Predators' eyes from the past

"Dinner Time," Snowy Owl, 6 x 6 acrylic on canvas

Sixty million years ago, owls were hunting in what is now Colorado. I learned that this week, searching for painting subjects.

The oldest owl fossil, a leg bone,  was dated from about five million years after the dinosaurs went extinct. An almost complete Skelton has been dated aat about 55 million. It was about five feet tall. The main difference in that bird and today's owls seems to be in its feet. It had an extra large toe talon, like Eagles, which is used to kill prey. Today's owls capture with their talons, but kill with their beaks.

 Throughout history, mankind has been snared by owls in mythology, religion and more. Their calls, their markings, their lives, their zoology, and especially their eyes, are captivating, even haunting.

"Breakfast time," Burrowing Owl, 6 x 6 acrylic, canvas

  They've always caught my attention, hearing them at night, seeing them on back roads or in trees, in zoos, in videos, and especially now that my daughter Dallas has two independent bookstores in Canyon and Amarillo, Burrowing Owl books,, both full of lots of owl images and models. 

 Thus today's two acrylic paintings, available this Thursday at my show as Edmond Vibes at The Vault, and thereafter at In Your Eye Studio and Gallery in Paseo Arts District.

Here's looking at you, but not as well as they do.

"Let There Be Light"

"let There Be Light," 6 x 6 acrylic on gallery-wrapped canvas

In the beginning...it was a very busy time. Still is, especially it seems to me in the beginning of a new year...so much to do.

I don't make resolutions, but have goals, like a long "to do" list...of a new year, that can be attempted or checked off.  One of last year's was "Don't piddle, paint." Alas, there was still too much piddling.

This year, I will try to paint daily, put some paint on something almost every day, whether complete or not, whether in minutes or hours.  And the way I paint is often an interruption between episodes of thinking and evaluating.

But at a beginning of a new year, the idea of one more black and white painting came to mind, for our January member show at  In Your Eye Studio and Gallery in Paseo Arts District.

"Let There Be Light," the first painting of 2023, resulted, palette knives and brushes.

Christmas Eve--Faith is a Verb

 En El Principio era El Verbo, y El Verbo era con Dios, y El Verbo era Dios. 

                                                    --San Juan 1:1

Faith is a verb. As is God, as is eternity.

Short story: When I taught writing at UCO, I'd use John 1:1 to emphasize the critical importance of verbs.

At a state university, I could usually count on a few students to quote John 1:1, in English. Then I'd explain, assuring the class that they didn't have to believe, but I wanted them to understand the theology behind it, that the "Word" was the agent of Creation ("Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life...."),  the pre-existent Christ.

Then I'd ask for the Spanish word of "word," and a few could answer "palabra." Then I'd put the  Spanish version up on the board, which is closer to the original Latin, and thus Greek: "En El Principio, era El Verbo...!"

Lesson: if you want to  "create" writing, sentences, pay attention to the verbs!

As I painted today's Christmas Eve card, I thought of people around the world gathering in churches, and homes, especially the poor, the paisanos and pueblo people of northern New Mexico. They  gather, walking through snow, to their adobe churches, expressing faith in their actions, seeking peace and sustenance in their humble lives.  Their faith is not something fancy or elaborate or have, but who they are and do.

Those were my thoughts last night as I was considering how to write this today. But then...

My mornings start with a reading from the journals of Thomas Merton. Today's selection, from Dec. 15, 1962,  had to be more than coincidence.

Consider these excerpts (italics are his):

• " The interior surrender of faith... (is)...an act of obedience, ie., self-commitment... (submitting) to God's truth in its power to give life, and to command one to live.
• "...Faith is not simply an act of choice, and option for a certain solution to the problem of existence, etc....To believe is to consent  to a creative command that raises us from the dead."

Tonight many of the faithful (those full of faith, a verb) gather to celebrate  the Verb who became flesh, "Y el Verbo se hizo carne...." San Juan 1:14 

No wonder faith  is a verb!

(P.S. I know, two sermons in one post today. Also consider that faith is different than belief. )

  

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Reclaiming the Night

"Reclaiming the Night, " 5 x 7 watercolor, acrylic on 140 lb cold press paper

Today’s painting “Reclaiming the Night" watercolor and acrylic, soon at In Your Eye Studio and Gallery in Paseo Arts District for members' black and white January show. 

Inspired by Chickasaw elder and Episcopal priest Steven Charleston's daily devotional.:

“Like a silhouette against the sun I see you standing on the horizon, looking out into the shadowy expanse of time, arms outstretched as if in prayer or greeting. How long you have stood there I do not know, but I imagine it has been for a very long time, so deep is the desire of your heart, the longing for an answer to your appeal. Who are you waiting for? What are you waiting for? Only the Spirit knows. All I understand is that you will still be there when the moon reclaims the night, for I will be standing beside you.” 

