04 April 2009
29 March 2009
Ibis in Progress
Okay...I haven't done this in a while...
This is the rough sketch beginning of the piece I am currently painting.
Photos will be posted as it progresses.
The subject: a trio of glossy ibis seen at Merritt NWR last month.
Oil on Linen
24" x 48"
DAY ONE
1:16 pm
1:43 pm
2:01 pm
2:24 pm
2:45 pm
3:02 pm
Time for a lunch break...
4:03 pm
4:25 pm
4:55 pm
5:33 pm
6:24 pm
Losing my natural light...time to stop for the night on this one
Getting a bit of a late start today after a trip over the hill for my daily nuking...but back at it now.
DAY TWO
4:13 pm
4:34 pm
5:07 pm
After a couple of days off, I'm back at it...
DAY 3
9:31 am
9:55 am
10:24 am
10:59 am
11:41 am
12:13 pm
This is the rough sketch beginning of the piece I am currently painting.
Photos will be posted as it progresses.
The subject: a trio of glossy ibis seen at Merritt NWR last month.
Oil on Linen
24" x 48"
DAY ONE
1:16 pm
1:43 pm
2:01 pm
2:24 pm
2:45 pm
3:02 pm
Time for a lunch break...
4:03 pm
4:25 pm
4:55 pm
5:33 pm
6:24 pm
Losing my natural light...time to stop for the night on this one
Getting a bit of a late start today after a trip over the hill for my daily nuking...but back at it now.
DAY TWO
4:13 pm
4:34 pm
5:07 pm
After a couple of days off, I'm back at it...
DAY 3
9:31 am
9:55 am
10:24 am
10:59 am
11:41 am
12:13 pm
17 March 2009
The Corvidae-ly Painter
The site that inspired my venture into the world of blogging was forwarded from my friend Paula. It was a artist named Duane Keiser who did a painting a day...they were lovely little jewels. That was in 2005...today there are a plethora of "daily painters" out there in cyberspace...even whole organizations devoted to daily painting. Today marks the inaugural post of my version: The Corvidae-ly Painter. As the name suggests...I will try to paint a corvid a day. As the pun suggests...the intention is fun.
Charcoal on Gessoed, Cradled Panel
5" x 7"
This is the sketch for the first Daily Corvid...click on the sketch to see the finished piece.
Charcoal on Gessoed, Cradled Panel
4" x 4"
Another sketch...
another Raven.
Charcoal on Gessoed, Cradled Panel
5" x 7"
This is the sketch for the first Daily Corvid...click on the sketch to see the finished piece.
Charcoal on Gessoed, Cradled Panel
4" x 4"
Another sketch...
another Raven.
15 March 2009
The Passing Lane
Yes, yes, yes...I know...it has been a LOOOONNNNGGG time since i posted anything here...my bad. For what it's worth, I have good reasons...but we'll get into that a little later as I am having trouble wrapping my mind around a way to arrange the words to describe what has been, to say the least, a very interesting and eventful year. So we'll just leave that for another time and ease back into blogging with something light.
Many of you knew of my little Magpie Miata...
The Miata was not your usual pampered sports car.
It was fun in the snow.
It made an excellent tripod stand for photographing wildlife.
The wildlife loved the Miata, too. This magpie popped by for a closer look, bringing a morsel of food... just in case.
Sadly, the Magpie Miata met its end in a tragic collision with a deer. I wasn't driving and it was the first time I have ever been involved with hitting a large mammal.
It was unavoidable... nonetheless, it is not an experience I care to repeat in the future if possible. I can only hope that the little buck moves onto something greater with his passing. As to the Miata...
The little Magpie was totaled...but, amazingly, we were not. I have a renewed faith in the cockpit safety of these fun little roadsters.
Luckily, the insurance company sent a check for a replacement...so I went in search of a new Miata. Always loved the rare yellow ones...
Nothing can replace the Magpie Miata...
so I'm thinking RAVENS for this one!
Many of you knew of my little Magpie Miata...
The Miata was not your usual pampered sports car.
It was fun in the snow.
It made an excellent tripod stand for photographing wildlife.
The wildlife loved the Miata, too. This magpie popped by for a closer look, bringing a morsel of food... just in case.
