Four hawks at year's end

"Hawks do not share," wrote Hemingway in A Moveable Feast of Zelda Fitzgerald, wife of Scott Fitzgerald.
I thought about those words this week when three hawks in three days crossed my paths, but then I came home to study another one, carved of wood just inside my doorway.
The first three hawks were wild red tails, and their appearances within a mile of the house could not have been coincidence, now that I think about it. I was walking in the almost vacant woods of Hafer Park in the afternoon, when the first one spooked me as I rounded a bend.  It launched from an oak tree behind a cedar tree, and I saw the broad tail as its long wings lifted it up. I must have interrupted dinner, as it disappeared into other distant trees, away from my sight.
As I was driving home from work the second day amid light traffic, another hawk swooped from the trees in Hafer Park, landed in the middle of four-lane Bryant Ave. 50 yards ahead of me. Its talons grasped a recently road-killed squirrel, and in seconds its powerful grey wings grabbed the air, lifting it to safety and dinner.
Yesterday I was rounding another bend in the park, and I saw the tips of grey wings lifting up out of the creek bottom, 100 feet ahead. I was downwind and watched the raptor perch on a bridge railing. I just stopped and watched as it turned its almost red breast into the warming sun and sat. Moving gingerly between the trees, I got to within about 25 feet. Without camera, I just watched, silently,  before moving on. I figured it had snared a mouse down by the water and had finished dinner. I didn't want to interrupt.
No, I thought, they don't share food or company, though they've adapted to urban growth better perhaps than humans. They're quiet predators who literally earn their living every day. I'm glad they're present so close to home, in the trees of a suburban park.
When I walked in the door, I saw the  sculpture of the red tail from Indian artist Earl Eder I bought a few years ago in Santa Fe. It's remarkable for they way the bird matches the grain of the wood. But this bird shares with me, and now I know the others do too--a spirit of being free and aware of the little things in life.
I thought about those hawks, walking in the park again today, of how their spirits, their sharing awakened this almost dormant blog and the end of another year.

Hafer Park--The path to the spirit of hawks

Art collector?

When you grow up in the home of an artist, you don't think much about collecting art.

I've gone to art shows for years, and always compared work with that of my Dad's. His work still hangs in our house, so it's an ever present standard of quality. So you pass up collecting art for three reasons. I'm pretty critical of what I consider quality. The really good work as at the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum Prix de West for example, I can't afford. And as I've begun to paint in these last few years, there's simply not much room in the house for art. I even have some work hanging on the walls of the garage.

But in the past few years I've bought just a few pieces in New Mexico and here primarily because I liked them or they were watercolors or things I could afford. I don't consider them investments. I consider them inspiration and stories.

As I was thinking about this, I started taking photos of them, and actually, we're a bit overwhelmed by art in our house--Dad's, Mike's,  others, mine and Susan's. So what was going to be a short post will have to several.

I have three favorite pieces--and it's interesting that two of them are sculptures.

The first I bought at the Palace of the Governors five years ago was from a Sioux named Earl Eder, http://secretwindowgallery.com/earl-eder-bio ironically who had been one of my uncle Mike's students at the Institute of American Indian Arts http://www.iaia.edu/ years ago. It's a beautifully carved red hawk from red cedar and he incorporated the grain of the wood to enhance the foot-tall sculpture, so the bird looks almost alive. He's added two drops of turquoise ad a Native American symbol to the art.

Unframed watercolor of the Palace of the Governors pinned to my studio wall, 9 by 22,  300 pound d'Arches paper
Where I bought Earl Eder's red tailed hawk.

http://www.palaceofthegovernors.org/index.php Everyday I look at the hawk and travel miles and years in imagination. Every time I go to Santa Fe, I walk the long porch at the Palace of the Governors and see the jewelry and other art sale. The last time I was there Earl's wife (a Navajo, I think) was tending his and her art, and he had more sculptures. I also noticed that the prices had gone up, so I guess I'm investing in art after all.

But more importantly, the art invests in me. Our collection has pieces from coast to coast, and from overseas. More stories to come.

Art collection

I don't collect much art from others, primarily because I can't afford it. Also, when you grow up in the home of an artist, you get very picky about what you consider valuable.

But in recent years, I've bought just a few pieces--a watercolor from an Indian on the portales at the Palace of the Governors in Santa Fe, a small oil at Paseo, and most notably, this sculpture, out of red cedar, of a red tailed hawk by Indian artist Earl Eder at the palace of the Governors. It is remarkable, 13 inches tall, with real turquoise embedded in its breast and on the tail, using the grain of the wood, with significant Indian icons and colors in he base, It stands on a black pedestal in our entryway. I paid $240 for this several years ago visiting my uncle Mike and bought it because it called to me, and Susan and I have a thing about hawks. This past summer I saw more of his work, and the  prices n similar work were already about $500. By the way, Eder, known more for his painting, was once a student of Mike's when Mike taught at the Indian Arts Institute in Santa Fe 30 and more years ago!

I never go to Santa Fe without walking respectfully down the portales at the 400 year old Palace of the Governors, looking at the jewelry and art--where Susan and I bought our wedding rings. then I go to La Fonda and site in the leather chairs in the lobby, where my Dad, Terrence Miller Clark,  sat, with his sketchbook, drawing board and one leg, back in the Depression.