Wandermuse

And Now for Something Completely Different...

2010-01-28T09:11:00.000-06:00

Started these guys in April last year and hit a wall with them...threw them back on the easel yesterday and trying to wrap 'em up!

"Dappled Duo"
Oil on Stretched Linen
24" x 48"

April 4, 2009 9:51 am

April 4, 2009 10:11 am

April 4, 2009 10:47 am

April 4, 2009 11:31 am

April 4, 2009 12:23 pm

Looooonnngg break...

January 27, 2010 10:32 am

January 27, 2010 12:05 pm

January 27, 2010 3:46 pm

January 27, 2010 4:09 pm

January 27, 2010 7:31 pm

Take the Reins and Throw Your Heart Over

2009-08-17T10:23:00.002-06:00

Those of you who have seen my Facebook page know that I have been doing lot of horsin' around lately. Passionately so.

I have always been a horse girl...horses and art were my life and love from the time I could hold a crayon.

As this renewed, and more powerful horse thing has been coursing through my bloodstream of late, I've been wondering at it. Today I made a connection that hit home.

When I was diagnosed with cancer nearly a year ago, my life became like a ride on a runaway horse. Careening across frightening obstacles at breakneck speed with no choice but to hang on tight and ride it out.

What I found at the end of a wild ride like that is a newfound love for wild ride that is life and a desire to take the reins back and go where I want to go for a while!

As a kid I read everything I could get my hands on that had a horse woven into the story. "My Friend Flicka" was a fave. It probably was the root of my deep connection to the landscape of the west. Set in Wyoming, it was a tale about the power of love between horse and human.

Another book I read, about jumping horses, included a line that went something like this "Throw your heart over and the rest will follow." It wasn't until a few years ago that I realized, for better or worse, I have lived my life by that line.

Another lesson carved deep into my soul by the life with horses: "when you fall off...get right back on". These two go hand in had...trust me....if you're always throwing your heart over...you're going to be falling a lot!

In the end, despite some spectacular crashes and embarrassing tumbles, I have learned that there is no other way to live. If you throw your heart over, sure, sometimes you'll crash...but sometimes you fly.

Horses have always been a part of my life...getting back into the jumping is a new run at an old dream...and all of it is a chance to push the envelope a little further on a number of levels.

A life with horses is healthy for mind, body and soul.

It is about partnership...working with horses is about building mutual trust and communication between oneself and another species. There is something beautiful about finding that connection with a horse....it can be spiritually nourishing and emotionally healing for both horse and human.

It is about courage. Pointing 1200 pounds of cantering horse at a jump is thrilling and amazing...but it can be scary, too. There are times when you have to be willing to drive a horse into a jump and just trust that they'll go. There also times after a hard refusal...or, worse, a wreck...that you have to suck it up, get back on and point yourself at the next jump.

It is about athleticism. Jumping a course is a workout for both horse and rider! I feel it in parts of my body I'd forgotten existed, lol. Jumping is a workout for mind and muscle...keeping the horse on course, paying attention to stride, speed, approach, posture, position, timing...

Working with horses is about lessons in life...how to live with courage, humility, passion, humor, trust, determination, love and a sense of play.

For me...reconnecting with my horsie side has allowed me to remember to take the reins...

...kick up my heels...

...and always throw my heart over!

I'm Not Really a Slacker

2009-07-17T07:38:00.012-06:00

My apologies for not keeping up here. In March I began radiation five days a week going into mid-late May. During the last three weeks of radiation, the Park started getting good so my schedule was basically this: Weekdays, up before 4 AM to drive an hour or two to the Park shoot until about 2:30 then drive an hour and a half to the radiation appointment, then another half hour home, eat, sleep and repeat. After a Friday rad appt in the morning, straight to the Park to shoot all weekend and back in time for the 4 PM appt in Bozeman. As soon as radiation was done (woo hoo!) it was almost constant time in the Park until mid June. Then I had to tear myself away to paint for the solo show coming up July 24 at Visions West. To make matters a little more chaotic: my neighbor has gotten me back into hunter jumpers...so when I am not duct-taped to the easel, I am jumping fences on Donald's horse or riding mine!

As a result of all that: I am cancer free (hopefully for good!)... the shooting in Parkadise was FABULOUS (best year ever, I think)... I learned to do flying lead changes and have remembered why jumping horses are kickass fun... I have discovered that my Dunny is VERY fast.... AND, so far, there are over 60 NEW paintings for the show (most are small) and I am still painting!

Mom convinced me to start a Facebook page and I keep up a little better with that. no, really, I do. Check it out HERE

Support Group...

2009-04-04T09:48:00.000-06:00

Studio Assistants

Ibis in Progress

2009-03-29T13:16:00.019-06:00

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

The Corvidae-ly Painter

2009-03-17T11:47:00.012-06:00

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.

The Passing Lane

2009-03-15T10:16:00.029-06:00

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!

"Wing And A Preyer"

2007-10-02T13:51:00.001-06:00

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...

Watchin' Paint Dry

2007-07-08T17:05:00.001-06:00

In case anyone had any doubt that I've been working...

This is just SOME of the paintings that are heading to my solo show opening on Friday.

The Ghosts and the Bears

2007-06-15T19:55:00.002-06:00

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.

In a Small Moment

2007-05-30T09:14:00.001-06:00

My hard drive crashed yesterday...a couple of years' worth of work photographing everything from warblers to grizzlies gone...*poof*...just like that.

One minute I was sorting images in prep for a backup and the next...tens of thousands of priceless reference photos vanished into thin air.

You would think I would be crying...or furious...or at least frustrated...

The odd thing is, I am strangely calm... at peace with it.

Since the crash, I have been contemplating that rather unexpected attitude...

If there is anything that I have learned in my time on this planet...it it that everything is temporary.

We can no more hold on to a moment the we can hold on to a snowflake...and, like snowflakes, each moment is perfect in its individuality...and its impermanence.

Each moment is unique...it only happens once and is gone forever. At any given moment countless things happen in countless different places to countless different people.

We may take them for granted... but within a small moment there is infinite power.
Moments can change our lives.

Sadly, we spend many of our moments with curious disregard...we waste them in any number of ways, even consciously wish them away.

There is also a tendency to cling to our past...to hold it, treasure it, grieve for it, stew over it, long for it...but every moment we spend reliving yesterday is another moment that slips through our fingers, lost forever.

I try to let go of the past, live in the moment and cling only to my hope for the future.

It is far easier said than done and, like all things worth doing, it requires practice.

The unexpected serenity that I feel in regard to all the lost images tells me that maybe all that practice is paying off.

Painting and photography is about trying to capture a moment. My work is always about something fleeting...an experience...an encounter...an idea. A reminder to me, if no one else, of the perfection of every moment...and an ode to those that slip away unnoticed, unappreciated, unseen, unsung...

That hard drive was full of memories of moments that were NOT wasted...they were lived fully and with pure joy.

The images may be lost...but the memories of those experiences are carved into my soul forever. I am happy to know that the species in those lost images are still out there, that there are countless moments with them to look forward to in the future.

There is hope in knowing that there are wild things and wild places in the world, whether we see them or not.

My heart is not breaking for lost images of the past, they were moments already gone...but it pounds for the the moments that lie ahead, as yet undiscovered.

It is the images stored in the unbreakable hard drive of my soul that compel me to use the moments I have left to try to help protect the wild things and wild places that I love. Hopefully, there will be always be wild moments to awe the generations to come...

Take a Deep Breath

2007-01-14T09:49:00.000-06:00

In his 1967 essay "Breathing the Future and the Past", astronomer Harlow Shapley wrote:

"argon atoms associate us, by an airy bond, with the past and the future...
"Your next breath will contain more than 400,000 of the argon atoms that Gandhi breathed in his long life. Argon atoms are here from the conversations at the Last Supper, from the arguments of diplomats at Yalta, and from the recitations of the classic poets. We have argon from the sighs and pledges of ancient lovers, from the battle cries at Waterloo...
"Our next breaths, yours and mine, will sample the snorts, sighs, bellows, shrieks, cheers, and spoken prayers of the prehistoric and historic past.."

That concept first crossed my radar when I read it as paraphrased in "The Snow Leopard" by Peter Matthiessen:

"each breath we take contains hundreds of thousands of the inert, pervasive argon atoms that were actually breathed in his lifetime by the Buddha..."

To me, the thought that we are connected to everything that is, was and will be...by something so simple, vital, and intimate as our breath...is compelling.

By Shapley's math/philosophy we are in an intimate relationship with everything that breathes or has breathed. For what can be more intimate than a shared breath?

In contrast to this inescapable intimacy, like most creatures, we are extremely territorial....and, like most other species, we mark our boundaries with sign.

Like bears reaching their height to claw mark a tree...or cats backing up to scent mark as high as possible...or Daffy Duck defiantly wrapping his arms around a pile of cartoon gold and squawking "mine, mine, mine!"...we go to great lengths to define what "belongs" to us.

Human signs may be literal: "no trespassing"..."don't touch"..."no parking"..."keep out", marking boundaries of geographical property "ownership". We often take that one, or two, or ten steps further, though...our boundaries and "territory" may be political, theoretical, theological, ideological, artistic, intellectial, social, racial or sexual.

Maybe George Carlin put it best: "My shit is stuff and everybody else's stuff is shit."

What is it that makes us so determined to draw lines and build fences on the ground, in the air and in our minds?

We scream for our individuality and independence...but, in reality, we are a species that moves in bands, herds, tribes, cliques, teams, gangs, societies and committees. Most people seek to gather with like minds...be it over politics, religion, music, race, fashion or myriad other "clubs". Do we require "them" to define "us"...or do we need an "us" because we are afraid to stand alone?

Darwinist vs Creationist...Democrat vs Republican...rancher vs environmentalist...good vs evil...straight vs gay...fundamentalist vs athiest...PC vs Mac...black vs white...and there it is, the bottom line...black and white.

So many people seem to long for everything to be as simple as "black and white".

From the time we are children, we begin to judge, categorize and label everything around and within us.

It begins on the simplest level...Mom/Dad, good/bad, hot/cold, inside/outside, red/green. As we gather more information, we subdivide the categories further and further...simple dichotomous forks become complex systems of branches.

If the move to a polychotomous key for labeling what we encounter isn't bad enough, there are constant variables, tidal shifts, observer effects, "new" discoveries and so forth to keep us guessing endlessly.

Black and white is far easier to grasp than the infinite shades of gray and innumerable hues of color that paint the countless planes of reality.

But what would happen if we could forget about the black and white for a moment and immerse ourselves the plethora of colors in between? If we could stop auto-labeling and begin trying to cultivate empathy and understanding?

Every individual has their own unique perspective on life...their own set of dreams, experiences, hopes, tragedies, sorrows, accomplishments, failures, beliefs, fears, desires, struggles, passions, losses and loves.

How do we learn to find some common ground via our archetypical similarities rather than pre-judging based on race, gender, religion, fashion, politics, geography, sports, ideology or whatever?

It is one thing to have compassion and understanding for "us" and the people/creatures with which we have a sympathetic/empathetic/charismatic connection. Shapley and Matthiessen speak of breathing the argon of Gandhi and Buddha respectively...but we have that same "airy bond" with the Iraqis, Gengis Khan, Milli Vanilli, mosquitos and the guy who cut us off in traffic. Having compassion does not mean you have to agree with or even like someone...but rather respect that they have a different point of view and remember that they share essentially the same dreams, fears, sorrows and air as you do.

Maybe being territorial is about being afraid...a base, primal reaction to the "unknown". Sadly, many societies channel that fear into a "strike first" mentality...convert them or conquer them...and if we can't make them into "us", then kill 'em. How sad to think of the innumerable lives and cultures lost in the name of one god or another, one political system or another, one oilfield or another, one color or another...and to what point? The fact of the matter is that, despite our best efforts to hold tightly, nothing is ever "ours" for long anyway....

Maybe, if we could let down our guard a little, fight our innate tendency to judge and label...we might just learn that "they" have a great deal to offer...and we all have a lot more in common than we'd sometimes like to admit.

And maybe, just maybe...with a little compassion and cooperation, we could channel our "superior intelligence" into finding non-violent solutions for the problems facing this planet and ALL who inhabit it.

So, take a deep breath...

Learning to Sit

2006-08-06T10:25:00.000-06:00

The practice of "sitting" to meditate has always confounded me. I have never been good at sitting still...literally or figuratively. None of the suggested techniques for practicing meditation have ever seemed to ring true.

It could be said that they never worked for me because I didn't try hard enough...but I don't think that is really the case. In my opinion (for what it's worth), anything we do, be it a religious/spiritual practice, an art form, a political decision, an athletic activity, or whatever...requires looking within for the path/style/technique/idea that resonates.

So it was with "sitting" for me...

This spring I spent a great deal of time watching bird nests. It began with bluebirds and flickers when I found a couple of beautiful nests with uncharacteristically large entrance holes. I was able to watch the parents hunt and feed. When the parents were away, the young would sit in the opening (as many as four at a time). I found a chipping sparrow nest, as well...and weathered hour upon hour of heat and biting flies hoping to see some of these young birds fledge.

While standing, for hours at a time, behind my tripod watching these nests...I also saw chipmunks, chislers and an assortment of other bird species working the meadow around me. Raptors soared overhead and mule deer wandered by me. One afternoon a coyote stepped out of the brush a few yards away and howled...then its mate materialized from the sage below me and the two greeted one another before trotting off together.

From this nest site, I watched a grizzly spend hours flipping rocks on the hillside above me...and on another day a black bear ambled right through "my" meadow.

One morning I drove in at dawn when the park was quiet. I'd forgotten my tripod, so I carried the big lens up and sat in the grass to watch the most recent bluebird nest I'd found. Without a tripod I couldn't get a good angle to shoot from., and, though I could sort of balance the lens on my knee, I wasn't really shooting...
just watching...
experiencing...
absorbing...

A Robin flew toward me, eyelevel, skimming the tops of the grasses. Ten feet from a collision with my face it suddenly saw me and adjusted its course. Kinglets, chickadees and warblers bopped through the branches around my head and young Ravens screamed to be fed from their canyon nest behind me. Nuthatches called from the trees, chipmunks scampered down logs, insects buzzed by and a spring spotted fawn bounded across the meadow.