Sadly, the Magpie Miata met its end in a tragic collision with a deer. I wasn't driving and it was the first time I have ever been involved with hitting a large mammal.
It was unavoidable... nonetheless, it is not an experience I care to repeat in the future if possible. I can only hope that the little buck moves onto something greater with his passing. As to the Miata...
The little Magpie was totaled...but, amazingly, we were not. I have a renewed faith in the cockpit safety of these fun little roadsters.
Luckily, the insurance company sent a check for a replacement...so I went in search of a new Miata. Always loved the rare yellow ones...
Nothing can replace the Magpie Miata...
so I'm thinking RAVENS for this one!
02 October 2007
"Wing And A Preyer"
There are paintings that come from an experience...others begin with a spark of imagination...still others grow from a catchy title...and then there are the images that reach down your throat, grab you by the heart and demand to be painted.
In the fall of 2003 i was returning from the East coast where I'd attended the Waterfowl Festival. I loitered in Nashville a while, visiting family and was crossing Kansas on the way to see my Dad in a Denver hospital before returning home. Over the years since moving west the first time at age 17, I have crisscrossed Kansas many times...and one of my favorite sights is the hawks that hunt from fenceposts along the roadside. As usual, I was hawk watching...looking for the first Swainson's that would signal "West" for me.
Out of nowhere an image came to me...a painting of a hawk caught in the barbed wire that had taken its life. I was a little shocked by this for two reasons...first, though I'd admired other artists' works with deceased subjects, I'd never felt remotely inspired to paint a dead bird...and second, though I must have read about it somewhere, in all my years of hawk watching I had never seen such a thing.
Nonetheless, the thought of this painting was so compelling that I made a mental note to keep an eye out for a dead hawk on the wire. Within an hour...there it was. I was stunned, but not too stunned to wrestle the truck and trailer to the emergency lane in order to walk over and shoot some reference.
As I walked toward the bird, shooting photos, I noticed that something wasn't "right"...then it hit me...the bird had "no head". It wasn't a hawk...it was a shorteared owl.
This unfortunate soul had been caught by the wrist of one wing on the top wire. It had fought, as evidenced by the tendons wrapped around the barb, and the dried blood down the wing. The other wing swung free in the breeze and the bird's head was bowed over its talons, which gripped the second wire down.
There was a terrible beauty in this image...more striking because in its last moment, frozen by death...the bird seemed to hold a pose of prayer. Feet together clutching the wire and head bowed over them.
Imagine this bird, hunting from the nearby post, sees its prey and dives...only to catch a barb. Then the struggle, the vain fight to free itself. Its feet grasp the second wire, to rest...it fights again...then rests...finally, the last time, its head falls over its feet. Such a tragic end, the pain, exhaustion, fear...did merciful shock kill it more quickly...or did it slowly starve there, hanging from that wire?
After a few photographs, I cut the owl out of the barbed wire and lay it gently in the prairie grass. As I continued my drive, I thought about this bird, the image and the many things analogous to it. At the time, my Dad was fighting for his life...a struggle that, like the owl, he would eventually lose. I thought of people (and wild things) everywhere, each fighting their own battles...for their lives, their loved ones, their ideals, their dreams, their next meal. I thought about the incidental and intentional deaths caused by the decisions we make every day.
On one hand...this is just a bird, one of many, who made a miscalculation that cost its life. It is not the fault of the fence, or the rancher, or the highway, or the bird...but then again, its death is a weight we all should bear.
We all own a share of responsibility for the collateral damage of the choices we make. There is blood on all of our hands for the lives lost in our wars, along the roads we drive, in the factories that make our goods, in the old growth cut for timber and the rainforests burned to clear land for crops or cattle. There is a high price paid for the conveniences that we take for granted.
Like little kids, we hold up our palms and cry "not me! I didn't do it!"...or point fingers "THEY did it! It's their fault!"...but we all do our share of the damage. Every choice we make carries consequences.
It is easy to remember to consider the "big" choices...like who we vote for...but the seemingly inconsequential decisions that we make hundreds of times a day (like what kind of bag carries your groceries home) add up exponentially and may carry even more weight in the long run. We cannot undo the damage overnight...but we can make conscious decisions about how we live each day.