Moon Magic...today's painting

"Moon Magic," 8 x 10 acrylic on canvas panel

The challenge of black and white! Trying to shift from brilliant color to the beauty of simple black and white requires a different way of seeing.

I've regressed these two weeks, trying to get ready for my gallery's In Your Eye Studio and Gallery, January-themed  member show.

I've written about and painted the moon many times in the past, because it pulls me like the tide, getting stronger as I age. Today's painting is the latest attempt, combined with my iconic cabin in the. mountains.

It'll be available at the gallery beginning January 6, a day after my birthday, at the First Friday Art Walk in Paseo Arts district.

Moon Memories

"Moon River," 5 x 7 acrylic on canvas panel

Some songs stick in your should memories, bringing back times and people  before. I grew up when you could understand the words, not just the blaring beat of the music. 

So my wife makes fun of me when we play some of my favorites.  One such song is "Moon River," and for a lover of the moon, and the magic of the Mississippi River, it takes little to bring it to mind.

Now that our gallery, In Your Eye Studio and Gallery has themed our January group show "Black and White," it's no wonder I could almost see this painting before I even started.

Here it is, 5 x 7, "Moon River." Remember those words: "Moon River, wider than a mile....Oh, dream maker..."? In the gallery in Paseo in January. Framed as an 8 x 10 or so.

Where is your cabin?

"Cabin Fever," 12 x 12 acrylic on gallery wrapped canvas

Cabins have a long life in my memories, of people and places and photos and more.

Daydreaming of them all in the summer of heat that sapped my creativity,. I had to return to my roots.

Thus today’s painting, wondering “Where is your cabin?"

Easter Morning Thoughts

"Sunrise in the Judean Wilderness," 5 x 7 acrylic on canvas panel

Easter morning thoughts. Silence. Simplicity. Grief. Hope. Judea. Desert. Light not darkness. 

Palette knives.

Good Vibe-rations

"Edmond Icon," UCO's Old North in the Snow,  8 x 10 acrylic, gallery wrapped canvas 

Next Thursday, April 7,  I'm excited to be one of 70-plus visual artists and many performing artists  taking part in Edmond Vibes,https://edmondvibes.org/ , the first Thursdays summer arts festival in downtown Edmond, from 5 to 9 p.m.

Come browse and visit--I'm hosted by Prime Time Travel, https://www.primetimetrvl.com/ 18 N. Broadway this month, and they offer refreshments. The program is an event of the Edmond Fines Art Institute. https://edmondfinearts.com/

I will have more than 30 works of art displayed --watercolor, acrylics and oils-- inside their spacious foyer, priced from $35, and I'll be  painting a watercolor landscape that evening too. You can also view some of my unique Christmas cards and view some of my commissions.

That's the reason behind this latest acrylic, just completed and for sale April 7 during Vibes:  "Edmond Icon, " UCO's uco.edu historic Old North in the snow,  8 x 10 on gallery wrapped canvas.  

Snow Moon Rising

"Snow Moon Rising," 8 x 10 acrylic on canvas panel, palette knives, brushes

Snow storm. Lovely. Quiet. Romantic. Thinking time. Memory maker. Poetry prompt. Art influence.  Prayer prod. 

As long as you're safe and warm inside, that is. The prayers and thoughts for those not as fortunate or who you care for...the hungry, the homeless, the cold, the ill, the lonely, and family and friends far away.

My thoughts also turn to memories of cabins, mountains, friends, special people, the list goes on.

Flakes steadily coming down outside my studio window  today took a while to percolate and inspire before I picked  up a canvas and brushes. I still wasn't sure where it would go, until I started to mix  colors.

Actually, I only mixed one color, Ultramarine blue, along with a touch of black, and lots of titanium white for grays. If it had been watercolor, the paper would have served as white, but I wanted to try acrylics.

I wanted to imply a story for imagination, given the weather, and then I also remembered the color of moonlight  on snow. Most snow is not actually white, so blue and the moon were essential. I also found that the February full moon is appropriately the "Snow Moon."

I've written about, and painting cabins many times,  and that's because they evoke so many memories over the years with family, friends and more. "Where's our cabin?" is an invitation to a journey. Thus today's painting. You imagine the story.

