The spirit is willing

A Memory Haunts the Place

While we're in the neighborhood of Abiquiu, let's drop in on Miss Georgia's old haunts.

The same trip that brought me to Zorro's house (in the previous post) allowed me to wander around some of the region Georgia Okeefe loved so much.

The tough old bird was a tough middle-aged bird when she finally moved to the high desert region of New Mexico in the 1940s. She lived at Ghost House on Ghost Ranch.

The Ranch is out in the country a bit from Abiquiu, and originally consisted of traditional adobe cabins. Abiquiu itself is just a blip of a stop off the secondary highway that goes on to Ghost Ranch.

I bring that up about Abiquiu because I'm always amazed when little places in the world can claim large amounts of renown in our culture. Most art students have heard of Abiquiu.

Ms. Okeefe was a survivor of the art game that won a seat for Modernism at the cultural table.

As I said, she was tough, sometimes ornery. Did what she was going to do, and devil be damned.

She first came to Ghost Ranch as a guest of the owners, who were patrons of art and culture.

The house she stayed in was dubbed Ghost House, which is also the title of the painting above.

I just wanted to encapsulate my whole Okeefe experience through this iconic reference to her visits and eventual residence there.

The artist is remembered throughout the region for her art and folks who are anywhere nearby tend to seek out the places she painted and where she lived, both at the ranch and in Abiquiu.

Ghost Ranch has survived as a place where art pursuits are maintained. Summer sessions are held there by universities and associations. The modern world keeps moving on, moving forward ... sometimes just moving.

New generations come and make their own acquaintance with the dry, spiky landscape.

But there was a time when outsiders didn't come here much. Georgia Okeefe and her generation of artists gravitated to the area because it was inexpensive and not as miserable as New York in the winter.

And their art showed the world why they kept coming back.

A New Pal

Zorro Leads the Way

Went along on wife's business trip to Albuquerque.

When business was done, we rented a place in north nowhere New Mexico, near the Chama River. A good place to be when you want to get away for awhile.

Abiquiu, home of famed, long-deceased artist Georgia Okeefe, is just around the corner.

Our rental is a horseshoe-shaped, owner-built home of amazing charm and utility. Adobe brick inner walls and large round river-rock outer shell. So well insulated we never felt the desert night chills. Water in the birdbath froze every night we were there.

The house is surrounded by miles of desert expanse.

An added plus to the rental is pictured above, "Zorro, Desert Dog."

Zorro belongs to the landlady, but immediately fell into a routine with me (or did I fall in with him?). He probably felt that renters were temporary loaner pals for his walks.

Every day we were there, he'd be waiting bright and early to go take inventory over the dunes out back. He proudly showed me all his desert brush, low trees, some random hares, wadis and whatnot.

I looked out the window one afternoon as Zorro calmly sat there. A herd of about 20 horses was moving from the desert toward the Chama to water. It was a regular occurrence for him, but it excited the heck out of me.

Calm seemed to be the bedrock of Zorro's nature.

Ahh, la Turk

City in a Forest

As I reviewed my stuff, I was surprised to find so many "wildlife" images in the works. I'm not a wildlife artist.

After all, I was a newsroom denizen for decades. Summer in the South ... speaks for itself. Who's ideas was it to combine Florida AND summer? Excessive, to say the least. Florida's winters last only a few months. So a lot of my waking time was/is spent indoors.

The reason so many of those critter paintings occurred to me is that our town is inhabiting a forest.

Go to the top of our highest buildings and you'll see a few other tall buildings and a lot of church spires sticking up out of a solid carpet of pines, oaks and and magnolias.

The city's practice of building holding ponds for flood control has set up wildlife oases all over town. And I've been lucky to live in a few neighborhoods that were very supportive of wild species.

The neighborhood we live in now has a network of ponds and runoff streams that feed to a large prairie lake (during a drought it's a prairie; in a wet pattern it's a lake).

Our lot also backs onto a 100-year flood plain. Sort of like Pooh's wood but much smaller than a hundred acres. Those woods regularly have deer munching their way through. The ponds are regular wading grounds for egrets, storks and whooping cranes. Early Bird specials.