Reduce...recycle...reuse...and repair...
In the fall of 2003 i was returning from the East coast where I'd attended the Waterfowl Festival. I loitered in Nashville a while, visiting family and was crossing Kansas on the way to see my Dad in a Denver hospital before returning home. Over the years since moving west the first time at age 17, I have crisscrossed Kansas many times...and one of my favorite sights is the hawks that hunt from fenceposts along the roadside. As usual, I was hawk watching...looking for the first Swainson's that would signal "West" for me.
Out of nowhere an image came to me...a painting of a hawk caught in the barbed wire that had taken its life. I was a little shocked by this for two reasons...first, though I'd admired other artists' works with deceased subjects, I'd never felt remotely inspired to paint a dead bird...and second, though I must have read about it somewhere, in all my years of hawk watching I had never seen such a thing.
Nonetheless, the thought of this painting was so compelling that I made a mental note to keep an eye out for a dead hawk on the wire. Within an hour...there it was. I was stunned, but not too stunned to wrestle the truck and trailer to the emergency lane in order to walk over and shoot some reference.
As I walked toward the bird, shooting photos, I noticed that something wasn't "right"...then it hit me...the bird had "no head". It wasn't a hawk...it was a shorteared owl.
This unfortunate soul had been caught by the wrist of one wing on the top wire. It had fought, as evidenced by the tendons wrapped around the barb, and the dried blood down the wing. The other wing swung free in the breeze and the bird's head was bowed over its talons, which gripped the second wire down.
There was a terrible beauty in this image...more striking because in its last moment, frozen by death...the bird seemed to hold a pose of prayer. Feet together clutching the wire and head bowed over them.
Imagine this bird, hunting from the nearby post, sees its prey and dives...only to catch a barb. Then the struggle, the vain fight to free itself. Its feet grasp the second wire, to rest...it fights again...then rests...finally, the last time, its head falls over its feet. Such a tragic end, the pain, exhaustion, fear...did merciful shock kill it more quickly...or did it slowly starve there, hanging from that wire?
After a few photographs, I cut the owl out of the barbed wire and lay it gently in the prairie grass. As I continued my drive, I thought about this bird, the image and the many things analogous to it. At the time, my Dad was fighting for his life...a struggle that, like the owl, he would eventually lose. I thought of people (and wild things) everywhere, each fighting their own battles...for their lives, their loved ones, their ideals, their dreams, their next meal. I thought about the incidental and intentional deaths caused by the decisions we make every day.
On one hand...this is just a bird, one of many, who made a miscalculation that cost its life. It is not the fault of the fence, or the rancher, or the highway, or the bird...but then again, its death is a weight we all should bear.
We all own a share of responsibility for the collateral damage of the choices we make. There is blood on all of our hands for the lives lost in our wars, along the roads we drive, in the factories that make our goods, in the old growth cut for timber and the rainforests burned to clear land for crops or cattle. There is a high price paid for the conveniences that we take for granted.
Like little kids, we hold up our palms and cry "not me! I didn't do it!"...or point fingers "THEY did it! It's their fault!"...but we all do our share of the damage. Every choice we make carries consequences.
It is easy to remember to consider the "big" choices...like who we vote for...but the seemingly inconsequential decisions that we make hundreds of times a day (like what kind of bag carries your groceries home) add up exponentially and may carry even more weight in the long run. We cannot undo the damage overnight...but we can make conscious decisions about how we live each day.
Reduce...recycle...reuse...and repair...
08 July 2007
15 June 2007
The Ghosts and the Bears
The sagebrush seems empty, then it shimmers...a grizzly walks out, swings her mighty head toward the road and moves into the open with cubs tumbling behind her...I blink and the sagebrush is empty again.
The Teton/Yellowstone parks are inextricably woven into the tapestry of my life....and therefore, they are full of ghosts.
Some are ghosts of those gone...my Dad, my old dog, the magnificent bear "264" and others.
Some are ghosts of moments that seem to echo year after year...and each year there are more of them.
For much of the time since my first visit, Teton/Yellowstone has been my refuge. Through all my travels, it was the one place I always returned to.
When I would leave the Tetons...it felt as if my heart was being torn out by the roots...rather significant for a girl with a tumbleweed soul who has never felt rooted anywhere.