In the air above me, an osprey called and played with a stick clutched in its talons and on the ground a breeze ruffled the grasses. A junco chanced to land on the top of the stump that housed the bluebird nest and the female bluebird gave it a sound thrashing. Siskins called from the pines...and over the hill somewhere a woodpecker that I never could identify rapped away at a tree. Behind me carload after carload of tourists stopped, unloaded, wandered around the pullout, looked off into the canyon, laughed, chatted and then left. As happened at the other nest sites, the world moved and breathed around me as I sat quietly...and my "other" thoughts came and went.

It was there, sitting in the grass with my camera in my lap that "sitting" began to resonate for me. It is not about shutting your mind to the thoughts and experiences...it is about letting them pour through you and move around you without "attachment". It is letting the inevitable ideas, images and emotions move through your mind like birds, wildlife and breezes through a meadow.

Maybe "sitting" is not about shutting out the world to find a greater understanding...it is about feeling the moment fully and moving effortlessly to the next one.

Maybe it is not about separating yourself from the world but becoming one with it...learning to let everything, the passing thoughts, breezes, emotions, birds, dreams, bears, loves and losses begin to move in and out of you as naturally as the air you breathe.

Maybe "sitting" is about releasing your focus to heighten your awareness. Ironically, it seems the more you let go of what you see and feel, the more aware you become of what is happening in and around you. When you let go of your "attachment" to what you WANT from the world...the world begins to give itself to you.

There is a reason they call it a practice...it doesn't come easily.

Sadly, it IS easy to let the chatter of thoughts muddy your mind, it IS easy to take things and people for granted, it IS easy to get tangled up in the details and lose your perspective, and it IS easy to get so focused on the destination that you forget to enjoy the journey.

In a way, I have known how to meditate all of my life...I have found it on long drives (what I call my "peace of the road")...in carving tele turns and casting a fly...in wandering the street markets and Wats of Southeast Asia...on hiking trails and while waiting for wild things...in the feel of a loaded brush on linen and the view between horse ears...and so much more.

Deep down we all know how to "sit", we just need to stop thinking long enough to remember...

Yellowstone Crowds: The Good, the Bad & the Ugly

2006-07-06T09:38:00.000-06:00

June is the time in The Park when there is a shift that you can almost feel in the air...the ratio of photographers/naturalists to tourists shifts. Vehicles of photographers filling memory cards give way to Rent-a-Bagos filled with families building memories.

I have a love/hate relationship with this crowd. On the one hand, there are the people who's excitement and appreciation is palpable...I love standing in a crowd as many see their first bear and listening to the comments. I LOVE stepping away from "the beast" (my big lens) and tripod to let kids look through. Quite often, I am bending over (or kneeling) to shoot because my tripod legs have been shortened to kid level. It isn't just the kids who line up to look through the lens...though, it is often the kids who ask "can my Mom look, too?" For the vast majority of these people, this is the first, maybe only, time they will see a bear...or bison...or pronghorn.

Then there are The Others...people who drive through the Park (or worse, an animal jam) at 70 mph, there are the ones who throw cigarette butts out the window, who ignore the pullout and park in the middle of the road to watch an animal until it disappears (causing the, sometimes dozens, of cars stuck behind them to miss seeing it), there are the ones who pull up alongside a photographer and scream from their car "what are you looking at?!" and then cuss, yes cuss, if the photographer wasted their time by having the gall to be shooting a bird rather than a bear or wolf. One motorhome whizzed by me the other day as I sat roadside shooting a flicker nest...as they passed, an arm reached out the back window and flung a bottle full of water at me. Another guy, in a huge pickup that belched clouds of black smoke, ran up on the rear of my tiny Miata and tailgated so close that the only thing I could see in my rearview was the emblem on his grill (and I was doing the speed limit). When I signaled and pulled into the first available pullout to let him pass...he slowed to a stop so he could lean out the window and hurl expletives at me. Then there are the ones who chase the wildlife...one year I came into the park to see 43 (I counted) people converge on a bedded down moose cow. This mob spanned little toddlers to an old gal with a cane. When the cow got up and moved away, they followed...I scanned the area for a ranger, none to be found. When the crowd had forced the moose to move the third time...I asked the first employee I could find to please call a ranger...and then I bolted out of the park for the rest of the summer.

Yesterday, I was fighting the fury with the hordes that grips me on rare occasion...I'd driven down to the park specifically to shoot the flickers in hopes of seing them fledge. The car ahead of me hit one of the seemingly suicidal little chislers that bolt into the road at random ("Chisler" is the cowboy name for the Unita ground squirrels). Then, a mile or two down the road, the driver suddenly stopped, rolled forward a little, honked his horn...I was trying to figure out what he'd seen when a family of chislers scattered to the roadside in front of his car. I laughed out loud, he was braking for chislers! He slowed down, and every so often would honk his horn until another little rodent would scramble (or amble) out of his way. I gave him a laughing "thumb's up" and later pulled in behind them at Petrified Tree to scan for bear (and there was a cinnamon black bear working his way across the log strewn meadow below the road). I stepped up to assure the two gentlemen from Virginia that I had offered a thumb's up rather than a gesture more typical of someone stuck behind a car breaking for rodents. What I really wanted to say was "thank you for restoring my good humor"...sometimes all it takes is the random kindness of one person (two in this case) to wash away the bad taste left by so many others.

My love for the Park is constant...and with my affection for the people renewed (it doesn't take much) I stood and watched the cinnamon bear with the excited crowd. When the bear moved out into the open I lowered my tripod legs and stepped back to share. There was no ranger, so I explained to each new carload that this was not a grizzly, but a cinnamon black bear and so forth...and I let everyone watch him through the bright glass of "the beast". When I overheard one teen talking about the lens, I let him put his camera body on and shoot for a while.

I could have been off to shoot the flickers in solitude...but sometimes, to me, it's important to take the time share what you know about the wildlife and offer someone a view through the big lens. The oooohs, ahhhhs, squeals of delight and the appreciation are well worth the effort. Besides, who knows when just lowering your tripod legs to share a lens and a little experience might be the spark that helps fire the imagination of the next great naturalist, environmentalist, nature photographer, park ranger...or artist.

For those seeking wisdom:

2006-07-05T23:35:00.000-06:00

It's not where you thought it would be...

The Cheff Drive

2006-05-30T19:46:00.000-06:00

The morning begins at the ranch as the cowboys catch the rides for the day. Here, Mitch and Mick Cheff bring in a pair.

Mick leads one of the "chosen" ones out to be saddled...

The original plan was that I would follow the drive and shoot from DZ's truck. But, as I watched the guys saddle horses, I got the bug bad. I finally pulled DZ aside and asked "can I ride?"...so they set me up with "Tater".

The guys ride out to gather 'em up and start this first band toward the bridge.

The first group bunches up and wonders just what they're in for...

Here they come! With the river in the background, the bands of horses are bunched up to start their journey.

Mick helps push them together before they head over the bridge.

And they're off!!! The journey begins...

DZ turns the herd back after they tried to take the wrong road.

For photography, my technique was to charge at a gallop through the herd to get far enough ahead of everyone to shoot...

Once I was in front, I'd stop Tater and shoot as they all came toward me.....

I would keep shooting as they all moved past (often while blocking a gate or turn to help keep the herd on track).

Then it would be another dash for the front...the "dashes" got progressively slower as the miles wore on and Tater wore out!

Here's DZ at about the midpoint...I don't think I ever saw him without a big grin all day. In the background, you can see the supporting cast of trucks and trailers.

Mick takes the high road (or, rather, roadside).

The total distance was twenty-eight miles...and virtually all of it done at a trot or canter.

DZ and Mick trail the herd across the meadow as we close in on the ranch (only about five miles to go, at this point).

24 down, 4 to go! I managed to coax a surprising amount of life (and speed) out of Tater for a large part of the ride...but near the end he'd had it. I wasn't exactly ready to go dancing, either. This was my standard riding position...reins in one hand, camera in the other.

We're there! As we cross the expanse of grass to the corrals on the ranch...EVERYone is dragging.

Tater and I keep 'em moving.

I think I can see the end from here!

End of the road...and DZ STILL has an ear to ear grin plastered on his face. (Okay...so did I!)

After it was all over, Mick and I might have looked (and felt) a little worse for the wear...but you still couldn't wipe the goofy grins off our faces! What an amazing day!

Bare Your Soul

2006-05-25T16:28:00.000-06:00

Many of you probably wonder what Indo boards, spaniels and snowshoe hikes have to do with painting wildlife...well, EVERYTHING. Inspiration for my painting comes from more than simply seeing bears and owls. It is found in the thump thump thump of a happy dog's tail, in the play of light across ermine tracks in the snow, in the exhilaration of trying something new and cultivation of a strong "play" ethic.

A painting is more than color, value, subject, composition...it resonates with your life experience, spirit of adventure, sense of humor, personal ideals and individual integrity...

Your art (whatever form it takes) is what you live.

Living a creative life is about pushing your personal envelope. When you push yourself physically, you feel it in those animal muscles you sometimes forget you have...and next time, you're stronger. Remember to stretch the "muscles" of your heart and your mind, too.

Whenever you step beyond your circle of familiarity you discover something new about yourself and the world. Every new layer of experience glazes new depth and perspective to what you bring to your work and your life.

Anytime you put something "new" out there (intellectually, creatively, emotionally, physically, etc) there is a risk of injury...to your career, your body, your heart or your ego. You take the chance that someone will laugh at you or hurt you...or that you'll fall on your butt (or face)...and SO WHAT?

Don't be afraid to bare a little soul and learn to bear the consequences. The rewards are well worth the risk.

The more art you bring to your life, the more life you'll bring to your art.

When art, life, love, risk, laughter, adventure, work and play become hard to distinguish from one another and you can't wipe the silly grin off your face...
Well, then you know you're doing something right.

Classic Cat

2006-04-21T17:12:00.000-06:00

Coyote Cat has been neglected in the local blogosphere...here's a moment in the spotlight for him.

He's demonstrating what cats do best...sleeping in a comfy spot.

Springtime in the Rockies

2006-04-18T15:20:00.000-06:00

Sunday was gorgeous...Monday it snowed...Oh, how I love springtime in the Rockies!

Today I decided to take a little spin through Paradise (Valley, that is) in the Miata and see what the locals thought of a spring snow.

Driving a convertible in the snow is like a sleigh ride...pile in some blankets and you're ready to go!

One of the best things about spring snows is that you know that warm weather is just around the bend...

This killdeer may be questioning the advantages of being an early bird, though.

Sometimes all it takes is a little tour around the neighborhood to pour a little gasoline on the embers of waning inspiration during a painting binge.

A little snow won't keep a meadowlark from singing the praises of spring.

This little whitetail stopped to check out the Miata...and pose for a portrait.

Another meadowlark...

Life lessons? A young red-tailed hawk gets a lecture from a magpie. Sticks and stones...

Well...just another day in Paradise (Valley, that is...)

Horsin' Around: Index

2006-04-02T07:57:00.000-06:00

This is the INDEX page for the HORSIN' AROUND images/stories.
CLICK ON THE TITLE or IMAGE TO GO TO THAT CHAPTER:

The Cheff Drive

Pony Up

Goofin Off with My Goofy Horse

Between Horse Ears

Another Story

A Christmas Story

What I Did On My Christmas Vacation...

Can We Go for A Ride?

Horsin' Around

Horses of Unalaska

My Horse Paintings

Ready to go back?
WANDERMUSE HOME
FOLLOW YOUR ART HOME

Giggster Remembered (Part 2): Giggler's Travels

2006-04-01T08:17:00.000-06:00

Whether Gig truly loved to travel...or simply tolerated it because he loved to be with me, I'll never know. Either way, anytime I began packing for a trip...he was there at my heels, sitting in the bags or hopping in the truck as I loaded.

As I criss-crossed the country marketing my art...Giggy co-piloted virtually every mile. Sometimes he made suggestions regarding navigation or driving technique. He probably saw more of this country than most people ever will...all 48 contignuous states, up to Northern Ontario and through Quebec.

To every one of those miles he brought his sense of adventure, boundless patience, insatiable curiosity and good natured companionship.

He was also an intrepid hiker who happily explored deserts, beaches, mountains and everything between.

White Sands National Monument

Gig was a ham...

I'd say "Gig, go stand on that rock!"...and he would. Then he'd strike poses....usually a noble "hero" pose, look left, look right...

Saguaro National Monument

Even all my traveling wasn't enough to sate the Gig's wanderlust. Sometimes he went on walkabout. Once he ended up hanging out for part of the day with a parking lot attendant in his booth. Another time he wound up in the doctor's lounge in the basement of a hospital...I don't know how he got down there, but when I arrived to "rescue" him, he was on their lunch table...walking from doctor to doctor sharing their lunches. He spent a couple of days somewhere in a very bad part of Denver near my old house...a reward brought him back...but before that I walked every block of that "bad" neighboorhood knocking on doors and meeting some of the kindest strangers I'd ever encountered.

In Arizona he vanished one night...I searched most of the night and started again at dawn. I was heading toward the house for more "lost dog" flyers when i saw a truck driving slowly down the road. The older guy who was driving would stop in front of each house, point, and speak to his passenger. The passenger was Gig...and the driver was asking him which house he lived in. The gentleman said Gig had turned up at his house and "knocked" on the door. The guy let him in, offered Gig his favorite chair, cooked him dinner and, of course, let him sleep on the bed. Whith folks like this...who can blame the Gig for going "calling"? Nevertheless...he loved me best...and after every walkabout would leap excitedly into my arms as if to say "Where have YOU been?!"

Giggy... November 11. 1999

2006-04-01T07:18:00.000-06:00

For all the, literally, hundreds (maybe even thousands) of dog portraits I did during my dog art days...the paintings/drawings of my own dog were rare. Of the wonderfully unique "Giggster" there is only a small collection of my sketches (though I have a couple of pieces by other artists).

This is one of my favorites...a sketch I did from life as he slept on my knees, done in ball point pen on a napkin.