Soon to be framed and available at In Your Eye Studio & Gallery in Paseo Arts District

Against the odds

"Against the Odds," 11 x 14 acrylic on canvas panel

 "Time's A'wasting," was oft repeated by one of my childhood comic strip heroes, Snuffy Smith. If you remember that, you're as old as I am. And aware that time is passing, and we're wasting it.

I am more aware of that sentiment in all phases of my life than ever these days as a new year and a birthday have passed recently.

My previous painting on this blog, a watercolor entitled "Time Was," was spontaneous, and fluid, like time. I'm fortunate and honored that Andrea Byers, Hawk's Landing, and  The Hideout, of Canyon, Texas, loved it and bought it.

As time has passed this year, I've been experimenting, learning acrylics, and that scene demanded another attempt, for the same reasons.

This painting is the result, while of the same subjects, vastly different. The watercolor was fresher, more fluid, proof to me of its beauty and originality.

This one is not a copy, but done with different emotions, palette knives and brushes for the textures of the subjects, different effects, capturing the essence of time past on the Great Plains.

I had trouble with the title to this one, but they embody survival, against the odds.

Season of changes

"A walk in the park," 8 x 10 acrylic on canvas panel, palette knife

"Make the world go away

and get it off my shoulders."

       --Eddy Arnold

In a  world  and our lives buffeted by constant changes and uncertainties, there's no more obvious  and encouraging symbol to me than autumn leaves and light.

I need this season as reassurance that despite troubles and tragedies, from personal to global. I've often said that painting is my therapy, because the rest of the world goes away when I'm work on art. 

Brooding and stuck, I found that therapy today from autumn's lessons on change and the inspiration to use change itself. 

"Get outside and paint," I told myself on this beautiful autumn afternoon. Most of the colors are fading or gone from the trees, but I had to try something different. I packed up my painting gear, got my tripod and pochad box (a portable palette that fits on top of the tripod) I'd never used before, and went to Hafter Park to paint en plein air--something I've avoided.

Finding a favorite section of the winding trail through trees, I set up on the side of the trail, trying to figure out what to do with the earthy, largely brown view in front of me. That added to the challenge for a too-detailed former journalist like me.

But there was still the inspiration of fall. Out came largely earth colors, mostly warm, and my palette knife.  Friendly walkers stopped to chat every once in a while.  I don't know what happened, but the results were change indeed--abstract, outdoors, palette knife.The world went away. Autumn's lessons are therapy indeed.

I should have taken a photo of my set up to go with this, but will go back tomorrow to add that. At any rate,  here's today's therapy.

Holiday Hope

"Holiday Hope," 5 x 7 acrylic on card

This little painting  appeared in the Oklahoma Journalism Hall of Fame December newsletter as a Happy Holidays piece. Thanks to Joe Hight for the request, and I decided to try something new, on deadline.

 Sometimes a title just appears at the very end. Mailbox, sure. Snow, definitely. Cabin, naturally. What to call it? 'Tis the season, so there's a little double meaning here that also appeared.

Moon magic

"Moon magic," 5 x 5 acrylic on canvas

On our anniversary this week, we sat on the back porch and watched the full moon rise.

We both told stories of years past when the full moon captivated us, fired inspiration and more.

The moon is indeed magic, pulling tides of memories and emotions as well as affecting the tides of the oceans.

You can read of one of my memories below, in a chapter in an unfinished novel

With that in mind, here's today's 5 x 5 acrylic painting. You can also search "moon" on this blog, and see the many times I've tried to paint the subject. It's no accident.

Time for the Moon 

“Time for the moon.” He rose, poured a last cup of coffee, grabbed his binoculars off the kitchen cabinet, and opened the back door.

The swollen moon inched above the silhouetted house-tops and trees, as he walked out on the wooden deck with the coffee and binoculars.

“The first time I remember seeing Aunt Sissie was when she showed me the moon,” he thought, putting the coffee down on a table, and lifting the 7 x 50 binoculars to his eyes as he twisted the focus ring.

At least, he thought he remembered the dark shadows of summer-thick bushes and trees rising above him on the sidewalk,  the black bulk of nearby buildings framing a few yellow-lit apartment windows, the huge round silver-white face in the dark Dallas sky reflecting its light off her equally round, kind face.

“Maybe it’s just that I heard Mom and Dad tell me about it; how Sissie would take me for a night-time walk and show me the moon; how I’d reach my little hands and stubby fingers for it; and how she’d tell Mom, ‘Well, Faye, get it for him.’”

The full moon always made him talk to himself, he thought.  “I know they told me Aunt Sissie would take me out in a baby carried during that summer of 1944, but seeing the moon seems fresher somehow. Mom and Dad might have told me about it, but they wouldn’t add the details about the shawls and lights.

