WHERE NARY A WEED MAY GROW

COPPERTAILINGS                                        Clarkdale, Arizona
Original oil on gessoed board

Far up the valley and from the Mingus Mountains above, a beautiful copper furrowed field can be seen.    So compelling that I was drawn to it and spent a warm winter’s day painting this scene.  I hadn’t realized this was essentially waste from years of copper mining -- a toxic crop where nary a weed may grow and one of many unfortunate legacies of mining days past. 

But when I look back on that day it is the little details I recall … the horseback riders who came along  and chatted hello while I opened that cattle guard for them; the heavenly soft breeze and light sun that warmed my back; the ancient ruin called Tuzigoot behind me that stands as testament that once upon time this valley was a place of life.  A place of magic.

WHEN THE WHITE HORSE APPEARS...

CHILLY SLOUGH (Whitehorse)
Big Lost River Valley, Idaho.
Oil on gessoed rag board

For a brief time, I lived in the Big Lost River Valley. In this place, known as The Chilly Slough, the river appears without warning from a deep underground source, flowing through the valley, abruptly disappearing without adieu some 40 miles later. The valley is filled with fossils and Indian Paintbrush  flowers in every possible shade from bright red, peach, pink and yellow to its palest reflection. The ranching community fights to hold on to their land and way of life while wealthy out of state business interests scheme to take it from them. So many extremes, but it was a wonderful place to stop traveling, finish some writing projects and take stock of what might be next.

The locals say, “When the white horse appears, it’s the height of spring run off.” Finally, I learned what they meant – the side of one particular mountain melts off every year and reveals the image of a white horse – surprisingly elegant and sculpted and every bit as fleeting as a running horse.

THE DISTANT VIEW

 HIGH SONORAN DESERT II                           Sedona, Arizona

I like Sedona best from a distance, when the red rocks glow in the afternoon sun, when shadows turn lavender blue, and when all the hotels and condos are hidden properly from view. This is when I am free to imagine what it must have been like a thousand years ago. I hiked several of these mesas, scrambling along animal trails and through manzanita groves, always wary of hostile cactus and slumbering snakes. Sometimes coming across old ruins, the remains of stone dwellings occupied some 900 years ago where little shards of pottery can still be found, along with ancient symbols called "petroglyphs, left on stone faces by long ago artists. And on occasion, the impressions of fingertips in the mortar, left behind by the women who built these stone houses. Centuries later, my fingertips fit perfectly.

Tain't No Pelicans Here...

"PELICAN BAY"
Yellowstone Park, Wyoming
Oil on Masonite
9" x 24"
(Private Collection)

Tain’t no pelicans here…but there are plenty of other strange folk hovering about in gawky white vehicles. Thank God they don't have wings.

When traveling through Yellowstone in the summer months, it is best to sup on chamomile tea and Quaaludes... or whatever best enhances one's tolerance of narrow roadways bloated with mammoth-sized campers lumbering along like pachyderms. It is the spiritual pilgrim's opportunity to practice kindness and acceptance, ultimately to view the be-wheeled ones as but curious seekers beauty and be thankful they are not among the criminal element of the world. I was stuck again and again behind the impassable creatures. When freedom appeared, it was so very brief as the next backlog would soon appear and I was thrust into mastery school again.

Is it largely a human occupation, the notion of wanting to be somewhere other than where you are?

In Yellowstone, when vehicles are stopped roadside with no particular logic, you can be certain there is a photo worthy moment happening nearby; a moose innocently munching on willows, a bison taking a dump roadside, a bull elk calling out his territory. Along with it the possibility of an overly confident tourist being stomped on by them for venturing too close. Indeed you can purchase a book at any Yellowstone visitor center chronicling the many fatal tourista faux pas throughout the history of the park… the enthusiastic housewives who backed up just a little too far for that awesome bubbling cauldron shot, or wanted to pet baby Bullwinkle. Can you imagine the epitaph?

I pulled off by this bridge enroute to Jackson and Big Piney where I had agreed to cook for the long and grueling fall hunt. This was the last painting respite of the season and the remaining three months would be spent cooking for groggy hunters in high alpine winter conditions that arrived all too soon after Labor Day. Hunt camp is all consuming and there is simply no energy left over for creative pursuits. Besides, the paints would have froze to the pallette.

Here and now, I was content to paint in the warm sun, caressed by a light breeze while raptors drift and hunt above. A dreamy afternoon that ocluded time with very little awareness of traffic noise, RVs or people who may have stopped by. A small herd of buffalo wandered into the scene towards the end. One moment they were simply there. Such details have always been part of the invisible layers that never appear in the painting, my secret memory.

Several years later, “Pelican Bay” became the lead image for a one-woman show of my work and quickly sold. Someone inquired, “How long did it take you to paint it?” Honestly, I haven’t a clue. Once an image has me there is no awareness of time, and really no concern about it.