Giggster Remembered (Part 1); Puppy Power

2006-04-01T03:31:00.000-06:00

Twenty years ago today, a litter of Italian Greyhounds was born in Utah...six weeks later one of them found his way into my heart. He would be my companion for the next eighteen years.

Many of you knew this extraordinary little dog and so I hope you'll enjoy the next few posts as I take a little stroll down memory lane in his honor.

The first name I gave him was Montana, he was so small that he seemed to need a BIG name. It wouldn't last. This little dog always had a way of taking his life into his own paws and his name would be one of the first things he would change. He quickly became "The Giggler"...because he made everyone he met laugh out loud.

The Giggler, Giggy, Snarly Sneerhound, Poodle (because he was the UN-poodle) and Light-bulb-head were among the names he answered to.

From the beginning, he was captivatingly tenacious, gregarious and intelligent. He had a way of winning the heart of nearly everyone he met....except, maybe, Monster Cat.

When I was working a dog show in Denver, strangers kept coming to the booth and asking to hold the 7 week old Gig while they watched judging. He was passed through the crowd, cuddled by one person after another. I finally had to go and steal him back for fear that someone would take him home.

He spent his first two years running with the big dogs in the fields around our little cabin in Tennessee. A stray we called "96" was his first bad influence. 96 liked to roam...and he took the rest of the dogs with him when he could.

96's wandering ways only brought trouble for himself....but Giggy managed to worm his way into the hearts of the neighbors. One couple, in particular, owned "Meridee's" bakery in nearby Franklin and lived about a mile down the road. Their own dogs were not allowed on the furniture at all, but when Gig came to visit, he claimed their bed AND got cookies. In Giggy's world, everyone was a friend...

At home, the young Gig insinuated himself into the Alpha Dog position almost instantly. He did so with such grace, diplomacy and wry humor that the 65 pound Saluki (Max) never knew what hit him.

The only heat source in the cabin we lived in was one small electric heater. The quadruped crew loved to pile up in front of it...but if Max managed to secure the space in front of it first, no one else could fit.

The kitchen had doors on each end of a counter, so Gig would trot into the kitchen and rattle a food dish or play with a toy until Max came to investigate. As soon as Max came in one doorway, Gig would run out the other end and sprawl in front of the heater (soon to be joined by the cats). Poor Max would come back out, look at Gig and the cats in "his" spot, then heave a long, loud sigh and take his place at the back.

Giggy never knew he was a little dog. This only LOOKS vicious...but was just one of the games he played with Max. For all the bared teeth, they were remarkably gentle with one another.

One of Gig's best pals was "Dog George" a three legged rescue and incredibly good-natured old soul. Connoisseur that he was, Gig liked his rawhide bones "tenderized"...

He would bring George a new rawhide to work on...and when George had softened it up sufficiently, Gig would bring another new one and "trade" up.

Gig always had a sense of humor...he embraced his innate silliness, turned it to his advantage and brought smiles to everyone around him.

To be continued...

Pony Up

2006-03-31T18:28:00.000-06:00

My pal Vikki recently did a lovely painting of one of the Chincoteague ponies. She wrote about her childhood Shetland...ohhhh did that bring back memories! My brothers and I grew up on Shetlands. For those of you who think "real men/women don't ride cute little ponies": well, let me tell you something...

A couple of years ago I was riding with a couple of Wyoming ranch women, real cowgirls. The subject of Shetlands came up and it turned out we'd all learned to ride on Shetland ponies...and it was our unanimous opinion that "if you can ride a Shetland, you can ride anything". No doubt, Vikki would agree.

Our first pony was "Blackie"...she was already almost 20 when we got her. You could put a baby on Blackie, start her walking in a circle and she'd go quietly until you told her to stop. That is, if you could catch her in the first place.

I remember Dad trying to rope Blackie from his Quarter horse "Ben"...and I remember the boys and I running from end to end of the 20+ acre pasture trying to corner and catch her. Sure, Blackie was pretty gentle once you caught her...probably because by the time you caught her EVERYone was exhausted! Kids not getting enough exercise? Send 'em out to catch the pony! Blackie was 34 when she left us to teach life lessons to a new family's kids...at 34, you still had to work hard to catch her.

Then we got "Twilight"...a sweet little grulla Shetland who was VERY fast (well, for a pony). As a girl, there was probably nothing I loved more than riding any horse as fast as I could possibly make it go. Of course, any horse (and especially Shetlands) has a mind of its own...often they would decide to stop dead in their tracks without telling me. Needless to say, I learned a lot about riding...and a LOT about falling.

One of the first rules of horsemanship instilled in me by my parents was the "if you fall off, get right back on" philosophy. The first fall I remember was from Blackie (I must have been about 5 or 6)...I had her tearing across the yard when the girth loosened and the saddle slid sideways...then under her belly. Well, I had been taught to stick to the saddle...so I went right under her with it. One of the nice things about shetlands, though...the ground is very close to the saddle. I remember cracking my head pretty good...and being put right back on her. There is so much to be learned from falling off horses (or anything else for that matter).

Shetlands will buck, kick, dodge, parry, thrust... They may nip, they will stop suddenly in mid gallop, they will lay down and roll in a creek (with you onboard), they will try to scrape you off on trees, if (when) they dislodge you they will run home without you. They can be inordinately obstinate and endlessly frustrating....on the other hand, Shetlands can be wonderfully sweet, tough as nails, gentle as kittens, incredibly patient and the best friend a kid could have. A kid that rises to meet the challenge of a wily Shetland probably has a head start on the challenges that will come through the rest of life.

My childhood memories are full of horses and ponies...I rode them (fell off them), read about them, watched them in movies, made them from pipecleaners, talked to them, drew them and loved them. In turn they taught me to be tough, resourceful, patient, independent and creative. They carried me into the outdoors, the backwoods, and the wild places of my imagination. They exercised my body...and my soul.

Goofin' Off with My Goofy Horse

2006-03-29T16:56:00.000-06:00

I should probably be blogging about the recent trip back to Washington and the spectacular birds that I saw...instead, I am going to write about my silly horse.

Yesterday, it was such a GORGEOUS day that, while I should have been painting, I drove the Miata over to visit Dunny. He looks REALLY big from a tiny car...

Dunny, of course, had to check out the little roadster. He seems particularily fascinated with the cockpit.

Oh, if only horses could talk...

Dunny even left his dinner to play with me. I didn't think there was ANYthing Dunny liked to do better than eat...unless it's bosssing the other horses around.

He walked all around the little car, looking it over...and, no, he didn't kick the tires.

Not your typical view through the windshield.

When I got ready to go...he followed.

My 16 hand Sherman tank of a quarter horse is a tailgater...

When I stopped (isn't that what you do with tailgaters?)...he stood with his chest against the rear spoiler and leaned in for another nuzzle.

I have been incredibly fortunate over my life to be gifted with the company of extraordinary companion animals. Dunny is the latest and is no exception...sweet, gentle, curious, intelligent...and VERY funny. He's worth the boarding just for the entertainment value.

Surfer Gull

2006-02-25T15:49:00.000-06:00

Sometimes you just have to step up and get into the spirit of your painting. So for "Surfer Gull" (later retitled: "Skimmin' the Soup") I slipped on the board shorts, turned up the thermostat, put in a Jack Johnson film and hopped on my new Indo board! All I need is a colorful beverage with one of those little umbrella thingys!

I've always believed that painting (and life) is all about balance...working from the Indo takes that to a whole new level...

Dog Day Afternoon

2006-02-16T20:48:00.001-06:00

A friend had to bring his truck to Livingston, so I got twelve paws' worth of company to puppy-sit! The boys wonder what fun is in store today at my house.

What they're really wondering is: "Where's the kitty?"

The spaniels always remind me how much I miss painting with a dog at my feet.

Unimpressed with the machinations of the art world, Shaman finds a spot for a nap, with his portrait on the easel.

Spaniels in the Snow

2006-02-14T11:06:00.000-06:00

Today I am tearing myself away from the easel and going through owl images to go on a little power snowshoe with my buddy John and his posse. Is that the "Do you always have to bring a camera?" look he's giving me?

This is John's dog Shaman...a National Field Trial Champion, field bred English Springer...and all around good old soul.

Prophet, one of the two Shaman pups that John is currently grooming for the trials. He is a talented hunting dog....due, in no small part, to John's reknowned skills as a trainer.

Seer, another of Shaman's pups...is also a rising star benefitting from John's talents.

In the company of spaniels...

Seer, as you saw above, likes to roll in the snow. Apparently he thought I needed a lesson in how to do it.

Having successfully pinned me, Seer demonstrates advanced wrestling techniques. Prophet and Shaman consult John: "What should we do about this, boss?"

Prophet takes matters into his own paws and joins in the girl pummeling.

Shaman maintains his usual dignity by pretending he doesn't know any of us.

Prophet gets my fingers and Seer's ear in one bite...Seer and I react with matching expressions. Shaman continues to pretend he does not want to join in, while secretly hoping John will say "Get her!"

John has a serious discussion with his dogs about beating up on girls....it goes something like this: "Good dogs, VERY GOOD dogs!"

Climbing over barbed wire in snowshoes (very exciting)...with evidence all over my backside of my recent enlightenment regarding "playing in the snow like a puppy".

Shaman enjoys a good roll in the snow.

A boy and his dog...

John breaks trail and Shaman follows in his tracks.

Owls of a Different Color

2006-02-13T20:45:00.000-06:00

One of Cathy's specialties is Shorteared owls. (Check out her website "Wise Nature Photos" for some remarkable shots of these beautiful owls)

She was good enough to bring me to her favorite shorteared spots (also where the Harriers were captured).
This owl shows off the beautiful wing markings, typical of shorteareds.

Shorteareds have a beautiful, undulating flight (often described as "moth-like"). They are a diurnal (daytime) hunter, sitting on the ground or low perches like a fence post.

This shorteared obliged me by deciding to take it's breaks between hunting flights on this post.

They have distinctive black plumage around their eyes...they sort of look like football players...

They fly low and will suddenly dive, seemingly face first, on their prey.

Cathy shot this pic of me standing in water 12 inches or so deep, pointing the glass at shorteareds hunting the marsh. Thank goodness for Muck Boots!

Such beautiful birds...

Getting Harrier By the Minute

2006-02-12T19:32:00.000-06:00

Touchdown! A marsh hawk seeks balance among the reeds. This is one of my favorite raptors, a male harrier. Soft grey plumage above, black primaries and pale grey and white below.

This bird became a painting: "Touchdown"

Going Postal? A graceful stretch with a comic twist of the head.

Dogfight over the marsh...two harriers show off their aerobatic talents during a little dispute. Yes, that harrier IS upside down...no camera tricks!

This harrier stalled and rotated her head looking for lunch as she glided just above the marsh grasses.

I love the challenge of shooting birds in flight...and have always wanted to shoot male harrier. So, I guess this sort of "killed" two birds with one stone, so to speak.

International Owlista

2006-02-11T09:42:00.000-06:00

Twice we braved the border to shoot the snowys in British Columbia. The weather was not as cooperative here as it was in Ocean Shores...but the owls certainly were...

A dike road used by joggers and dog walkers runs along Boundary Bay and the owls hung out between the dike and the bay. We counted as many as 14 owls along the short section of the dike that we worked.

The marshy edge of the bay provided a beautiful backdrop for flyby owls. Cathy and I had no trouble shooting from the dike road without disturbing the owls who were used to the parade of bipeds and canines.

We even found that owls gravitated toward us when they'd been chased off by other photographers who scrambled out over the logs for "close-ups". At one point Cathy and I had ten owls within 20 yards.

The tough part of shooting here was the wind and cold. The icy wind came right off the bay and pummeled us in the face. Low light, wind induced camera shake and occasional rain didn't keep us from getting our owls, though.

This owl looks a little surprised to find us here after he landed...but then settled down to preen.

I dubbed this one "Surfer Owl"...that is a chunk of styrofoam he's sitting on...and it wobbled every time he moved. It didn't seem to bother him at all, in fact he started preening which made it wobble even more..

In an absence of owls, I decide to check under the "seats" to see if they left anything interesting behind. They didn't...but trekking across slick, wet, slippery, slimy floating logs was an adventure all in itself.

It was worth weathering the wind for the spectacular shots like this owl having a little stretch.

Opportunistic Shooter

2006-02-10T22:49:00.000-06:00

I am an opportunistic shooter...I try to never let my "goal" prevent me from seeing the wonders along the way. So here are a few sights along the road to owls...

On the way to Cathy's hot Shorteared Owl spot: a peregrine. Hunting from a powerline...a couple of days later a peregrine (the same one,I suspect) swept in front of my truck in a stoop for a plethora of peeps working a field.

As I was stalking a snowy at Ocean Shores...a flock of snow buntings lands practically at my feet.

I was shooting Stellar's jays in Cathy and Mike's yard when a Pileated dropped by for a visit. How could I resist swinging the big glass his way?

As we trudged through the muck enroute to attempting to shoot Shorteared Owls...a red-winged blackbird vied for (and won) a few moments of my attention.

A band of chickadees begged to be immortalized in pixels as I worked my way back through the willows after shooting ice owls...how could I not oblige?

Migrant farm worker?
A Redtail hawk hunts from a piece of farm machinery that has fallen out of favor or into obsolescence. One species' trash is another's roadside diner...

In British Columbia, between rounds of squinting into the wind to immortalize snowy owls...a white-crowned sparrow and his comrades capture our fancy.

A surfer gull cruises the shoreline in the last light of the day as we hiked back from chasin' snowys. This one went on to become a painting: "Skimmin' the Soup"

Snowys on the Beach

2006-02-09T19:29:00.000-06:00

Ocean Shores...the reward of a long hike with 45 pounds of camera gear grinding into our shoulders is my first close up of snowy owls.

Another gorgeous owl perched on a piece of driftwood in lovely light...

This owl decides give me the once-over as he flies by.

This little snowy was fearless...it watched (well, actually, mostly napped) as we shot it and the others nearby.

That's the surf, not blue sky, behind this snowy...

Cathy sets her sights on a snowy. Cathy is an awesome birder and a great photographer...