Hawks, kites, owls and bats abound. All of this in a typical modern middle-class high-density suburb. I see these species regularly as I walk Mattie. And I'm usually knocked out by the sight of them. Naturally (no pun intended) the images become paintings.

The one above, "Blue Rondo a la Turk," came to me because Wife saw wild turkeys in the back last winter. She grabbed the camera and I wished her luck. I've heard stories again and again from photographers about how hard it is to get good turkey photos.

Well, the girl did it! Came back with several usable frames. And generously allowed me to paint from one. The one above, obviously.

The painting's title is also borrowed. Dave Brubeck wrote this wonderful composition with a fast, choppy beat that I though of as I worked on all the foliage and even the bird. That was fun.

We in this town are fortunate to have this Southern forest around us. So much so that a neighborhood evening's walk is like a walk in the woods.

I'll be posting more of the local wildlife paintings.

It's about time

The Way Things Change, and Don't

This painting was done in the early 1970s.

"Time Machine" came from my head. Made it all up.

This was a kind of Norman Rockwell-influenced take on the times.

First of all, the the obvious. Old pick-up truck, elder driver and young man.

The driver and the truck belong together, of an age and culture.

The young man is experiencing change, as befits that age. His hair is longish, but still country. It bothers the older man because that hair is getting longer.

And that shirt of his. Embroidered! Like a woman's blouse. Where does he get these ideas?

The truck has been around for three decades, and the old man longer.

The young man is in his late teens.

They sit quietly as they drive through space and time, their thoughts to themselves.

They're going to town in response to a letter from the draft board.

The painting itself has traveled through time and space with me for about 35 years.

Some days are up

Others, Not So Much

I don't know about you, but I can get overwhelmed.

Some days, it just doesn't look like we can get there from here.

This image, "Ophelia (Everything is Dying)", finally expressed itself on such a day.

The population seemed a giant gang of lemmings going into the abyss while snarling and clawing at each other.

I had seen Mel Gibson's version of that brooding Danish chap earlier in the year.

Then I spent a hot Saturday afternoon cruising dark rivers with Bruce Willis in "Striking Distance." Bruce and his partner found a floating body in one scene. Lovingly shot white skin in dark water. Bingo!

A stark image stewed with a brooding sense of planetary death throes. Report after report of species loss, overpopulation, climate warming. Added argumentation about causes ad nauseum to that mix.

And kept stirring. On low boil for a month or two until one day, voila! Low-grade depression and one heck of an image.

It's very nice. Now, put it away.

Do you have any of the fun stuff?

Mattie walks

Bon jour, Monsieur Monet

Our dog's name is Mattie.

Mattie is a shelter pup. Chow Chow-retriever mix (why two chows? One does the job). Sweet disposition, excepting smaller dogs. An issue we're working on.

But Mattie is a people-person. Constantly amassing Facebook friends.

She allows me two sections of the paper in the mornings, then we have to hit the road.

Evenings we wait out the heat.

Every walk shows me a potential painting. I thought up a challenge of doing just that: A painting per walk. The Mattie Walk show. Someday I'll take that challenge.

The painting above, "Pond Lilly", resulted from a walk at Lake Hall, Maclay Gardens State Park.

Walking the girl can be a challenge where people are concerned. Parks have leash rules, so we're always in tandem. Lake Hall has a sand beach where dogs are not allowed. Some people don't want or need a dog interrupting their moment of serenity.

So walking Mattie is a constant judgment call of navigation.

Mattie has a great ability to moderate her response to those she approaches. She is calm and even demure with little kids and older people. Frisky and energetic with those who can handle it. I'm always impressed by her intuition.

But, mostly, I wimp out and take her on trails where the population thins out.

One trail goes around part of the lake. I like that walk a lot. It meanders through the woods and touches the shoreline here and there.

Mattie's indifferent. She keeps an eye out for lions, tigers or bears.

We came to a shoreline view of this shaded cove, covered with lily pads. And one blossom catching a spot of sunlight.