East Meets West

"LINE LAKE"
Beartooth Pass, Montana
Oil on Rag Board
20" x 16"
(Not for Sale)

My first taste of the Beartooth Highway revealed view upon breathtaking view and frankly, it lit me up in ways that the gentle eastern landscapes of Maine never managed to do. Here is but one turquoise gem set perfectly in the sweeping timeless jewel of this rugged landscape. (sigh)

This was the great difference between the wild open landscapes of the American Rockies, and Maine where the forests are thick and the views mostly intimate and close. I never could have comprehended the feel of this place without experiencing it first hand. Some find the openness too exposed and disconcerting while others become smitten and take root.

The western landscapes inspired a feeling of expansiveness that set me to writing and painting with a near insatiable intensity for a span of years. This was the profound effect of the open horizons, soaring mountains and extraordinary color palette -- a virtual feast for the wanderer's eye and there were barely enough hours in any given day to express it all. I so tried to take root here and though I remained over a period of eight years, the way to sustain it financially never appeared. Always seemed like I worked twice as hard for half the result, and there was not enough purchase in the thin rocky soil, or perhaps I was better use to the world somewhere else.

In the end, I returned east to be with family and put down some roots. Though I found new appreciation for the subtle beauty of Maine, years later I still feel the call to wander west for a good dose of big sky now and then. It tends to get into one’s blood, under the skin, wedged up under the fingernails like the most stubborn dirt.

Line Lake rests upon the Montana/Wyoming border -- a sheepherder's trailer sits waiting with basic supplies and shelter, the wind blows, as it always does and during short windows of time we humans get to visit this towering wilderness before Mother Nature asserts her complete and undisputed possession of it. And it is good. Perfect really. What could possibly improve upon this flawless beauty?

This image appears on the back cover of my first book, Confessions of the Hired Spatula, so rather than sell the original, I have indulged myself in retaining it for "the artist's private collection."

Color Me Blue...

"GARDNER LAKE"
Beartooth Pass, Wyoming
Oil on Rag Board
19.25" x 22.25"
$800 USD Unframed


At nearly 11,000 feet there is little but sparse tundra vegetation clinging to fierce craggy soil and hard scrub bracken bordering the small glacial lakes. The Beartooth Pass offers but two seasons; winter and almost winter and the latter is extremely short. It is not a place for those who fear heights, cold weather or lightening and the nearest cozy lodging can be found 20 miles down the mountain at Red Lodge, Montana.

I began this painting the previous day but quit when an imposing storm system rolled in. Today another dark thunder cell loomed with howling winds and plummeting temperatures that quickly settled into my bones. Even the paint on the palette was nearly too cold to mix and a less boneheaded individual might have given up completely. Just then a voice behind me said, "Hello, say do ya mind if we interview you?" A big fuzzy microphone and camera were then thrust at my surprised face – every blue frozen inch of it, no doubt looking dangerously sexy and perfectly suited for prime time.

Say hello to Doug McConnell and his traveling film crew from the Backroads series, here on special assignment filming a segment on Yellowstone and the Tetons, all of them looking marginally pleased to find an artist painting on this forbidden stretch. Sure, why not? I have a sense of humor and I was already running high on adventure, having recently escaped the last cooking job at the Flying Resort Ranches in Idaho. I was basically traveling through the mountains painting and camping before determining where to go next. Officially, I was footloose and fancy free with no legal address. The date of my last hot shower was also in question.

With fierce winds brutally whipping us, the cameras rolled, Deborah squeaked her little story (so cold the mouth was barely cooperating by then), a quick shot of the painting in progress was included, and off they went, those magnificent men in their filming paraphernalia. The producer was funny, and kind enough to send me a copy of the segment. The painting was ultimately completed. And revisiting these images, I would gladly be there again, if only…

I searched up the Backroads show and learned they had just concluded a 23-year run due to lack of funding in August '08. However you can find them at http://www.openroad.tv/ where portions of the Yellowstone and Tetons segments are posted. As for my little 15 seconds of fame, it fell to the editors cut. S’okay… it is part of this image, frozen right there in the paint.

Sweet Music in the Mountains

"ISLAND LAKE"
Beartooth Pass, Wyoming
Oil on Rag Board
(Private Collection)


Sweet sanctuary can be found in the Beartooth Pass by this small glacial lake. Island Lake Campground is located just to the left, and it is one of the more stunning camper's havens discovered during the wandering years. A well-used trail borders the lake and connects to an extensive network of trails that wander far into the back country. Looking at it now, I might have explored the trails a little further, but traveling solo, recall a certain amount of caution about hiking in bear country alone with no common sense equipment. Instead I stayed close to the lake, and one afternoon set out to paint the view.

At some point, a fellow stepped out of his RV nearby and began playing the sweetest violin, which continued for what seemed like hours as I painted quickly, racing the nightfall. When it came time to fold up, the violinist quietly put away his playing and disappeared into his trailer. Never a word spoken, none necessary. But this painting certainly reveals the collaboration with the melodies imprinted into every stroke of the brush, the softness of the edges and the feeling I remember of being there.