Check out some of her images on her website "Wise Nature Photos"

A swell farewell from Ocean Shores...after an incredible day with the snowys.

Look at All the Snowy Owls!

2006-02-08T16:08:00.000-06:00

Who knew there'd be this many!? Okay, okay...they're not owls...they're snow geese. Day one of shooting with my guide/guru Cathy Wise...we came across this horde of snow geese roadside in late afternoon light...pass 'em up? No way! Shoot 'em if you got 'em!

Incoming squardons of snow geese, mountain backdrop, magic hour lighting...what more could you want?

With a sumptuous smorgasboard of snow geese spread out below...what made this immature Bald eagle go after this male Harrier?

All it takes is something "scary" (to a snow goose, that is) and the raucous ranks rise in a snow storm. Where's air traffic control when you need it?

We've been hit! One danger of shooting flights of snow geese...fallout. They always dump ballast when they go! Fortunately, they only hit the car with one glancing blow. It's only a flesh wound!

Say "Goodnight", Geese! Thousands of snow geese take to the air one more time as the sun sets. Wow, what a day!

As the Snowy Flies

2006-02-01T18:32:00.000-06:00

These owls are the Montana bunch...supposedly as many as 40 around Polson.

Spectacular...even if it isn't the kind of habitat where one normally pictures a snowy owl (or a few dozen of them)...

Owls sit a LOT...maybe they're thinking deep thoughts, hence their wisdom.

Owlgriculture. I saw at least 12 snowys sitting on this thing. A biologist who'd seen the MT owls said they liked to sit in the snow because they "know" they're white...so why sit here? Meeting of the minds?

Owl Fight! Obviously it wasn't all peaceful cohabitation and meaningful cogitation in Snowy Owl world.

Dishin' out a can of whoopass!

Did I get it? Checking the screen to see...ohhhh you gotta love digital!

I believe they're on to me...if you think you can sneak up on an owl...you're only fooling yourself...

Most of them were actually in the turned potato fields and perching on the farm implements...but I was lucky enough to find one pair hanging out by the ice.

This snowy's wingtips are actually brushing the ice...I'd give her a "ten"!

After seeing snowys at the beach, in the grass...and in the mud...it was nice to see them on ice and snow.

Carrying the "beast" is an exercise program unto itself....but ohhhhh the shots it gets! Definitely worth the weight!

It's Not All Red Foxes and Soapboxes...

2006-01-21T17:42:00.000-06:00

Always multitasking (they say variety is the spice of life!)...a few more of the works currently in progress:

This was a marsh hawk (Northern Harrier) hen that I had the pleasure of watching at Bosque del Apache.

"Marshie del Bosque"
Oil on Linen
30" x 40"

"Speedgoat" (unfinished)

An experimental piece...I thought the fairly unconventional pose called for a very unconventional background...

untitled/unfinished

This painting was on the big easel in a previous post...it's come along somewhat since then.

"Office Space" (unfinished)

What can I say?...it's a cowboy. I liked his pose, one any horse rider is familiar with...and the "surveying his domain" feeling...

"Three Amigos" (unfinished)

This piece is visible on one of the easels in an earlier post with a little different background. Still have a little work yet to do...

untitled/unfinished

This painting is about to undergo a drastic background change...I haven't been happy with it as it is...and finally think I know where I want to go. We'll see...

Reach Out and Be Touched By Someone

2006-01-19T15:23:00.000-06:00

Have you ever clicked on "next blog" at the top of this page?

In a world where so many politicians and major corporations seem committed to reducing us to appropriately well-behaved sheep...thank goodness there are still millions out there pounding their fists on whatever tome, table or typeface is handy and expressing their own ideas about life, universe, politics, art, philosophy, spirituality, Chuck Norris, dating, ferrets, brugmansias...heck, whatEVER it is they want to rant or rave about. What a beautiful thing to find this remarkable slipstream of consciousness just a *click* away.

What frightens those with fantasies of like-minded lemmings buying into whatever product or idea they wish to sell...is this teeming, screaming individuality waving its brilliant singularness in the face of collective consciousness.

Thomas Friedman wrote a book recently about what he calls the "flattening" of the world caused by events and inventions since the fall of the Berlin Wall. It is an intriguing look at globalization and the leveling of the international playing field. Friedman considers the political/economical/technological side...but what about the human factor?

In an age where we could be losing touch with one another because we have technologies like the 'net that allow us to do almost anything from our homes without personal contact...isn't it ironic that those same technologies simultaneously allow us unprecedented access to one another's thoughts, dreams, fears, hopes, passions and ideas?

Internet communication transcends race, gender, language and borders...and our weblogs are a way to reach out to one another with whatever we want to share. *Click* you're in the world of a teenage girl in Japan *Click* a Chilean hi-tech inventor *Click* a Canadian housewife with a passion for crochet *Click* a Portuguese photographer's eloquent images *Click* a California free speech/anti-war advocate who is provoking thought with bungees and cardboard *Click* an English teacher in Iceland *Click* a Saudi college student *Click* a wacky painter girl in Montana who rambles too much...

Try it...do a "search" of blogs for something that interests you...or be really daring and just click "next blog". You will discover remarkable ideas expressed without the benefit of discernible grammar skills, artfully arranged words signifying absolutely nothing, personal visions poured out in pixels...all manner of things you never knew you wanted to know (and some things that you were reasonably sure you didn't EVER want to know). Passion and compassion, inventive imaginings and imaginative inventions, breakthrough and heartbreak, revolution and evolution, insight and incite...

So close your eyes, pinch your nose, tap your heels together three times, click "Next Blog"...and see who's world you land in...

Fox it to Me

2006-01-18T16:51:00.000-06:00

Today my friend John drew me out of my studio to cruise in search of wild things. We found 'em...fuzzy cheeked mule deer and whitetails browsing the valley floor...bald eagles hunting from snags along the Yellowstone.

At some point I mused to John that "What I really want is a fox"...oddly enough, within minutes, John spotted one. A gorgeous male with a coppery coat working his way across a snow covered field.

By the time John could stop on the icy road, the fox was in flight. I captured a series of fleeing fox butt shots before he reached the far side of the field and looked back at us.

Looking through the lens I noticed that the colors of the trees pick up that of the fox and the blue shadows in the snow compliment the red/oranges. Some moments are just meant to be painted as they are...and I guess the image speaks for itself, here.

CLICK HERE to see the first painting of this fox..."On Your Mark"

Tapestry

2006-01-13T19:46:00.000-06:00

For a long time I have seen life as a tapestry that we weave through our years. Like any weaving, it's hard to imagine the whole in the beginning...colors seem random and incongruous. Eventually though, a pattern emerges. Every experience, every encounter, every emotion is a colored thread in the tapestry.

A tapestry in progress is malleable...there may be a pattern, an idea of what you want the finished image to be...but you aren't locked into that.

The threads previously woven are integral to the whole...but the row you're weaving at the moment is mutable...and the finish can be whatever you desire.

I try to look objectively at what I've woven so far and when a pattern or color scheme isn't working, try to change it. I don't believe in trying to rip out threads in an effort to make my past more pleasing to the eye/heart/mind/conscious...but prefer to adapt the work of the moment to balance and complement the past. It is about moving forward, not getting tangled up trying to undo what's already done.

Maybe wisdom is gained in seeing the importance of every thread in the structural integrity of the whole and appreciating how the tone of melancholy compliments the tint of joy...how the hue of loss balances the value of love...and so on.

So when I look at my tapestry so far, I try to see beyond the grim mistakes and clashes in color schemes...beyond the tear stains (and blood stains)...beyond the beautiful strands, accidents of design and oh-so-rare moments of pure genius...and look only at the work overall. It is perfectly fine despite it's imperfection, simple for all it's complexity, incredibly strong because, in part, of it's weaknesses...and there is a LOT of thread left to weave.

BA Bison on the easel

2006-01-10T11:51:00.000-06:00

This is a painting I started last night...48" x 60". I wanted this handsome bull to fill the canvas to, hopefully, emphasize his immense size and the "in your face" feeling. If you've ever been faced down by one of these guys, you know what I mean.

2 Ravens, Red

2006-01-09T12:24:00.000-06:00

These two are designed to be a diptych...though I am toying with the idea of two more above them. The Right Raven is 30" wide by 36" high....the Left Raven is 36"x36".

Breaking a rule or two...I loved the poses of these two birds (which were shot at different times, places). Maybe it is the innate intelligence of these large corvids that makes me want to take them out of mundane settings and set them in a space of vivid color and abstract pattern...

Raven in Red...very representational Raven (without painting every feather)...but sartling red background.
Not really sure where I'm going with this piece...which is part of the fun.

I love this pose...and you have to wonder: Just what does he see?

Starting to block in the abstract background for the Left Raven...

"Right" is getting some playful patterns breaking up his red world...

This is very much and experimental piece...

Trying to play vivid color and abstract patterns against the black, representational Ravens...

Bear Progress

2006-01-08T11:55:00.000-06:00

This griz, pictured on the easel in a recent blog entry, has progressed a little...

He looks, to me, as if he's dancing...

A detail of the shoulder of my dancing bear.

Color dry brushed over tacky dry underpainting gives a grizzly, fuzzy coat texture...

The vivid colors in the background are repeated in the light and shadow areas, again, with the dry brush technique.

The fact that he's looking away from the viewer (non threatening), the fanciful colors and the "dancing" pose make this a playful piece...and yet keeping to correct anatomy makes him very much a grizzly.

This, by the way, is "Monkey-face"...

It's Not All Catnaps and Pony Rides!

2006-01-04T21:40:00.000-06:00

Here are four of the eleven or so paintings currently in progress...

How's that for multitasking?

The problem with these painting binges is that you run out of places to put the wet ones!

Can we go for a ride?

2005-12-31T20:35:00.000-06:00

NORMAL horses avoid being caught, but not mine. When I drive into the pasture and call him, he comes over and sticks his head in the window, then follows the truck to the barn.

He tags along like a puppy as I get ready...and while I sit on the ground rigging the "new" saddle, he stands over me nuzzling my face and hair.

The "new" saddle is actually at least 30 years old. This is the hunt seat saddle that I used on Clyde...even barrel raced on this saddle some. It looks like a postage stamp on Dunny, but it's light and adds a step-side option.

Today we venture out of the pasture and down the Old Clyde Park Road. First stop, a marker about Lewis and Clark's time here. Dunny isn't overly impressed...

Kind of serendipitous that Dunny lives on Old Clyde Park Rd, isn't it?

History may not capture Dunny's imagination but a new friend always does...

This was an exciting moment...Dunny's first motorcycle (a Harley, no less). He thought it was pretty scary for a second...but quickly recovered his composure and curiosity.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

What I Did on My Christmas Vacation...

2005-12-26T15:44:00.000-06:00

There comes my fuzzy,muddy pony! He loves me! Or, more likely, he knows I have cookies. Christmas Day and we went for a ride, time to check out Dunny's new place...

One of the ranch dogs decides to join us, so I get the added bonus of springer company! We're goin' bareback, of course...it's best way to ride fuzzy winter horses (taking advantage of the plush heated seat).

Not a bad view! That's the Yellowstone river and some of the "little" hills surrounding Livingston. There is a notable lack of snow...hard to believe that about a week ago we had snow and sub-zero temps. So much for a white Christmas, it was in the upper forties!

The mighty Yellowstone...
Dunny's new digs are right on the river...next up, teach him to be a flyfishin' pony this summer!

Always follow up a good ride with a good roll. If there was any doubt as to how he got so muddy...

A Christmas Story

2005-12-25T19:31:00.000-06:00

Today I celebrated Christmas by taking a ride on Dunny...and it reminded me of another Christmas, a few years back:

When I was about 11, I asked my parents for a horse. Just any old horse wouldn't do, I was specific. I wanted a dappled grey gelding, about 14 hands, 7-8 years old, who would jump and run barrels. My folks knew they'd never find THAT, but since I'd outgrown the Shetlands, they began the search for a solid little horse.

Two days before Christmas they found HIM. A dappled grey Connemara gelding, 14 hands, 8 years old, who'd raced gymkhana and the steeplechase pony races (often winning). They bought him on the spot for the outrageous price of $250, and went home to get the trailer. When they returned, another trailer was pulling out of the dealer's place. It turned out to be the horse's original owners. They'd had a change of heart and came back for him...but it was too late, the dealer kept to his bargain with Mom and Dad. The little horse they called "Chigger" had been at the dealer's less than a day.

I will never forget finding a carrot in my stocking and looking out the picture window to see my dream horse tied to the split rail fence. (To this day I get misty just thinking about it.) "Chigger" was changed to "Clyde" and he became one of the extraordinary animals that have shared my life. (To be continued...)

Happy Holidays everyone
and may all your dreams come true...

Feelin move-y

2005-07-01T00:31:00.000-06:00

I'm thinking about moving. It is a thought that sends chills through many people...uhauls, boxes, packing, disruption, backaches...

All those things aside, though...I really like moving. It is an opportunity to take stock of your life and the stuff in it. A chance to re-evaluate the things that are important...and the ones that no longer have meaning (or, at least, don't have enough meaning to pack).

A move is a chance to re-invent yourself, to physically put into practice some of what life has taught you since the last move.

Unfortunately, I tend to be a packrat...on a deeply practical level, of course. It's not my fault, I come by it honestly, or rather, genetically. That is not blame, but an acknowledgement of a family tradition that I am quite proud of.

My grandfather was the king of packrats...his shop had at least six of everything...he even traded with the trash guys. This was not junk for junk's sake, though! Granddaddy could fix ANYthing. Of course, there would often be original parts left over...and new, unexpected ones, somehow worked in. No one else had a clue what he'd done...except that it worked. When i was a kid, Grandaddy, a TVA electrician, would give me immense piles of electrical wire in a wild array of colors...wire that became "art" and play all rolled into one as I made herds of poseable horses or whatever tickled my fancy.

My mom carried that tradition on...she is probably the most diversely creative person I know. She makes beautiful stained glass, exquisite quilts, lovely raku, paints like a pro and writes children's stories. She builds fences, is a Master Gardner, has done her own electrical and plumbing work, built her deck, installed her kitchen cabinets...and on and on and on.