I'm no Claude Monet, but this was a Monet moment. How could I resist?

Mattie, Monet and me. Out for a walk.

On a clear day

Thoughts of Home

These blogs have featured paintings from more than a decade ago.

Let's mix it up and bring in something more recent.

This painting was done last year for my sister-in-law. We are both from the same town in Canada, though she was there much longer than I was. She married my older brother and South Florida became her home.

I figure living in Quebec Province into her adulthood, she had been cold and didn't feel the need to continually repeat the experience.

There is a thought I've had for years now. One that's gaining expression in columns and books: That immigrants (anyone who moves to a very different place, say from Idaho to Mississippi even) get stuck in a mental bind of their own.

They retain memories of the land they left, as it was. Some never really assimilate into their new place. Meanwhile, the land they left changes. Nothing is ever static.

That memoried place in their heads is all that remains of their home.

The painting, "A View of St. Georges East", is both real and idealized. The real town of St. Georges is in the northern end of the Apalachian range. The weather can be rainy and raw at any time of the year. I caught it on a good day. The view is a small detail of the town and a lot of clutter from power lines and other details have been left out.

A combination of photos from the internet contributed to my composition. Good fortune contributed to my getting the houses of my sis-in-law's family in there as well.

She was touched by the work and I got to spend some time in the "home" I remembered.

Anyone who leaves home and returns many years later can feel the dissonance brought on by that return. The world's population is on the move more than ever before. Huge swaths of people looking for something better while leaving a big chunk of themselves behind.

Ash Wednesday

The party's over

This image came to me in pieces.

The setting is based on the architecture of the stairwell of a downtown parking garage. You park on the lower levels and walk up to street level where the attractions are.

This design was so nicely done that I wanted to use it for something. But what?

Later I was thumbing through a book of Edward Hopper's art. Early in his career he had done a street scene while studying in Paris. All the young dudes went to Paris in the 1920s. The Hopper painting was of a sidewalk cafe crowd enjoying the evening. Among them was a man dressed as a white-faced clown. Just sitting, smoking. One of the folks.

Boy, I wanted to do that somehow.

But why?

I knew a young cop a bunch of years back. A real nice guy. He'd be there for you. He was also a real upper. Buoyant in spite of all he saw on the job.

One Halloween he dressed in the classic Pagliacci costume, including white-face and the blue tear from one eye. It knocked me out! His contemporaries came as Forrest Gump (that's how far back this was). I thought it took a little courage to reference something from classical opera.

Next thing I knew, the clown showed up at the stairway railing. In my mind, of course.

One of the most rewarding moments for me is when something comes to mind, breaks through the thought process and just presents itself. This was one of those moments.

The french-curve swirl of the railing, and the tile work, suggested a bit of New Orleans to me. So now I had Mardi Gras. But what else? Someone with the man?

I played with the scene a bit and decided to leave him alone. Literally.

The party's over. Confetti is suggested on the floor. It's late, almost Wednesday morning. A time of reckoning. A time to account for past thoughts and deeds.

Ash Wednesday, when the long wintry lenten season begins.

I painted this in 1993, but it still seems applicable today.

A Closer Walk

A Closer Walk

Mid-December, 1993. Daughter was graduating from Arizona State after long years of working her way through school. It was a big deal. We packed up and flew out.

Southern Arizona is not very different from North Florida in temperature, except more so at times.

We got to Tempe, home of ASU, and shortly after went for a run to get the travel kinks out of our system. Tees and shorts. Worked up a sweat.

We were there for the week and commencement wasn't until Friday, so we planned to see some of the state.

Took off next morning for the Grand Canyon.

Highway 17 runs pretty much up the middle of the state to Flagstaff. It goes north and climbs in altitude all the while. Turn west at Flagstaff for a bit, then north to the canyon. The climb is so gradual at that point, you don't really notice it.

There we were at the south rim of one of the places you grow up hearing about. We checked in to our lodging. No problem this time of the year. The summer season was long over. Kind of chilly out, too.

