The Best Laid Plans

"Miss Maddie"

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This will be a short post. At least I think it will be. I have been very busy this week with my 8-year-old granddaughter. She had the notion that we should write a children's book together. She would provide (for the most part) the story, and I would do the illustrations. And now you know why I've been a little remiss with my posting.

Like many things in life, it seemed such a simple idea. And it started out to be just that. Simple. The story came together pretty quickly. We collaborated. I typed. Then came the illustrations. That started out simple as well. Until my inner perfectionist kicked in. One day last week we drove all the way to the big city (Tyler...not remotely a big city btw, for those of you who don't know) to pick up a few markers of varying values. Yes...of course they were professional grade. But I can use them again. Right?

Even so, I worked on the illustrations off-and-on all week and it came together pretty nicely. She did a couple of illustrations too, but she was smarter about it. She just did simple, child-like sketches and they turned out great.

The problem was putting it all together in order to make copies. It involved - as you can imagine - a lot of cutting and pasting...and printing out each page in order to fit in the illustrations. We went to Office Depot, and I went to work on my cutting and pasting, only to discover that I was missing a page. Back home. Printing out another page, then reconfiguring the rest of the pages in order to accommodate for the change of having added a page. Sigh...followed by bad thoughts and words in my head. Thoughts and words not appropriate for an 8-year-old. 

 

But we finally got it together. She's hocking these things shamelessly to anyone with $5 and a soft spot for 

children.  She's very driven. She's saving money to move to Madagascar when she's grown up. I don't know what that says about her feelings toward her family, including me, but there it is. Madagascar. She's saving up in order to move far, far away. But then, the best laid plans can change.

I guess this wasn't such a short post after all...

Artist Rides, Part 5

"South Dakota Ride"

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I've already confessed that I don't remember the precise order of the numerous and diverse re-enactments of the South Dakota ride, though I remember the scenes themselves with a lot of clarity (especially considering that this happened about 14 years ago). The next event was particularly memorable to me for what may seem like obscure reasons. But some of you will relate.

We were all gathered at the main site of the ride when Don (is that what I called him?...the one who brought the camper filled with a huge variety of booze), in a very excited state, informed us that a few miles away, there were cowboys driving a herd of cattle up and down a steep hill. We all jumped in our cars and followed him, parked, and walked the remainder of the way to the site. 

Sometimes - actually, most of the time - no photograph can really capture the color, light and energy of a particular moment. This was such an episode. There was something amazing about the cattle, the cowboys, the scenery...it did feel like stepping back in time. I found that the photos I took simply couldn't capture the scope of it all. I suppose that's the appeal of an IMAX...it comes the closest to reality that you could hope for without actually being there. And the IMAX is air-conditioned...but I digress.

I will meander a bit here and disclose to you that prior to moving to Arizona in 1999, I was the quintessential stay-at-home mom. I always say that my kids would rather have been put before a firing squad than to have played soccer, but I can relate to the term. I was a soccer mom. Without the soccer. Though the incongruity of that statement does not escape me. It's somewhat a state of mind. Your life revolves around your kids and their activities...whatever they may be. Even though I was always painting during these years, my identity was mostly that of a soccer-less soccer mom.

Back to the cattle drive. In the short span of about a year-and-a-half, I had gone through a fairly drastic metamorphosis, culminating in this moment in which I was literally standing in the midst of a cattle drive in South Dakota, taking photographs and enjoying the moment. I had re-invented my life.

Before I get too poignant, I will assure you that the moment didn't last for too long. Soon I was back on the plane with my sulking, sniffing (she had acquired a cold somehow) daughter and the topic turned quickly back to reality. Sometimes reality blows. But I suppose without reality, you don't enjoy the escape from it.

Thus ends the saga (the condensed version, anyway) of my first - but not last - Artist Ride. The memory of it, though sometimes out of order, is tucked away in one of those recesses in my mind...it's stored in a beautifully decorated box, easy to open and close again, on which is marked "Priceless". Oh...and it's written in calligraphy. It needed to be fancy.