On Dad's side...my grandparents' basement was a treasure trove to my brothers and I. Though I never could discover the reason for the stacks of empty Corn Flakes boxes.

Dad, too...had a shop full of everything you could imagine...all manner of power tools for his alternate passion of woodworking and art supplies galore. As kids we could scavenge art supplies from his leftovers. Dad was an inventor in his own right...always with several projects going and more in the back of his mind.

It extends to the rest of the family, too...a clan of creative, inventive, outside of the box thinkers that i am proud to be a part of. But...it means that I am a packrat.

What can you do, though? If you build, create, invent...there will be stuff involved and it's GOOD stuff!! Recently, in the tradition of my Grandfather, I fixed my toilet...with parts that were never intended for the inside of a porcelain tank...parts that I had scavenged from some other project or broken thing years ago and squirrelled away for future use.

It positively makes me cringe to put something with useful potential into a landfill....but, despite my being frighteningly organized, it does tend to build to uncomfortable levels. So a move is an opportunity to practice letting go...even though I just KNOW that I will probably think of a good use for that thingamajiggy as soon as I've thrown it away.

Autodidact

2005-06-30T23:13:00.000-06:00

Not the prettiest word in the world...but I love what it represents...it means selftaught. With the exception of 12 weeks at a joke of a commercial art school, my highest formal education was graduating high school. That did not hinder an insatiable curiosity about, well, everything. Yes, folks, I'm one of those people who has been known to read the dictionary...actually, I prefer the thesaurus, as a sort of literary comparative anatomy. I love nonfiction and generally have two or three books going at any one time (which probably leads to a slightly warped method of processing information). The books that I started this past week: Le Ly Hayslip's "Child of War, Woman of Peace", the Dalai Lama's "Transforming the Mind" and a reread of Bruce Chatwin's "The Songlines".

So, you ask, what could Tibetan lo jong teachings, Aboriginal creation beliefs and a Vietnamese woman's experiences have to do with painting bears and cowboys? Well, nothing...and EVERYTHING.

Explore and discover your world...that doesn't mean you have to make intensive cross country or cross cultural journeys...maybe just cross your yard. For me, wider horizons mean a wilder imagination and an open mind. Learning more about the things that intrigue you segues into more things of intrigue that you want to learn about. For instance, if you love a songwriter or an artist or an author...look into who (or what) inspired them. That will lead you in all sorts of interesting, and often unexpected, directions. It's like using a glazing technique on your life...painting layer upon later of deeper understanding that, consciously or not, affects your work.

On Creativity

2005-06-25T11:57:00.000-06:00

The creative process fascinates me. Over the years I have listened to lectures (and lyrics), read books, and have had hundreds of conversations with all manner of artists regarding art, creativity and inspiration. The only consistent truth is that every artist has a unique method of translating their personal vision into art, song or performance. I have never been one to sign on to any specific school of thought, but rather choose the kernels of information that ring true for me and develop my own philosophy (which is a continuing work in progress, itself).

Below are some of my thoughts on creativity and chasing dreams. Take it or leave it...maybe you will discover some small thing here that rings true for you...

Open Minds Open Doors

2005-06-25T11:37:00.000-06:00

Be careful when you chase a dream or goal...don't get so focused on the destination that you miss the sights and sideroads along the way. The most effective route to a attaining a dream is rarely a straight line. If your mind is open to ALL possibilities, you will discover that doors open in the most unexpected places.

Cultivate Wonder

2005-06-25T11:21:00.000-06:00

One of the deepest losses as we leave childhood is our "sense of wonder". It is easy to become jaded and to take the things and people in our life for granted. Choose instead, to revive that old "sense of wonder" and discover your world anew as often as possible...

Play

2005-06-25T11:17:00.000-06:00

Anita Rodriguez said "I believe that play is the sacred source of creativity in art."

Dance holes in your shoes, play in a fountain, catch lizards, drive a convertible in the snow, laugh until you snort your drink through your nose! Play invokes the kid in you...and to a child ANYthing is possible!

Listen to the Lyrics

2005-06-25T10:57:00.000-06:00

Recently I overheard a conversation that made me a little sad...two men were discussing music when one said "I stopped listening to lyrics when I was 17", the other agreed.

While visual artists use oil, watercolor, pastel, graphite, clay, fibre, etc...songwriters paint with words and music. You can learn a lot about painting by listening to songcraft. The same basic elements exist in a great song, painting or sculpture: strong composition, story, balance, repetition, harmony...and soul.

Listen to lyrics and you will "see" what the songwriter paints...look deeply into a painting and you will hear it sing.

Bird Every Bird

2005-06-25T10:43:00.000-06:00

"The more I learn, the less I seem to know"
Guy Clark
"Ramblin Jack and Mahan"

A birder friend told me once to "bird every bird"...great advice for birders. To me, though, it's also a wonderful approach to art...and to life in general.

From the time we are born, our mind begins sorting, categorizing and quantifying the things and people we encounter: "good", "bad", "pretty", "clydesdale", "elm", "republican", "punk", "asian", etc. This leads to judging and stereotyping.

Instead of labeling the world with your brain's auto response system (which is often about as reliable as "spell check")...look closely at everything and everyone. Putting aside initial impressions and delving deeper into bears, people, places, whatever...taps into a whole new way of "seeing".

When you "free" your mind from the need to define...you begin to see the connectedness of everything. When you blur the lines "between"...you discover the boundless.

"The eye that is penetrating can see clearly; the ear that is acute hears well; the nose that discriminates distinguishes smells; the mouth with a keen sense of taste enjoys the flavours; the heart that feels deeply has wisdom and the wisdom that cuts to the quick is Virtue." Chuang-Tzu

Color Outside the Lines

2005-06-25T10:31:00.000-06:00

Learn the rules first.
Then don't be afraid to break them.

Push what you "know" into your subconscious and let your instinct take over.

Practice "not knowing".

Let it Go

2005-06-25T10:21:00.000-06:00

It has been said that the "spirituality" of art is in the act of creation. Throw heart and soul into your work and then LET IT GO.

Practicing non-attachment in art means, in part, not holding on to past works in a comparative basis. That was then and this is now...if you are constantly judging your new work against past pieces, you never move forward. Forcing yourself to maintain a "style" or "standard" prevents you from discovering new ways of seeing and communicating your vision.

As artists we put so much ourselves into our work, that it is hard not to feel judged by those who criticize (or appreciate) our work. Remember that art is subjective, everyone creates and views it from a specific place in their own individual reality.

Art needs more soul and less ego. Don't worry about what other people think. No matter how hard you try, there will always be someone who doesn't like what you do. So get over it. Create from the heart and then let it go...

An Ecstatic Level of Acceptance

2005-06-25T10:17:00.001-06:00

Learn to accept your "flaws" as well as your "virtues"...and you will naturally begin to embrace all of life with acceptance, compassion and understanding. This opens limitless possibilities.

One Artist's Theory of Relativity

2005-06-25T10:17:00.000-06:00

Art is about relationship. Obviously there is the relationship of color, texture, value, negative vs positive space and so on...but it goes deeper than that. I believe in building a relationship with my subject matter.

Every individual is a cartographer of his own world...the Aboriginal Australians did not believe something existed until it was seen...and sung. Similarly, I believe in singing my world into existence. What you discover as you explore is the "relatedness" of all things...try really seeing the world through the eyes of a a Cambodian tuk tuk driver or a grizzly bear or the woman who's holding up the checkout line because she's a dollar or two short.

As you erase the lines between "us" and "them" with understanding and compassion...you will discover that you feel more open and passionate about your own creativity.

Karmic Chameleon

2005-06-25T10:10:00.001-06:00

Life is a path of personal evolution. Every experience and every encounter has the power to change you if you let it. This constant state of flux spills over into our art, as well. Instead of holding tight to something, simply because it "works"...push the envelope. Practice coloring outside your own lines!

Wishes ARE Horses...so Grab the Reins and Ride!

2005-06-25T10:10:00.000-06:00

Step up to the plate and OWN YOUR LIFE! I do not believe in blame...my kernal of truth from existentalism is that we are each responsible for our own lives. You cannot control everything that happens to you...but you can control what you do with it. If you're busy blaming the weather, your ex, the economy, the show committee, the guy who cut you off in traffic...whatever...you miss out on the things you can do to change your situation.

The experiences and encounters we have...good, bad, indifferent...are nothing more than threads. Weave them into your life tapestry and make something beautiful by learning from them and moving on.

When you begin to take the reins of your own life and shift your perspective from the "negative" to positive...a world of possibilities suddenly opens up to you. Dreams really can come true...but there ain't no fairy princess out there who will tap you on the noggin with a magic wand! If you want to live your dreams...go get them.

Clear the Decks

2005-06-25T10:04:00.000-06:00

Recently I had a conversation with a songwriter friend regarding the time we spend "inside our heads". This is a side of creativity that doesn't always go over well with those around you...people think that if you're quiet or "withdrawn" that you must be mad, sad, moody or bored.

Shortly before a creative floodgate opens, I need to reach a state of "clarity" and go through a sort of emotional/intellectual mind sweep. This is about processing everything that might get "in the way" of the painting. My multitasking mind will be simultaneously forming painting ideas, making lists of bills to pay and errands to run, dealing with issues that have caused stress or worry, etc. Once I clear the tangled thoughts, and re-center...the creativity can surface.

Reconstruction Zone

2005-06-25T10:01:00.000-06:00

An important function of my quiet, almost meditative periods of deep thought is to redefine or reconstruct my perception of the "negative" things. I cannot work if I am angry or upset...beyond the effect on the work, it affects me physically. Retraining your mind to have a different perspective changes things on a fundamental level. This, too, requires compassion, acceptance and an open mind. You cannot just shove things in the back of your "denial" file...that only makes something insignificant become emotionally cancerous. The end result of consciously changing your perception is a wonderful, and honest, peace of mind.

Throw Your Heart Over...

2005-06-25T09:36:00.000-06:00

When I was a kid I read a book about jumping horses (I read everything about horses)...one line in the book was something to the effect of "throw your heart over and the rest will follow".

It wasn't until a couple of years ago that it hit me how much I had lived my life by that little philosophy. Not that it always worked out well...jump heartfirst into everything and you're bound to crash and burn.

I've crashed and burned a lot. After a particularily resounding crash I would think "maybe next time, I'll learn"...then I'd get up, dust my butt off and leap heart-first back into the fray.

In the end, the only thing I really learned was that there is no other way to live. If you give the whole of yourself, your passion, your integrity to everything you do...there are no regrets. Sure, sometimes you fall hard...but sometimes...you fly.

Am I Blue?

2005-06-18T07:33:00.002-06:00

It's not all about bears! I am an opportunistic shooter...here are just a few of my images of Mountain Bluebirds...

Flight fascinates me...I spend a LOT of time and effort trying to catch birds in flight.

This pair was working the lakeside on a cold, cold day...

No painting potential...but interesting. There were dozens of bluebirds in the road...not sure what they were after. Only saw this once.

Note the little Yellow rumped warbler eyeing the Bluebird's catch...

It would be fair to say that there are some bluebird paintings in my future...

The Yin and Yang of Duende

2005-06-08T23:09:00.000-06:00

Swainson's Hawk, Yellowstone Lake

We have all heard artists refer to the "muse"...the muse is inspiration from outside. Creating with passion means listening to and acting on something deep inside. It often means defying logic and sometimes pushing ourselves in directions we don't consciously want to go.

Forster's Tern, Bear River NWR

The Spanish poet Lorca called this "duende" and described it as "a power and not a behavior, it is a struggle and not a concept...it sets blood afire…it exhausts and consumes us" He wrote "I have heard an old master guitarist say: ‘The duende is not in the throat; the duende surges up from the soles of the feet.’

Raven, Golden Gate YNP

The best work comes out of responding to duende, this consuming "urge" to paint. It makes your heart pound. When this feeling hits, I have to drop everything to paint and I will paint until exhausted. Some paintings almost feel as if they are channeled...the hand with the brush pulls something out of the air that surprises even me.

Willet, Salton Sea

The other side of the duende fire...the "yin" side...is "block". As suddenly as it appeared, the inspiration may vanish...maybe right in the middle of a painting. I have learned to stop when that happens. For me, trying to "force" a painting to work often ruins it. I may go a month or more without even going near the easel.

Black-bellied Tern, Mekong River

You have to let go and understand that periods of "non-creativity" are as essential as the frenzies of painting. You can't be creative 24/7...you need time to recharge, this is when I "chase" bears or whatever may inspire future work. If you want to keep your work fresh...learn to step away. Stepping away can be just as productive as sitting at the easel...if you learn to turn "block" to your advantage.

La Dolce Vita

2005-06-07T12:55:00.000-06:00

The radio crackles, a finger points or movement catches your eye...then it begins. Gravel flies as all manner of vehicles dive for the roadside or pullouts...a chorus of doors opening and closing...sun gleams on tripod legs.

Big Glass

The crowd whispers in anticipation, eyes searching...then gasps in awe. Simultaneously, a quarter million dollars' worth of glass swings to lock on it's target and shutters clatter in unison as the subject appears. Then she moves, her blonde streaked hair shimmering...the paparazzi and fans follow. More cars stop, traffic is gridlocked as others join the fray...squeals of delight, more shutter clicks...dozens, maybe hundreds of necks craning to catch a just glimpse of her...

Here She Comes!

No, this is not a scene from a Fellini film...

This is an infamous Yellowstone bear jam.

The crowd is a mix of tourists (many seeing a grizzly for the first time), professional and aspiring photographers, and naturalists. All with a common goal...we're here to see grizzlies.

Passing Lane

Watching and photographing bears is not always this exciting...in fact these "jams" are rare. There are hours of searching, "trolling" for bears I call it.

River Crossing

There are hours of waiting, standing with camera/scope ready in sun, rain, snow, hail or bitter cold.

There is frustration when the bear you've been waiting hours for pops up a half mile down the road and puts on a "show" for whoever is lucky enough to be there.