Noodled around, going from lodge to lodge, some of them original Mary Colter architecture from the 1930s. Lovely stacks of local rock shaped into timeless places that belong to the terrain.

Stood on rim lookouts, deep-breathing. How would you not?

Spoke to members of an Irish bus tour. An employee at a lodge with a big fireplace said a tour of Japanese travelers was in the day before. This large, graceful crack in the earth captures imaginations the world around.

Eventually ate, then turned in for the day. As we walked back to the room, snow was falling. Big fat flakes against the dark pines and firs. The lodge architecture, the railroad tracks and depot, all suggested Germany or Switzerland, Places where people schuss.

We went to bed.

I'm the early riser of our crew. Morning came and I was out, camera in hand.

Blanket of snow. A cliche phrase, but true here. Most of the folks visiting were still in bed. Light was bouncing every whichway off untouched spreads of white. I walked carefully in some areas where ice sheets had formed.

A low wall follows the rim near a group of lodges. I followed that waving line, a very long way down waiting just over the wall.

Little winter-nude trees followed the same wall. I was focusing my camera when I heard a purring sound. Looked to my left. In the tree, just a few feet from me, a canyon raven was purring at me. A very soft, gutteral rrurrrrring. Can't describe what that felt like.

Then I came up to Bright Angel Lodge. And that scene in the painting "Angel in Snow", above.

I had taken pains to keep my feet to the walk, leaving the "blanket" unmarked for others. One look at the eternity at the bottom of the stairs told me to leave that for other visitors, too.

Island hoping

We are not great travelers, the wife and I. We'd like to be, but it's been hard to get outta town. We're a couple who put off our honeymoon for months because of bizzi-ness.

It has been our good fortune to get some quality trips, since quantity of travel is lacking.

The painting above, "Abaco #2" is from one of those trips.

Somehow, we homed in on the Bahamas as a destination. Wife is the researcher of this union. She found a small beach house for rent on Man-O-War Cay, an outer island of Grand Bahama.

Beach house is a stretch. Man-O-War is a parentheses of an island with a harbor in the space between. The smaller paren, with our rental on it, is wide enough to hold two small lots back to back. No beach. All travel to the the larger part of Man-O-War was done by skiffing across the harbor.

Man-O-War is primarily the home of descendants of Tory refugees from the American Revolution. The Albury family are the prime movers of the area, running stores, the island shuttle, as well as being our landlord. On the shuttle to the main island, a youngish local asked us how we "ended up here. Nothing much happens here." Fine with us.

We like quietude. Crowds are o.k. Over there. Way over there.

We also like Fall vacations. Fewer people. The down-side of Fall vacations is that many attractions are closed for the season.

The hope of dear wife was to snorkel coral reefs. We had been spoiled by our honeymoon in St. John, V. I., where one could swim to reefs right off the beach.

There was desperation in the air when we couldn't find reefs nearby. We contacted a diving company to book an afternoon. That's how anxious we were to do this. We were willing to pay! We only had three days left of our vacation.

They told us they needed more people to make the trip worth their while. That another couple may be interested. They'd get back to us. A day passed.

We called back. The other couple couldn't make it. Bummer!

A hurricane was brewing in the southern Atlantic. Locals were beginning the boarding-up drill.

The boat crew called to say they were going to a couple of the islands to take photos for brochures and we were welcome to go with them. Wanna come? You bet!

They showed up the next day and we were off to Green Turtle Cay, the PARTY island.

Wasn't much of a party. Late season. Hurricane coming. We hung while the crew shot location. Drank a $6 beer (that was a lotta money then).

Eventually got back aboard and headed home. About midway, crew dropped anchor. The bay at that point is pretty shallow. Clear water showed mostly a sand bottom. Crewman pointed to the other side. Dark green! Suit up!

We were wet in a flash.

Glad I went to the pool for two weeks before the vacation. Was in middling shape. That elkhorn coral formation shown in the above painting was at one end of the whole reef. Full of fish. All colors.

We dove and came up for air, then back down for as long as they could stand it, then went home happy. Pals to the end. Birth to earth. Don't remember their names now.