 

 

 

Artist Rides, Part 4

"Celebration Dance"

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So where did I leave you? Oh, yes...I had narrowly escaped being trodden by horses. As I recall...next came the noon til mid-afternoon hours of sitting around. For the non-artists among you, most artists don't like the hours around noon for taking photos, because we like cast shadows, etc. And the lighting at noon is just too harsh. And it was lunch time, and artists - much like people - get hungry and tired.

I was invited (or perhaps I invited myself...I don't remember) to join my friends "John", "Ted", and "Don" for the noon/early afternoon dalliance. Or...for some, drink-fest. My friend Don had brought his camper to the ride, and it was stocked with a variety of booze. I believe that I had my usual little sissy Chardonnay. There were several models there, as well as we four artists. There were no Native Americans, though. I don't think they wanted to associate with the likes of us.

Anyway...one of the attendees was a "cowboy" (that is to say...a cowboy model, and not remotely a real cowboy) named Garrett (not his real name, though surely he's no longer among the living). Garrett had begun drinking well before the dallying started. In fact, he was quite well-lit. He seemed to take a fancy to me, as drunks are wont to do. I was sitting there with my shoes off, and I had my feet propped up, resting...minding my own business. He suddenly decided that I might enjoy a foot massage. Which I did.

If only it had remained so innocuous. He shortly thereafter determined that I would enjoy having my calves massaged even more. Which I really did not. My gallant friends John, Ted, and Don thought that this whole episode was riotous. Hilarious. Fortunately, it didn't take much to dissuade Romeo. He was more interested in drinkin' than he was in romancin', as it turned out.

Later that afternoon, the Native Americans returned (where did they go?), and further scenes were enacted and re-enacted. One was of a skirmish between "cowboys" and "Indians". The cowboys were on horseback...the Indians hiding behind a big log, with their tomahawks and rifles in tow. And thus the skirmish began. It was interesting to observe the dialogue between the stunt men - who clearly knew one another - between scenes. I remember distinctly a "cowboy" addressing an "Indian", "Hey...Greg...hand me my hat, would ya?" A Sioux named Greg...why not?

There was also a cavalry battle scene enacted down at the river. This time, I was  little more judicious as to choosing my spot. Around the same time, there was an impressive action scene in which a man dressed in Cavalry attire galloped (for clarification...his horse galloped. A Cavalry officer would look ridiculous galloping, would he not?) across a field, and jumped his horse over the same big log as was used in the previous cowboy/Indian scene. He was holding a rifle and firing blanks at some imaginary bad guy, while jumping over the log without holding onto the reins. I thought it was quite impressive. He repeated the same scene again and again, each time jumping the log while firing blanks, in perfect choreographic precision.

And this was just day 1. Not really. I think I combined a couple of days. Hard to say. I will leave you with "to be continued" one more time, but the next part will be the end of this series. I promise...there IS an eventual end to this Artist Ride. Stay with me...

Artist Rides, Part 3

"Summer Tree"

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So...I finally arrived at the site. While I was overwhelmed, my daughter was quite underwhelmed (yawning in complete disinterest, as I recall). We got there early so that we could have the "chuck wagon" experience. Which was not great. But I didn't care. I was on a great adventure. In contrast, my daughter might as well have been in after-school detention. 

I soon spotted several artists I knew from the Artists' Breakfast in Scottsdale. This was of comfort to me as the day wore on. I will give them fictitious names, since I don't actually have their permission to use their real names. I'll call them John, Ted, and Don. I know. It's memorable.

As to the way the Artist Rides work, the artists make requests of the models for certain types of scenes. For example, a cowboy sitting by his horse with a contemplative look. Or several "chiefs" seated in front of a tepee looking as if they've just come to a peace accord (probably after a round of peyote). There are always multiple scenes being played out at different parts of the ranch. There is no lack of space...it's truly in the middle of nowhere on what I presume is an enormous ranch.

So you can imagine that at times it's difficult to choose which scenes to photograph. The first scene I chose to photograph was a beautiful Native American model by the name of Stormy. I would guess that Stormy was around 40 years old, but as John remarked to me, "time has been kind to her". The scene was supposed to be of a Native American mother interacting with a small child. Only the child wasn't altogether on board with this set up. In fact, he clearly didn't fancy Stormy. So I moved on to another scene.