“But when someone pays you a lot of attention at that age, and in later years you hear your folks talk about it, and then, decades later, when you go back to view the old black and white snapshots crowding family albums, what you remember and what you’ve heard sort of melt together, like the moonlight reflecting on her face that night in Dallas.”

Aunt Sissie was his favorite aunt, and even now, years after she died of cancer, when the moon jogged his memory, his throat thickened, and his eyes would water.

“Let him reach for it, Miss Vera,” was his mother’s reply to the quip about getting the moon for him. That’s what Sissie told him years later.

“Seems like you’ve been reaching every since,” she chuckled. He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse, or both. Maybe that was the key. Always reaching, challenged by some remote destination; yet, once attained, never satisfied. Easily bored when the newness wore off and routine set in. A journalist’s life was at once a sop and a sentence.

He treasured the full moon and moonlight, especially shining through the edges of swiftly moving clouds, or circled through the haze of thin high ice-clouds. The Apollo missions years ago had captivated him. Now he rarely let a month go by without viewing the acne-scarred face through his binoculars. The full moon provoked his imagination, his memories, his fantasies, helping him write.

The moon seemed to transform everything with a magic glow--landscapes, buildings, plants, smooth human skin--things he could never quite get enough of--things he couldn’t seem to quite reach and possess, any more than he could reach the moon. But he kept reaching like the little boy who had vainly reached to touch the strange light in the sky.

“It pulls me like the tide.” His tight spinal muscles relaxed as he lowered the binoculars and sipped the coffee. “People would think I’m crazy if they knew how I anticipate the full moon. I deserve the moon.”

He heard the phone ringing inside the house, interrupting his thoughts, demanding his attention and time and no telling what else. Resentfully, turning to go in, he glanced at the sky once more. “C’mon, babe, I want you.”

Calm

"Why Worry?" 5 x 5 acrylic on canvas

"Peace, peace, there is no peace..." --Jeremiah 6:11

In stress-filled times like these as a pandemic and politics rage on, we need calm more than ever, for our mental and physical health, yet it can be hard to find.

Medicine, for blood pressure and anxiety, works some, but not always. I've said for quite a while, not really jokingly, that painting is my therapy. When I'm working on art, the rest of the world goes away as every painting is a series of problems to be solved, to be created.

I've also found other sources of daily peace, daily calm as well. Every morning as I sit down with coffee in an easy chair, I have two immediate visitors in my lap, one on each leg, Snoops and Sophie, our rescue cats.  I have an "equal catortunity" lap. Petting or stroking them, while they purr does wonders for enjoying present tense and morning sunlight, preventing doom  scrolling media.

So today's acrylic painting lesson combines calmness, inspired by Sophie, though she's prettier than this.

Magic Metro Art

"Magic Metro," 4 x 4 acrylic

 I've donated paintings to two art organizations for fund raising this year, one has been purchased and here's your chance to buy "Metro Magic, at a bargain price.

Now you have an opportunity to buy an original, and help the Paseo Arts Association, with the annual 4 x 4 auction, also entitled "Magic Metro," also acrylic on canvas, bids starting at $25, or buy-it-now for $75 on line. Dec. 1 and 2.

The online only portion of the auction for two days the week before the in-person event. It will open Tuesday, December 1 and close Wednesday, December 2. Bidding will begin at $25 as usual, and if pieces are purchased at the Buy It Now $75 price, they will not be available for bidding at the in person event. If, for example, a piece gets up to $45 during the online auction, then the starting bid will be $45 at the in person event.

The in-person action will be First Friday, Dec. 4, from 5 to 8 p.m. at Paseo's new art and creativity center. 

The first fundraiser at Oklahoma Visual Arts Coalition's 12 x 12 was held earlier this fall and successful. My 12 x 12 acrylic "Metro Magic", at left, sold  to an OKC resident.

It's been a tough year for the arts, everywhere, and these fund raisers are more crucial than ever. Support the arts. 

Magic motivation

"Magic Metro," 12 x 12 acrylics

The OVAC 12 x 12 fund raiser, to be virtual this year, is not far off. Here's my experimental entry, as I don't work in acrylic much, and need to push myself into abstract impressionism to not get in a rut. Always learning.
Acrylic, on canvas, and no brushes--sponges

February art journeys

Winter gloom chills my creative nature some. I crave sunshine.
Excuses, excuses.

Best painting of the month was the first one, story blogged about here: "Green wheat, red dirt."
Since then there have been two watercolors, an acrylic experiment, and two "rescues."