Paparazzi

Finding bears is an art all its own. It's a mixture of persistence, knowledge of your subject and it's environs, extraordinary patience and just plain dumb luck.

Log Jammin'

The best moments are those spent alone with a bear...whether watching/photographing from a distance or right up close. Then there are those unforgettable times when you see some new or extraordinary behavior.

Teamwork

It is thrilling, frustrating, fun, exhausting, fascinating, and it is part of my job. It is, indeed, la dolce vita.

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Can You Bear It?!

2005-06-06T11:45:00.000-06:00

It's snowing! Huge fluffly flakes falling and sticking! I am still not recovered from my last week in the park (got home last night), yet that snow makes me want to hop in the truck and head back to Yellowstone!

"Monkeyface" June 21, 2004

The past week was incredible there...and that is an understatement! So far this spring I have photograpged 13 individual grizzlies...and have seen more. This is my best year with the bears to date. I am only beginning to review the thousands (yes, thousands) of images I've shot.

Eyeing the Paparazzi

This is a bear we dubbed "Monkeyface" last spring because of an unusual coat growth pattern around his face (The photo above was taken of Monkeyface in June of 2004)...as you can see, though, in the picture left taken this year, he is much handsomer now. These pics were taken Sunday night as he dug for larvae on the beach of Yellowstone Lake.

Beach Bum

This "little" bear is known to be quite the clown...he plays with coyotes and plays with sticks.

Eyeing the Competition

Last year I watched him take a swim...then wander to a meadow where he pulled up mouthfuls of plant, tossed them into the air then rolled and cavorted as they fell...next he ambled along Mary Bay where he spied Sandhill cranes and chased them...failing to catch a crane, he spotted Mule deer and gave a run at them. He is a kick to watch...

Look Behind You!!

The coyote in the pics came in while he was digging. They traded off digging spots (the coyote taking advantage of the bear's greater digging power) and seemed to tease one another. Encounters between them were definately more playful than malevolent. These two both frequent the same area and seem to have developed a partnership of sorts...coyotes will "team" with badgers, why not with bears?

More soon...for now I am back to downloading, uploading and reviewing...

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Between Horse Ears

2005-05-31T18:51:00.000-06:00

Long and Winding Road

It was gorgeous out today and I had to go for a ride...I know...sounds terrible, but I tried to keep my chin up. I rode bareback again...though this time I did bring a real bridle. Dunny was feeling "spring"...acting goofy, trying to convince me to go home. He used all the little horse tricks he could come up with, short of just dumping me on the ground and going home without me. Fortunately, I have a few tricks of my own and he finally settled down.

Valley View

Hey Dunny!!
I can see your barn from here!

Victor View

Victor, and my house, are in the valley...just above Dunny's left ear.

Between horse ears

So...now I'm really into this "The world looks better between horse ears" thing. It has always been a favorite phrase of mine...but I haven't had horse ears to look through on a regular basis in a long time. I'm liking it...and think there just might be a paintin or two in there somewhere...

Time for a Decision?

Hmmmmm....maybe we should think about turning back...That storm is getting closer fast.

Me and my shadow

That's Dad's hat on my head...Dunny was his. In the hospital Dad wrote a note while I was there saying "Tell Lyn to take Dunny". I protested, telling him we'd be riding together soon...life didn't work out that way and now Dad is gone and Dunny is mine. There is a connection to Dad through this horse, though.

Headin' Back

While I was riding a gust of wind swept my hat off. I slid to the ground to pick it up and the strangest thing happened. The wind, blowing the opposite direction it had blown when it took my hat off pushed the hat gently to my feet (it actually stopped on TOP of my feet) from where it had landed about twenty feet away. Hmmmmm...thanks, Dad.

My Buddy

This big red horse was a party to one of the best times Dad and I ever had together...and responsible for my getting to ride with him one last time that I hadn't planned on...but THAT is Another Story.

After a good ride you should always be sure to kick your horse in the side of the head. (I'm KIDDING!!!) Just giving him a little "Thank You" scratch...

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A Shot in "The Park" (or several, actually)...

2005-05-28T19:35:00.000-06:00

Ridin' the Rapids

Cathy and I found Harlequin ducks at LeHardy Rapids (their usual stomping grounds) I didn't think I was going to be able to top my Aleutian Harleys...but I think I did!

Foxtrot

Walkin' the Log

Swan Lake Flats Sunrise Alpenglo

Marmot

Bouncing Bull

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Horsin' Around

2005-05-26T19:06:00.000-06:00

This morning I met the shoer at Hansen's where I board my horse, Dunny. I was early and walked out to catch Dunny...

Even though he hasn't been ridden since last fall, i had the irresistable urge to dirty up my jeans with horse hair, so I climbed aboard and rode all around with nothing but a rudimentary guidance system (aka: halter and leadrope).

Craig Burr...farrier-blacksmith, scholar-gentleman, all around good guy...goes to work fitting Dunny with a fine new set of custom footwear.

Craig was kind enough to put on his good hat for a few shots (some of them could be great paintings).

Dunny wants to know: "Does this make my butt look big?"

It's been a long time since I rode...which direction am I supposed to face, again?

He's a little fuzzy, shedding like crazy...but what would a girl be without hair on her butt?...hmmm, maybe I should rephrase that...

The little ride in the pasture was enough to get the ridin' bug goin', so we went up the road a little ways, bareback and still with only the halter/leadrope.

Dunny seemed to like his new footwear and we only had a couple of mildly heated discussions about where we were going (I won).

What can I say...we just HAD to test drive those new shoes. Everything looks better through horse ears...

What a day for a ride! Perfect temperature...and brilliant blue skies from the Tetons on the east side of the valley to the Big Holes on the west and all the way North to Montana!

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Innate

2005-05-24T07:49:00.000-06:00

"Hover" Lamar Valley: 18 May, 2005

I cannot think of a time when I did not love to wander and want to be an artist.

"Bear Butt" (Black Bear) Tower Junction: 17 May, 2005

BUT IS IT ART?
When my little brother was still in his crib (so I would have been two or three), my parents had a rare morning of peace. They heard us gigging happily, figured all was well and slept in a little.

"Can I Have a Bite of That?" Slough Creek: 18 May, 2005

At some point they realized that maybe we were a little TOO happy and investigated. Turns out I had discovered my Mom's brand new five pack of lipsticks and had painted my little brother, his crib and the walls with a striking shade of red.
Born to paint?

"Mtn Bluebird" Sedge Bay: 19 May, 2005

DON'T FENCE ME IN!
Even as a toddler younger than five, (I know this because of the house we lived in then)...I loved to wander. My parents would hear the screen door slam in the middle of the night and have to scramble to catch me before I wandered off into the neighborhood. Surprisingly, sleep deprivation was not something Dad was willing to withstand in support of his tiny daughter's growing independence.

"On the Ledge" Gardiner Canyon: 17 May, 2005

He tried to resolve the issue by cutting my door in half so they could lock me in and still hear if I got into any trouble. That worked...for a short while...but I was determined (stubborn) and creative (stubborn) even then.

"Pounce" Mary Bay: 19 May, 2005

I discovered pushing my little tea table up against the door, climbing on top and undoing the slide bolt. Slam! The screen door crashes and I am off in search of...who knows?

"Finally Got Her!" Lamar Valley: 18 May, 2005

My earliest memory is pushing that tea table over to the door, climbing up, reaching over and discovering that Dad, in his growing wisdom, had moved the slide bolt to the bottom of the door and I was effectively trapped. I remember the fury that most likely translated into a total toddler meltdown. Born to wander?

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Hindsight

2005-05-23T03:21:00.000-06:00

Sunset, Kep, Kampot Province, Cambodia

Over the last couple of days I have been going through the photos from Cambodia and Viet Nam. If I am slow to upload the stories onto this site, it is because I am still processing the whole trip. Based on all the things we did and saw, it seemed far longer than it was...but it was far too short. Just about the time that it began to sink in...that the impressions began to gel, that I began to get a sense of what i wanted to say about these people and their countries with my work...it was time to go.

I miss the monks...that hit me when we landed at LAX. Four or five monks had been on our flight, bound for a Wat in Southern Cal. As I watched them disappear, I realized that the ever present saffron robed monks of Cambodia would be lost to me here. I felt this in Viet Nam, as well...where Buddhism has a different, less visible face.

I miss the crowded markets, with baskets of fruits and vegetables unknown to me...but fresh, and somehow purer on a dirty street than in a cold case with intermittent misting. There is a connection, not just to the land, but to one another that we seem to have lost with our freezers, boxes and processing. The fishermen that I saw on the Mekong and Tonle Sap caught the fish that was presented in baskets the same day in Southeast Asia's local markets. There was such a sense of community as people laughed with one another while they bought the fresh food for the day's meals.

Mostly, I miss the smiles...rare was the face that didn't crack open into a brilliant smile when I offered mine.

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Here there be Bears

2005-05-17T13:10:00.000-06:00

Yellowstone, Lamar Valley: We've been waiting patiently at the badger den...but no badger. Diana and Jim watched her amble off to hunt in the rain, but she hasn't been back. The paparazzi begin to trickle away...

Contemplating Crossing

I've been talking to a kid who's a river guide and thinking about making the jump to fine art photography. He's got a great idea...just trying to sum up the courage to make the leap. We give up on the badgers and head West...

Swim Across

Then we see the bear. A griz, working it's way along the willows. About the time I pull my camera up it's into the willows again. Then he's out in the open...pauses riverside and crosses at the confluence.

In the Sage

He swims to the roadside and gives a mighty shake...then starts ambling west. There aren't too many cars, so I drive down the road ahead of him and shoot.

Bruin

Ignoring the cars and photographers, he casually works his way down the edge of the road. When he passes me, I move again, and continue shooting. Beautiful reference! Because he's on the road surface, his claws are clearly defined. He is a magnificent animal (I assume it's a "he")...and would be perfect if not for the worn old collar around his neck.

close enough?

He drops again to the riverside, then back up...then when the space between the road and the river opens up he moves into the sagebrush. He moves west along the river and we follow in the rain until the light is gone and the evening storm becomes too much to stand in. Beautiful...that bear's gonna be a painting...

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Just when you thought it was safe to go back to Utah

2005-05-11T09:35:00.000-06:00

White Out, Night Heron

On the way back to Idaho I decided to do a twirl through Bear River National Wildlife Refuge. It was dark when I got to the area, so I guerilla camped...woke to snow! What a weather shock after Cambodia and Southern California!

Snow Birds

It must have been a shock to all the migratory birds who had recently returned to the area as well. These are little cliff swallows...and they don't look like they're up for building and snow birds!

Snowy, Snowy Egret

Huge flakes and white out conditions at times didn't make for the easiest, or most comfortable, shooting...but OH! The images!!

Movin Through

This little guy was just MOTORING through the snow. A skunk with a purpose...he swam across a channel and just kept on cruisin'...

Snow Escape

A flock of cinnamon teal wishing for IFR capabilities.

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Cambodia!! 19 April: Kep to Bokor

2005-04-19T02:31:00.000-06:00

She's baaaccckkk...Hola, Perrita!

There is no time for pictures this morning, we're packing and meeting a couple who'll share our cab as far as Kampot, from where we'll continue on to Bokor. Scott tells me to look outside...Perrita is sleeping on the chair under our window.

Bridge crossing

The cab is another Camry (the national car of Cambodia, I think). Backpacks for four are jammed into the trunk, Scott takes shotgun. The driver launches the car like a rocket down the rough roads of the Kampot Province, horn blasting. I see the needle approach 80 a couple of times, then quit looking. We whirl into Kampot and the driver stops to get translation...where do we need to go? One of a group of men translates for us and we're off again to the bus station to drop off the other travelers. We bolt into a "7-11" and grab water and snacks for the overnight at the hill station and then we're off again. Crossing the river is an adventure all it's own. Bikes, motos, massive trucks (the usual assortment of Cambodian vehicles) all trying to cross a narrow bridge at the same time.

Black Palace

We battle our way through and fly on towards Bokor. The driver turns off the main road and stops at the ranger station at the entrance...then we begin the long, winding climb on a rough road. Soon we are dwarfed by vegetation...Scott is still in the front and sees a primate bounding through the canopy. I see it, too...but can't get the camera on it in time to catch more than a fluffy long tail. It was black with white on it's face, lemur like...and I still don't know what it was. Scott yields the front seat...it's amazing...around one bend the landscape opens below us to the sea...around the next, the mountain rises before us. Birds are only glimpsed in the thick vegetation.
It is all too beautiful! I climb out the window and sit on the door sill...locking feet under the seat and gripping the interior with both hands. When I do this, the driver stops...but I wave him on. He drives slower now...it's worth sitting here just for the decreased speed...but it's the 360 degree view that I am loving. Then Scott, concerned for my safety, chastises me from the back and I drop into the car again.We stop partway up at ruins of the Black Palace. Stone buildings with ceramic tile and curving terraces overlook the rain forest, the farmland and the gulf.

Wreathed Hornbill

We wander around and then, as we start to leave, birds overhead! Big ones...HORNBILLS! I go back to the overlook and another comes by...this time I get him! Then we're off again.

Bokor view

This driver also has no english...but he is patient and congenial. He's hot too, and deals with it by pulling his shirt up and exposing a grande belly (by Cambodian standards) which he rubs affectionately. Bokor is an old French hill station...built in the twenties. It has been twice abandoned since then...once during the fight for independence from the French in the 40's...again in 1970. According to LP the Khmer Rouge holed up in the Catholic Church while the Vietnamese shot at them from the Bokor Palace. The driver ignores the cutoff to the famous waterfall (which we would later learn was dry this late in the season).

Monk's monkey

He takes us to Wat Sampeau Moi Roi which sits on the edge of a cliff over the rainforest. Cambodian prayer flags whip in the wind and a monkey on a rope sits above a door at the monastery.

Bokor Palace interior

Next the driver takes us on to the Bokor Palace. The Palace was a grande old hotel with terraces, ballrooms, winding staircases and tile floors...the main terrace looks out over the rainforest. Swallows careen throught the rooms. Despite a hand scrawled sign that says "No Sleeping", there are people camped out inside...they later turn out to be day campers...up for the day to escape the heat. There is even a "7-11".

