a tear to my bright and hazel eyes. Multi-use vegetable as it is, there are countless varieties and just as many things that can be done with almost each and every size and color variant of this, mostly orange and tasty squash. There is one thing, however, that the smaller grapefruit-sized gourds have been used for and for which I am quite ashamed and cannot recommend.
The word "trolling" is as part of the vocabulary of Midwest fisherman as "tortilla" is to the southwest bean eater. In regards to fishing, well, there is just one typical connotation. Concerning vandalism and aberrant behavior though, there might be several uses of the word. Here I am referring to the dastardly act of throwing snowballs, light and fluffy, at cars and passersby from behind the hill at Riverdale park. We called it trolling. At first it was just a bunch of blood pumping, adrenaline flowing fun. No harm was intended. And save for the odd car screeching (or sliding as it were) to an abrupt and blustery halt on the historic West River Road, no one was ever hurt. (although the one police chase incurred was quite invigorating) Well, unfortunately for the unwitting passersby, adolescents grow...into bigger and stronger adolescents and...snow melts away. This leaves a horrible vacuum and necessitates that something replace the little round fluffy projectiles that we so eagerly and happily heaved at unsuspecting travelers during rush hour as the sun was setting over the Mississippi. Of course the most logical option was to go down to Peterson's field and do a little pre-season harvesting. You can imagine how this quickly turned into one of the most perilous activities that the Riverdale Right Footers ever partook of. To our credit I will say that as trolling turned into a more popular sport in our neighborhood and was taken over by older kids who soon grew bored with gourds and pumpkins and turned to rocks and real damage, we quit the practice. Every once in a while I pine for the northern climes and my hands begin to grope, involuntarily for something to chuck at unseen cars careening out of control over the next hill. This is my curse. This is my burden. This is my favorite fall memory. The painting pictured above remotely and in only a very esoteric and obscure way relates to pumpkins and fishing.

The Marsh 20x24

You mess with the bull, you get the horns. That's what my son told me the other day after I hit him in the belly. I have two teenage boys...and that's the wrong thing to say to a dad like me if you know what's good for you. Now, this did come from the same kid who pulled his own teeth (that weren't loose) to make room for braces. I told him that he'd be saving his dad about a hundred bucks per tooth and that if he pulled them himself I'd pony-up and give him something special. The next night he walked into the room with a bloody grin...and a large moller in his hand! However, this is also the kid who likes to hold his blankie and play with legos while a lot of youngsters his age are already planning their escape. No, I'm breeding them to stick around and keep up on the chores and to hunt and gather what the earth brings forth...and a couple of them show real promise ...as artists and future presidents! I will vote today...but I'm curious as to the hunting / firearms use background of candidates. I had a thought the other day as I hiked the desert hills not far from here, shotgun in hand, that went like this. I am not interested in voting for someone who has never walked fields or forest of this land...who only knows the city. I guarantee there will be something amiss in that persons world view. I think I would have the same thought about someone who didn't play piano or the saxophone so you see my opinions might not be altogether scientific or even that logical. Anyway, I don't really know about the two who are running today...I suspect that according to my new criteria neither of them are worthy of my vote...Oh how I wish they were offering a chicken in every pot! But wait, they are. ...but who will pay for it?!?

Piled High 36x24

There were several scenarios running through my mind as I walked up to the bank to make a small deposit. The man getting off the bike near the front door was the reason for my suspicions and musings. He looked bedraggled and scraggly and as I watched him unfold a large, army issue duffel bag I knew something was amiss. Or did I? A hot breeze escorted me into the double lobby / foyer of the Norwest bank branch as cool breathe from the air-conditioned climate met us with a smile. Tucson, mid summer and everybody wants to be at the pool, inside where the air is nice or...robbing banks! Of course, it's the perfect time of year for all of the above. Well, I had business to take care of so I went about it as best I could, pushing away the distracting and fanciful image of myself thwarting the robbery attempt and the glory that would be bestowed on me afterward. Finished with leaving my small wad of hundred dollar bills in the safety of an American bank I fully indulged myself to meditate on the potential scenarios mentioned earlier. But first, I must mention the sheriff deputy seated by the door with his 70's era mirrored sunglasses. (The same ones I wore as I tooled down the road in 1977 with my long hair flowing and glowing in the sun astride my Suzuki 550 next to Lake Superior.) I smiled and waved to him...noticing how his presence was sure to put a twist on any thwarting I might be partaking in...and the fact that he didn't smile back. My first reaction was to think how rude he was. That bank should get rid of that @#% non-friendly, anti money-depositing-customer element. Bad for business. Regardless, I was too busy planning my thwarting to follow-up on how I was going to fix the bank's PR problems...I'd get to that later. The glass double doors offered a perfect spot for me to feign a heart attack. I could just lay down in front of them clutching my breast and that should give the vigilant, albeit preoccupied-with-not-smiling sheriff time to disarm the thief. Quickly my thoughts raced to a horrible conclusion...the perp opens fire right inside the crowded bank killing all the tellers and I'm to blame. No, I thought, as I walked past the doors, we need to get him outside. This is where we can take him down. It would've been so easy to slash his bike's tires. I have experience at that you know and I was carrying at least two knives at the time. Sure, that would be the easiest and least obtrusive. However, the fleeting moment of opportunity passed as a few errant brain signals mentioned the possibility of him catching me in the act. I've never been caught for all the tires I've slashed and I wouldn't want to press my luck. Anyway, in all reality, I should just tackle the SOB and take him down just like so many movies I've seen and gun fights I've lived through vicariously thanks to the elite training I received via Louis L'Amour westerns. As I crawled into my work van I paused a moment, staring at the entrance waiting for it to explode...it didn't.

Needless to say this all gave me a good chuckle as I drove away realising what a beautiful, creative and artistic mind I must have. To think that I even entertained the idea for more than a second, that I might prevent a bank robbery. Wow, what an imagination. Two hours later I drove by the same bank only to see it surrounded by squad cars, lights a flashin' and the whole area cordoned-off. That night I heard on the 6 o'clock news..."The bank robber got away on a bike with an undisclosed amount of cash" The painting pictured here is a place not far from yet worlds away from the true story above.