"Spring storm coming," 8 x 10, second best painting

"Prairie Dawn," 11 x 14. Not happy yet trying to paint a fence near daughter's house

"Eden," acrylic experiment

"Storm coming at  Truchas," 11 x 14, a rescue attempt of earlier drab painting

"Taos Trinity," 11 x 14, rescue attempt of earlier drab painting

Artist stories and inspiration for change

Regina Murphy's paints, brushes, etc., in front. My watercolor brushes, pix, stuff in back.

Art always changes, because it reflects life, and that came home to me this month, especially in the last week.

One of her abstracts

Fantastic Oklahoma artist Regina Murphy, 97, died on Christmas Day. I barely knew her, from working on the Paseo Arts District Board. But every time I visited her in Studio Six, just up the street from where my watercolors are exhibited in In Your Eye Studio and Gallery, she greeted me with a smile and soft spoken "Hello, Terry."
I was always stunned by the variety of her work. The more I learn, the more I wish I'd known her longer, and primarily from admiring her very original images of my beloved New Mexico. Then in the recent past, she switched to abstracts, and grabbed my attention any more.

So when her daughters put her art supplies and art on sale for two days this month, I had to go.
I'd experimented with acrylics, Regina's main medium, a little before, but without passion, and primarily from ignorance. There's so much to learn, and so little time. I'm still learning and studying watercolor, and at this stage, prefer it, (though not after yesterday's failure). I've watched some videos on acrylic and am still ignorant.
But there has to be a challenge, and the sale offered it. 
Down I went, for two days, and purchased one of her paintings, a bunch of paint, and  some other supplies, brushes, etc., missing out on a good collection of palette knives. 
On this gloomy, icy day, I should be painting, and will. But with change, figure I need to at least write on the blog for only the second time this month--also a symbol of change, since it used to be an almost daily event, and now features art more than journalism. Blogging takes a lot of time, better spent on painting, for me, at the moment. A web page for art is coming, but that is more change and another story.

Regina Murphy

Back to Regina.
First, I bought a small 5 x 5 abstract acrylic of hers, adding to our small art collection. It hangs on the wall of my "studio/office" in our house, underneath some Native American art of my totem, the bear, above a Bear Warning sign, and below my small watercolor  of an old man on a journey. 
I learned from Regina's daughters Mikie Metcalfe and Patti Newman at the sale that Regina switched to abstract after the painful loss of another of her daughters. 
Change. Thank you, Regina.
Her daughters  were donating part of the proceeds to the Paseo foundation. When I left, Mikie told me she expected to see some results from what I'd bought.
It occurred to me this month, and I've heard it elsewhere, that all art has a story. I realized that on my First Friday show Feb. 1 when I'd be telling visitors about each painting they admired. So I guess this is the story I'd tell about Regina's painting I bought. And the one I paint, when I'm finally happy with it.
Changes and inspiration.
*
And here is a news report on Regina.
Regina Murphy

Small matters

Size matters, especially when small. Our art collection goes from coast to coast, including some others may have overlooked. They're also affordable, but valuable.

    A favorite watercolor of mine, bought in New Mexico is only 5 1/2" by 3  1/2" by an Indian artist named Menchego in New Mexico, with an Indian pot and bear fetish, which is special to me.

    Another watercolor, by Ted Scypinski, is just a 5" by 7, "Sunset shores," that we bought in Savannah last year.  And we have five  pieces by Oklahoma artists that fill niches on our walls, again, each telling stories in our imaginations.

These three 4 1/2 "square canvases are acrylic abstracts from my friend and chess playing partner, John Lawton, and hang in our entry way.  We've also bought a 3/12" by 2 1/2" pastel, Western Oklahoma, by Adelante! Gallery owner Cynthia Wolfe (where my watercolors hang in Paseo), and a 3/12" by 5 1/2" oil from Sue Rogers, also in Paseo, "New Mexico storm." It has to be a special oil for me to consider it, since I grew up watching my dad paint western landscapes. Each of these reek of storytelling and imagination.

Western Oklahoma

New Mexico storm

In addition, my uncle Mike gave me this tiny, about three inches at most, stone sculpture of two seals from Alaska, done many years ago by an Eskimo student of his at the Indian Arts Institute in Santa Fe.
    And since I started this post with a mention of bear fetish, here are two more. I bought the 2 1/2" by 3"  pottery brown bear from Jemez Pueblo Indian J. Tosa when visiting his home at the Jemez  feast day and dances with Uncle Mike several years ago. I bought this 5 " by 4"  pottery bear fetish from Acoma Pueblo Indian C. Ortiz at the Santo Domingo Pueblo feast day and dances when I was there two Augusts ago.