Prayer Flags

When the driver drops us at the ranger station...Scott tells him to go...we don't need him. The driver looks confused, speaks to the ranger in Camai, then sits...after a while he leaves.
We go to the edge of a cliff where the rainforest is far below us. Hanging my feet over I sit and just listen...amazing and wonderful sounds rise out of the canopy. We debate as to whether it's monkeys or birds. Then a "jzzzt jzzzt jzzzt" sound and suddenly a hornbill flies out of a tree below and across, disappearing into another tree. Then again! I've only carried up the 70-200 and Scott goes back for my big lens while I shoot.

Wat doorknob

By the time he gets back they have stopped...we sit for a while then head back up to the wat. Turns out the guy our driver had asked directions from is here now...the confused driver was halfway down when he was called back to wait for us to go down tomorrow as he was supposed to. One of the guides is at the wat, gathering wood for a campfire that he says he'll build on the cliff rocks by the wat. We're invited. We walk back to the ranger station for ramen dinner.

Oh 'Wat' a Night!

Later, with headlamps, we make our way back to the wat. There is no sign of any campfire...but the wat is busy, light pours out the front door where a teaching is apparently being given. We move away so as not to intrude and I set the camera to shoot the moonlight sparkling off the roof tiles. We finally give up on the campfire and make our way through the dark to the ranger station and sleep.

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Cambodia!!! 18 April: Kep

2005-04-18T03:41:00.000-06:00

first glimpse of Vietnam

Waking early, I was ready to try and track down some of the birds calling from the forest surrounding the Veranda. I had planned to go on my own, but Scott comes along....four guides of the domestic canid variety also joined our "hunting party". We were told of a trail that wound around the mountain and decided to go up it a ways. The birds were elusive, glimpses here and there...and I was wishing I'd brought binos. We kept getting pulled further along by the lure of the next bend in the road and beautiful views of the gulf and country around Kep spread below us. The road meandered and rose through a forested area and then there were views out the other side...our first glimpse of Viet Nam!

say what?

It's possible that this sign was telling us something important...
Time to make a decision...go back the way we came, or continue on? I am not one to go back...so we kept going. Since we'd intended only a short walk, neither of brought water or food. We'd already lost the male half of our canine crew...but the girls were still energetic.

Perrita picks a house

We wandered down, past farming communities and around another bend for a new view of the gulf. There were more of the beach houses...some restored, others in ruins. A black bird with a long forked tail swept overhead and I managed to get a few shots when it paused to eye us from a tree (it turned out to be a Racquet-tailed Drongo). We passed a wat with Cambodian style prayer flags strung from tree to tree. The heat was already becoming oppresssive and even the dogs were beginning to show some wear. Still...it was impossible not to appreciate the beauty of the area.

coastal highway

We finally worked our way back, scrambling through a wire "gate" and winding down through the back of the Veranda (and right through the kitchen)...time for breakfast! Scott is mildly offended at his breakfast...he ordered fruit and yogurt...the yogurt is a new one: corn and bean...ewwwwww! We saw it in the cooler but I don't think either of us could reconcile the picture on the container with anything that one would find in yogurt. It apparently tasted as bad as it sounded.

Typical Khmer "convenience store"...I called them "7-11"s

When we set out to walk into Kep proper, one of the dogs followed...I dubbed her Perrita. She contentedly hung out as we wandered the beaches and photographed. People had set up picnic/camp sites and Perrita took the opportunity to check for offerings. When I walked out into the water to check the temp (which was unbelievably hot!), Perrita walked into the water, too.

Kep mall

Kep was small, boat rentals, an open air seamstress shop had walls that were papered with photos of outfits.

popcicle lady

A woman on a bicycle with a cooler on the back sold popsicles to passersby and kids. No doubt, it was a good day to be in the popsicle business.

barbershop- "Tha's Hearcut"

I'd be worried for my ears! We had talked off and on about maybe taking a moto back to the Veranda...and I thought maybe I could carry Perrita if we did. It seemed unfair to abandon her after her faithful companionship. When Scott decided to hire a moto, though...she was off begging from a group of kids.

Kep gym

Yes folks...it really IS made, literally, of sticks and stones. Nordictrack has nothing on this!

We had the moto drop us off along the coast road to walk and shoot the boats again.

Veranda sunset

Afterwards we walked back up to the Veranda and shot our last sunset in Kep from the boardwalks. Perrita, who'd camped outside our door after the morning hike, was still no where to be seen when I went to bed.

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Cambodia!! 17 April: The Road to Kep

2005-04-17T11:19:00.000-06:00

The alarm went off at 4:30...our driver was supposed to be there at 6 and we had a few more things to pack. Between the negotiations via third party, the route, the language barrier and experience with US cabs...I didn't really expect the driver to be right on time. To my surprise, he was at least a half an hour early and patiently waiting by his cab.

Traffic

We rolled through the relative quiet morning of the city and out into the countryside. This was a whole new world. Mid-late April is the tail end of the dry season in Kampuchea. The wide open landscape reminded me of central Florida, palm trees and gently rolling, or flat, fields. The driver sped along with the usual horn honking as he passed...pedestrians, bicyclists, motos, trucks, cars and buses...then ox carts and carts pulled by little horses.

Oxcart
Originally uploaded by wildgrizgirl.

Men worked the fields with all manner of implements drawn by oxen. Kids led these white oxen by ropes tied to belled collars, and pairs of them pulled the little carts. I kept asking to stop to shoot them. Once the driver noticed what I was shooting, he started giving me Camai words. He pointed to a group of oxen in the field..."Koh". He grinned and nodded when I pointed at the next one and repeated the word.

'Wat' a View

A white wading bird in a field caught my eye and I asked him to stop. He gestured toward the birds and said "Kok" (which I learned meant "fishing bird"). The heron, which looked similar to a little green with white wings, turned out to be a Javan Pond Heron. When I asked to stop for the horse carts, he smiled and said "Seh". He seemed delighted when he discovered that i knew how to count a little in Camai. From the road we could see a beautiful wat on a phnom (hill) and asked if he could take us there..."of course!" he mimed.

Driver

The driver followed as we climbed the stairs up the phnom to the wat. He made himself useful as our driver/guide/translator/language instructor...always with the good nature that seems typical of the Khmer people.

Wat a view

Worth the climb...beautiful Wat, spectacular views...From the wrap around walkways of the wat we could see for miles across the countryside...patchwork quilt fields and other Phnoms that rose suddenly from the flat land. Unfamilar bird calls rang from the trees...and two kids joined our entourage as we explored the wat. Then it was time to hit the road again.

Phnom Sor

Next stop: The caves of Phnom Sor near Kompong Trach. There is a small wat (Wat Kirisan) here and New Year celebrations were underway. As we wound our way back towards the caves a monk joined me and asked where we were from...explaining that they had very few foreign visitors. While he was talking to Scott and I, a woman grabbed me by the wrist, smiled warmly and, with a few words of Camai, pulled me into the caves. She pointed at a formation and rattled off an animated explanation...I nodded, having not understood a word.

Let me be your guide!

She pulled me to the next and some kids joined, each trying to tell me what I was seeing. Soon english words came through..."this is a papa elephant, that one is the mama, there's the baby"...and yes, I could see the "elephantness" of the formations. The family theme continued with formations in the shape of snakes and monkeys and tigers "Klaaa" and so forth. Kids with torches guided and lit the paths, and others pointed out hazards and low ceilings in the caves. When I bumped my head on the roof...it was met with a chourus of sympathetic noises and gentle touches. Everyone began to point out more low spots or try to put a hand between my head and the ceiling.

Scott explains proper packing to an enrapt audience.

Then we were out in the sun behind the caves, the lead guide described the landscape and surrounding phnoms with her same rapidfire camai...and I nodded and smiled...though I was beginning to understand a little. The kids picked up plants for me to smell (looked like a mint), then handed me rock and pointed to the machinery that was digging away at a nearby mountain. They thought it pretty funny when I stopped to shoot the swallows flying to and from a rock face. Scott followed behind with an entourage of two boys. I tipped my guide, said goodbye and the driver led us to the car...he was ready to go to Kep.

Veranda Guest House, Kep

Reese had recommended the "Veranda"...and it was beautiful. Individual grass huts (with mosquito nets and tile/stone showers) connected by boardwalks, an open air bar and restaurant...all overlooking the Gulf of Thailand to the west. Gorgeous.

Staff siesta

One of the staff at the Veranda doing a great job of demonstrating relaxation techniques in the heat of the day.

mermaid

We walked from there down to the shore...first coming to a tent community on the beach with hammocks slung between trees and colorful fishing boats rocking in the surf. Kep was a French seaside resort around the turn of the century and then the Cambodian elite rolled in during the sixties. The shore is lined with the remains of elaborate beach houses that were destroyed by the Khmer Rouge then ransacked by the locals for anything to salvage and sell to the Vietnamese.

Day lilies

Some of these places are being restored but most have been gutted and stand abandoned amid fields of daylilies behind elaborate gates and ornate concrete fences.

Bad monkeys!

Up the road, we found monkeys. They began reaching for my skirt and Scott's pants legs. We kept going and when I stomped my foot at one little beast who was sneaking up behind me, he bared his teeth and took a menacing step towards me. That was enough posturing for me!

Perfect End to a Day

Our loop walk took us back to the Veranda for an iced coffee break before we braved the heat again to catch the sunset. It was so beautiful and peaceful here that we decided to stay an extra day in Kep. The evening walk rewarded us with fishermen in boats against a backdrop of sea, Bokor Mountain and a vivid red setting sun...what a way to end the day!

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Cambodia!! 16 April: Phnom Penh

2005-04-16T10:30:00.000-06:00

market girls
.

Once again I am slipping out of the house before anyone else wakes. Sean and Maria's landlord and his family are up...and he lets me out of the security gate with a kind smile and a good morning in English. I return the smile with "Awkun" (thank you) in Camai. The mornings are wonderfully cool (for Phnom Penh). I wander again through the local street market around the corner that I discovered yesterday morning...not shooting, not wanting to be intrusive...just trying to take it all in.

greens

Women in colorful checked Khmer scarves arrange every kind of fresh food imaginable (in every kind of basket imaginable). The baskets fill the street with narrow passages between. Motos careen slowly through the crowds of locals shopping for their day's meals. The ground is littered with trash...trimmings from the food displayed. Bowls of catfish squirm in just enough water, chickens hang from patio style umbrellas, baskets of flowers and exotic fruit...it is food shopping overload. It is absolutely beautiful.

ice vendor

You gotta have ice...holiday or no, the ice vendor was hard at it! It's loaded on a moto then off to who knows where... Possibly my next cup of iced coffee!

ice transport

I seem to be drawn to these people in the ice industry...heat must be getting to me...
Then I hire a moto, for 2000 riel (50 cents) he takes me to Psar Thmei, the "New", or more commonly called, Central Market.

the ice man cutteth

Much is closed because of the New Year and the market is quiet. A door opens in one of the storefront homes and six little Lhasa Apsos scamper into the street, their owner not far behind. I peek behind the tarps to see the nursery stalls full of hanging plants and flowers. After wandering the area for a while, I grab a moto back to Riverside to see if anyone is awake yet.

Colors of Kampuchea

After a late breakfast, Scott and I walk down along the riverside, through the back of the Wat, around the palace and then up the streets behind Sean and Maria's.

Maria catches me trying to sneak a candid shot

In the afternoon, we all four share a tuk tuk to the Psar Tuol Tom Pong, the Russian Market. Like Psar Thmei, it is closed...only an spattering of the outside vendors are open on the holiday.

silk toys

Ahhhh the silk. Southeast Asia is famous for it's silk...at the markets you can find Cambodian, Thai, Chinese and Vietnamese silks...raw or refined...in every imaginable color...from bolts of fabric to pillow cases. Maria finds a treasure, a silk sarong.

Playing chicken at Wat Tuol Tom Pong

Then we explore Wat Tuol Tom Pong...tiled checkerboard floors and stately columns. Arches at each of the four corner entrances are each with an animal...rooster. snake, turtle and cow. It is typical of the style of Wat we'll see throughout Cambodia.

maria

Maria is one of my favorite people from the trip...a hostess extraordinare, a fine artist and a good soul.

Bananas

When we head back, we divide ourselves between two motos. Scott and I on one and Sean and Maria on another...Scott's backpack adds to the challenge of moto riding. Women are expected to dress conservatively in Asia. Though tourists wander around in tank tops and shorts, it isn't really appreciated. So I spent the vast majority of the time there in long skirts.

Sean & Maria moto

Riding a moto in a skirt means riding sidesaddle...and holding on to the driver is simply not done... watching the local women, i saw that they rarely held on at all, they usually didn't even use the footpegs. If they ca...I can!! So I took the back of the moto, sidesaddle, arranged myself around Scott's pack and we were off

balloons

They say there are traffic laws in Cambodia, but no one seems to know that. Vehicles of all sorts careen across intersections, pull out in front of one another, pass (whether there is oncoming traffic or not), take "shortcuts" through parking lots or across sidewalks and generally do as they please. As our moto zoomed along, I managed to pull out my camera and shoot...and Maria shot us over Sean's shoulder. It was so a blast!!.

moto ride

Practicing my hands-free/no footpegs/sidesaddle moto passenger technique...with the added challenge of Scott's backpack and shooting on the fly. This was my first ride with a trio on the bike...

taxi deal

At the Sunshine Hotel, Scott goes over travel plans with the taxi driver (who had no English) and the middleman/translator. This was one of Scott's least favorite things to do...haggling over transportation

flower child

After making arrangements for a private taxi to Kep, we were again wandering the streets. As the day wore on, the festivities began to increase...street vendors selling every kind of food you could imagine...from beautiful baguettes (a hold over from the French influence) to songbirds plucked, dipped in red sauce and presented on skewers...from fresh chilled coconuts with straws to Coke and Pepsi. The water/talc flinging melee on Sisowat Street was building to a level that would make the last couple of nights look tame.

Truckload

In Cambodia's hottest time of year, who can resist an opportunity to get soaked with cold water? These truckloads would be armed with coolers and buckets, water bottles and waterballoons...they weren't exactly defenseless...

room for more?