Early on, Autumn was what I associated with the Parks...bugling elk, moose in the rut, pouncing coyotes, browsing black bears, fall arts festivals and golden aspens quaking under cerulean skies.
It was years before I saw my first grizzly...a distant bear roaming the slopes below Dunraven Pass. After the bear vanished into the trees, the guy standing next to me said "I feel like my heart just fell out of my chest". I had to agree and still feel that way every time I see a bear...
One spring when I needed to run away from the world, I wound up in the Tetons and worked my way north to Yellowstone... landing in the middle of my first bear jam.
Little did I know that the grizzlies I watched and the people I met that spring would change my life.
The bears, in particular, seem to be the common thread through the life lessons learned in the Parks.
Seeing, photographing and painting bears might have been my "goal"...but it has been the experiences along the way that have been of real value.
During my time among the grizzlies, I have met people briefly who touched my life deeply...and have forged extraordinary friendships that transcend the boundaries of the Park.
There are the ghosts of times when I escaped to the park to sort out the pieces after one sort of heartbreak or another...and exquisite moments of wonder that happily haunt me still.
Along my many miles and many years through the parks, I have been awestruck by things I've never seen before...and grief-stricken over those I will never see again.
I've tried to hold on and, finally, learned to let go.
Maybe it is the ambient heat of the geothermal features that throws fuel on the fire of my passion and melts the sometimes broken shards of my T2 soul, turning the pieces to quicksilver that pools together into something stronger (and hopefully wiser) each time.
There are ghost bears that walk through my dreams, play in my imagination and live in my heart. They wander out of the sagebrush of my soul and onto my canvases.
The ghosts and the bears keep the Parks alive in my heart...and, maybe just as importantly, keep my heart alive in the Parks.
The Teton/Yellowstone parks are inextricably woven into the tapestry of my life....and therefore, they are full of ghosts.
Some are ghosts of those gone...my Dad, my old dog, the magnificent bear "264" and others.
Some are ghosts of moments that seem to echo year after year...and each year there are more of them.
For much of the time since my first visit, Teton/Yellowstone has been my refuge. Through all my travels, it was the one place I always returned to.
When I would leave the Tetons...it felt as if my heart was being torn out by the roots...rather significant for a girl with a tumbleweed soul who has never felt rooted anywhere.
Early on, Autumn was what I associated with the Parks...bugling elk, moose in the rut, pouncing coyotes, browsing black bears, fall arts festivals and golden aspens quaking under cerulean skies.
It was years before I saw my first grizzly...a distant bear roaming the slopes below Dunraven Pass. After the bear vanished into the trees, the guy standing next to me said "I feel like my heart just fell out of my chest". I had to agree and still feel that way every time I see a bear...
One spring when I needed to run away from the world, I wound up in the Tetons and worked my way north to Yellowstone... landing in the middle of my first bear jam.
Little did I know that the grizzlies I watched and the people I met that spring would change my life.
The bears, in particular, seem to be the common thread through the life lessons learned in the Parks.
Seeing, photographing and painting bears might have been my "goal"...but it has been the experiences along the way that have been of real value.
During my time among the grizzlies, I have met people briefly who touched my life deeply...and have forged extraordinary friendships that transcend the boundaries of the Park.
There are the ghosts of times when I escaped to the park to sort out the pieces after one sort of heartbreak or another...and exquisite moments of wonder that happily haunt me still.
Along my many miles and many years through the parks, I have been awestruck by things I've never seen before...and grief-stricken over those I will never see again.
I've tried to hold on and, finally, learned to let go.
Maybe it is the ambient heat of the geothermal features that throws fuel on the fire of my passion and melts the sometimes broken shards of my T2 soul, turning the pieces to quicksilver that pools together into something stronger (and hopefully wiser) each time.
There are ghost bears that walk through my dreams, play in my imagination and live in my heart. They wander out of the sagebrush of my soul and onto my canvases.
The ghosts and the bears keep the Parks alive in my heart...and, maybe just as importantly, keep my heart alive in the Parks.










































