At night, on the lawn in front of the palace people gathered to watch and/or participate in the party. When I shot a pic of a couple of kids then showed them the image on the back of my digital camera, I became the big draw, lol. Kids cavorted in front of the camera then surrounded me to see themselves.
Other people joined in...and for a while, as Scott shot for art, I was shooting for no other reason than connection. People kept stopping me to have their photo taken so they could see themselves. They laughed at their images and offered thanks and smiles to me...one woman even insisted that I be in the photo with her family and she asked Scott to wield my camera.

Bridging the language gap

Other people joined in...and for a while, as Scott shot for art, I was shooting for no other reason than connection. People kept stopping me to have their photo taken so they could see themselves. They laughed at their images and offered thanks and smiles to me...one woman even insisted that I be in the photo with her family and she asked Scott to wield my camera.Who knew that going digital would make for such cool international bonding experiences!?

motoload

Later we watched the chaos from the balcony of the FCC (Foreign Correspondents Club). One guy below us was emptying coolerfull after coolerfull of water onto the passerbys. I left the FCC with my camera and went to shoot him and the traffic up close.

splash

As I was watching people pass, I felt water on my backside and turned around to see this kid...with respect for my camera, he was holding the bucket and gently flicking water at me. At the moment I turned, he was looking over his shoulder laughing with the people who were watching what he was doing. So I grabbed the bucket before he saw me and dumped it back on him...his momentary surprise gave way to roaring laughter.

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Cambodia!!! 15 April: Phnom Penh

2005-04-15T12:55:00.000-06:00

The street party sounds slowly gave way to an odd swishing noise, which I discovered to be brooms. On the streets below dozens of people seemed to take it upon themselves to clean up the riverside...remains of water balloons, bottles, bags...all sorts of street party trash disappeared before the "rush hour" began.

Riverside Sunrise

Despite a mostly sleep-deprived night (and probable jet lag), my internal clock continued to be set on "wake pre dawn"...so I left Scott, Sean and Maria soundly sleeping and went out at daybreak to walk the riverside. Fishing boats on the river, street vendors setting up for the day, late risers sleeping on the benches...and a spectacular red ball of fire sunrise. Across from the palace a group of women practiced a Khmer dance that we had watched last night.

Riverside flock

I sat to watch...but two of the dancers came and, smiling, drug me by my wrists into the group...they showed me the movements then laughed goodnaturedly at my graceless attempts.

Tuol Sleng

When I returned, everyone was up. Sean had to work...so Maria joined us for a tuk tuk to Tuol Sleng. This is the high school that was taken over by Pol Pot's security forces and turned into the prison known as S-21....the largest centre of detention and torture in the country. All prisoners were photographed...and these photos (men, women, children) are displayed in the museum. Photographs of the last 14 who were tortured to death as Vietnamese forces closed in on the city are in each of the rooms where they died.

Doors
.

Teachers, artists, farmers, intellectuals, foreigners, children all victims of the genocide of Angkar...some estimate as many as three million people. This place is a chilling and sobering reminder of the recent brutality that the Khmer people have undergone. All the reading I did prior to this trip still did not prepare me for this place...it was seen through tears.

gotcha

From there we went to Wat Phnom, located on the phnom (hill) for which the city was named. New Year's festivities were ongoing throughout the city...street vendors sold everything from trapped birds to cold Coke. Smiling talc covered faces were everywhere you looked. I find the ready smiles of the Khmer people all the more captivating considering their history.

we've been spotted

When I smile at the antics of teens armed with talc...they turn their attention on us. They approach, smiling, with handfuls of talc and then gently smear our faces and arms.

Got Scott

Even the wildest revelers usually respected the camera and were generally careful about where they talced

Got me too

Sean and Maria are great fun...Sean works for the National Museum and Maria is an artist, a painter. Though Sean has been here for several months, Maria only recently arrived and they were both still "discovering" Cambodia.

Armed and Dangerous

Sean and Maria's landlady and landfamily on the balcony below ours. They are armed with a cooler full of water balloons made from sandwich bags.
In the evening we hit a couple of restaurants and pubs for a taste of Phnom Penh night life and then spent some more time watching the celebratory dousings and festivities from the rooftop.

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Cambodia! 14 April: Arrive Phnom Penh

2005-04-14T21:00:00.000-06:00

the palace elephant, on his daily commute

Off to Cambodia (and a day or two in Viet Nam) with my friend, Scott! While Scott is a seasoned international traveler, this was my maiden voyage beyond North American borders. I expected a little culture shock...but instead found myself not just comfortable but absoutely captivated by every aspect of the trip (though, admittedly, I could have done without the mosquitos).

Lost in Translation

Sean met us at the airport and Sean and Maria's lovely home became the base of operations. (Thank you Sean and Maria!!!)

Mispelled Again

Scott and I wandered around Sean and Maria's neighborhood shooting pictures and trying to start getting a feel for the area. The house was just down the street from the Palace, a gorgeous Wat and surrounded by funky little shops and restaurants.

market

Our first time through the "local market" by Sean and Maria's.

something to talc about

Our arrival coincided with the Khmer New Year and we lost no time becoming a part of the festivities. During dinner the street kids, armed with baskets of counterfeit copies of travel guides for sale, initiated us into the New Year with stealth attacks...gently smearing our cheeks with talcum powder (which, coincidentally, they also sold). Retaliation was, of course, necessary...Maria and I bought talc and smeared a few faces of our own.

long haul

Later we watched the melee from the fourth floor vantage point of Sean and Maria's rooftop patio. Beyond the talc...there is a tradition of dousing one another with water...generally followed by a good talc-ing. On the street below us motos (mopeds), tuktuks (mopeds pulling covered carts), cyclos, bikes, cars and trucks fought oneanother for street space to a chourus of honking horns and delighted squeals. Water balloons, squirt guns, buckets...any imaginable container was used to fling water at anyone who passed within reach."

happy new year!

I just can't resist an opportunity to throw things! So I dipped an empty Pringles can in the cooler water and joined the fray...Maria was right behind! The guys were more reticent about flinging ice water...but after awhile, they joined in, too. Meanwhile groups played music on the riverside (Sean and Maria's place overlooks the confluence of the Mekong and Tonle Sap Rivers).

Reese, Maria, yours truly, Scott and Bertrand

Choosing our next victim. The crowds included everyone from the monks in their saffron robes and women with their heads wrapped in the traditional Khmer checked scarves to laughing teenagers and tourists.

attack from above

Hit by friendly fire! Scott snuck away and using his copious mountaineering skills ascended to the heights of the rooftop...from where he soaked us all!

Trucks would drive by with the bed loaded with ten, twenty people or more, and a cooler of water in the center...whole families loaded on a single moto (we saw as many as seven people on one moped!)...

happy camper

Scott kept teasing me about being camera shy and never smiling...the secret is: you have to douse me with water from above!

The sounds of the new year were interesting enough in their own right. In the wee hours of the morning, the music, laughter, honking slowly faded...

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Cambodia: Index

2005-04-13T17:37:00.000-06:00

This is the INDEX page for the CAMBODIA images/stories.
CLICK ON THE TITLE or IMAGE TO GO TO THAT CHAPTER:
(Note: Because I am constantly updating this site, you might want to "refresh" this page to be sure all the newest postings are listed!)

Cambodia, Day One: 14 April...Arrive Phnom Penh

Cambodia, Day two: 15 April...Phnom Penh

Cambodia Day Three: 16 April...Phnom Penh

Cambodia Day Four: 17 April...The Road to Kep

Cambodia Day Five: 18 April...Kep

Cambodia, Day Six: 19 April...Kep to Bokor

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"Vivir con miedo es como vivir a medias"

2005-04-12T20:52:00.000-06:00

"Vivir con miedo es como vivir a medias" means, essentially "A life lived in fear is a life half lived"

"For the Sake of a Single Poem" (or Painting)

2005-04-12T10:12:00.000-06:00

"... Ah, poems amount to so little when you write them too early in your life. You ought to wait and gather sense and sweetness for a whole lifetime, and a long one if possible, and then, at the very end, you might perhaps be able to write ten good lines.

For poems are not, as people think, simply emotions (one has emotions early enough)--they are experiences. For the sake of a single poem, you must see many cities, many people and Things, you must understand animals, must feel how birds fly, and know the gesture which small flowers make when they open in the morning. You must be able to think back to streets in unknown neighbourhoods, to unexpected encounters, and to partings you had long seen coming; to days of childhood whose mystery is still unexplained, to parents whom you had to hurt when they brought in a joy and you didn't pick it up (it was a joy meant for somebody else--); to childhood illnesses that began so strangely with so many profound and difficult transformations, to days in quiet, restrained rooms and to mornings by the sea, to the sea itself, to seas, to nights of travel that rushed along overhead and went flying with all the stars,--and it is still not enough to be able to think of all that.

You must have memories of many nights of love, each one different from all the others, memories of women screaming in labor, and of light, pale, sleeping girls who have just given birth and are closing again. But you must also have been beside the dying, must have sat beside the dead in the room with the open window and scattered noises. And it is not yet enough to have memories. You must be able to forget them when they are many, and you must have the immense patience to wait until they return. For the memories themselves are not important. Only when they have changed into our very blood, into glance and gesture, and are nameless, no longer to be distinguished from ourselves-- only then can it happen that in some very rare hour the first word of a poem arises in their midst and goes forth from them."
Rainer M. Rilke

On Wandering...

2005-04-12T07:42:00.000-06:00

On the Road Again

"Psychiatrists, politicians, tyrants are forever assuring us that the wandering life is an aberrant form of behavior; a neurosis...a sickness which, in the interests of civilisation, must be supressed...

Yet, in the East, they still preserve the once universal concept; that wandering re-establishes the original harmony which once existed between man and the universe.

There is no happiness for the man who does not travel. Living in the society of men, the best man becomes a sinner...Therefore wander!"
Aitareya Bramana

On Chasing Dreams...

2005-04-12T00:53:00.000-06:00

""...If we can have but the courage to start upon any undertaking, the way usually opens, and the obstacles melt away."
Dora Keen

Just for Fun: Index

2005-04-09T12:05:00.000-06:00

This is the INDEX page for the JUST FOR FUN images/stories.
CLICK ON THE TITLE or IMAGE TO GO TO THAT CHAPTER:

Surfer Gull

Dog Day Afternoon

Spaniels in the Snow

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Wildlife: General: Index

2005-04-08T12:20:00.000-06:00

This is the INDEX page for the WILDLIFE: GENERAL images/stories.
CLICK ON THE TITLE or IMAGE TO GO TO THAT CHAPTER:

Fox it to Me

A Shot in the Park

Winter Wonders-Yellowstone: Wolves and More

Just when you thought it was safe to go back to Utah

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Work in Progress: Index

2005-04-07T15:43:00.000-06:00

This is the INDEX page for the WORK IN PROGRESS images/stories.
CLICK ON THE TITLE or IMAGE TO GO TO THAT CHAPTER:

It's Not All Red Foxes and Soapboxes...

BA Bison on the Easel

2 Ravens, Red

It's Not All Catnaps and Pony Rides!

Bear Progress

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Wildlife: Birds: Index

2005-04-06T10:37:00.000-06:00

This is the INDEX page for the WILDLIFE: BIRDS images/stories.
CLICK ON THE TITLE or IMAGE TO GO TO THAT CHAPTER:

"Touchdown" (Redtail)

Look at All the Snowy Owls!

Snowys on the Beach

Owls of a Different Color

Getting Harrier by the Minute

International Owlista

Opportunistic Shooter

As The Snowy Flies

Am I Blue?

Always Look on the Flight Side of Life-Ravens-Unalaska

On the Flighter Side-Eagles-Unalaska

Other Winged Things of Unalaska

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Philosophy: Index

2005-04-05T08:44:00.000-06:00

This is the INDEX page for the PHILOSOPHY images/stories.
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The Yin and Yang of Duende

Wildlife: Bears: Index

2005-04-04T08:06:00.000-06:00

This is the INDEX page for the WILDLIFE: BEARS images/stories.
CLICK ON THE TITLE or IMAGE TO GO TO THAT CHAPTER:

La Dolce Vita

Can You Bear It?

Here There be Bears

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Random Musings: Index

2005-04-03T08:20:00.000-06:00

This is the INDEX page for the RANDOM MUSINGS images/stories.
CLICK ON THE TITLE or IMAGE TO GO TO THAT CHAPTER:

The Yin and Yang of Duende

Bare Your Soul

Tapestry

Reach Out and Be Touched By Someone

Feeling Move-y

Autodidact

Hindsight

Innate

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Read your 'Rights (Copyrights, that is)

2005-04-01T11:19:00.000-06:00

Hi folks

The photos in my blogs are my reference images...I have worked hard and spent a great deal of time in the field to get them.

Also depicted are my paintings, works in progress and working titles...like the photos, these are hard-earned.

While I am happy to offer my images and ideas for you to look at, PLEASE do not borrow or use them without my written permission.

I would hate to have to send some of my big, hairy friends after you!

Thank you
Lyn

On the Flighter Side-Bald Eagles-Unalaska

2005-02-17T14:21:00.000-06:00

This gives a whole new meaning to "carry out" dining. There is no shortage of Bald eagles in Unalaska. They sit atop boat masts, crab pots, the Russian Orthodox church, the grocery (apropriately named "Eagle"), piles of net at the dump...

Cleaning the Net

they even sit on rocks, if you can believe it!
There's always someone to volunteer if you need to clean any fish bits out of your net...or the bed of your truck or...

Who's Idea was This?

This juvenile Bald eagle picked up a stick, flew high, dropped the stick and dove for it. (That's the stick on the bottom edge of the frame) Maybe he thought the Ravens were having too much fun and decided to try it.

The Eagle has Landed

This is the bird that "posed" for my painting, "CRUISING CAPTAIN'S BAY".

Flyby

A Juvenile Bald eagle flies over Captain's Bay.

Sittin' on the Pots

PAINTINGS INSPIRED BY THE EAGLES OF UNALASKA:
BALD EAGLES< Alaska

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