This one was of the aforementioned cowboy sitting contemplatively by his faithful horse. But this did not really appeal to me. Plus, he kept giving me dirty looks (as though I might stiff him). Which brings me to another way in which Artist Rides work. The models are to be tipped by the artists photographing them.

The organizer of this particular ride works in the movie industry in various capacities...mostly stunt work, or as an extra. I think. Anyway...some of the models are stunt people. Others...I'm not sure. Perhaps "John" can elaborate on this if/when he reads this (you know who you are). Among the artists, it's understood that you are to tip the models when you photograph them. There's no set amount, but it's understood that you tip as well as you can afford. Since multiple artists are taking pictures, and they're all tipping fairly well...the models do pretty well.

I will end Part 3 with my third photo-op, because it was quite memorable to me. There was a stream (or perhaps a small river) nearby across which horses were to be driven by some cowboys...or was it Indians? I don't remember. All of the male artists had gotten there before me and had taken up the best - and safest - spots. For this particular scene, the artists competed heavily for the best locations from which to photograph. In my book (my ebook) I compare them to "Lindsay Lohan and the Olsen twins fighting over a bottle of Ipecac". 

Anyway, I thought I had a safe spot off to the side of the path the horses were taking (scenes are re-enacted again and again in order for the artists to get multiple shots). I was seated on the ground. But this time when the horses started across the stream, three of them decided - possibly as a break from the monotony - to break off and head my way. I saw them in the viewfinder of my camera and thought, "Oh, dear". Actually, I think the words I was thinking were a little stronger than that, but I'll spare details in deference to the faint-of-heart among you. I scrambled as quickly as I could as a then-49-year-old, and barely made it out of the way. If it happened now, I suppose I would just have to roll up in a ball, be trampled, and hope for the best. 

Horses just have no regard for artists, as it turns out.

To be continued...

p.s. - the parents among you won't need this, but..."Ipecac - the dried root of a South American plant used to induce vomiting". Most parents keep it on hand in case Little Lord Fauntleroy ingests something he shouldn't.

Artist Rides, Part 2

"Julia"

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Have you ever had a friend for whom everything just falls into place? It goes something like this...this friend (we'll say it's a he, but it could just as easily be a she) decides to go to the mall. But the mall is very crowded - let's make it the Saturday before Valentine's Day. He casually drives up and down a few rows - all filled with cars. But suddenly he spots a car pulling out of a premier parking spot right in front of the entrance to the mall and proceeds to jauntily pull into the spot to which he feels fully entitled. After all...things fall into place nicely for him. Or her.

Life is not like that for me. Nothing is ever simple. My first experience attending an Artist Ride (the really great one in South Dakota) began with a plane change in Salt Lake City, in which I had a VERY short time in which to change planes. I should add here that my then-13-year-old daughter was reluctantly (and somewhat angrily) traveling with me. Suffice it to say, we barely made our connection to a small commuter plane, which landed in Rapid City, SD very late at night. (I really hate commuter planes...)

I rented a car and we proceeded to Wall, where I had booked us into a bed and breakfast just outside town. I will spare you the details of this sad little journey to the ends of the world, and just condense it into a simple sentence. We wandered around the in the middle of nowhere for at least an hour or more looking for that wretched bed and breakfast. I ultimately had to walk into a bar and ask for directions. As I said...nothing is ever simple. Oh...and I ran into a ditch at one point during this excursion. I realize that was more than one sentence. But I DID condense it. Trust me.

I'm comforted by the fact that many of you are saying to yourselves, "Yeah...that would happen to me". Others might be thinking, "She doesn't seem to plan well". I guess a case could be made for the latter.

Oh, yes...the Artist Ride. We drove even farther out into the middle of nowhere the next morning. I drove over the last hill and as we drove over the top...what a sight to behold. Tepees. Native Americans riding around on horseback. Cavalry. Mountain Men. All in full, authentic-looking costumes. It was awesome. Stupendous. And possibly even worth the fiasco of the previous night. I felt like Paula Deen touring a Land 'O Lakes butter factory. Or Kim Kardashian anyplace where photographers are gathered. You get the idea...literally hundreds of great photo references to be had.

To be continued next time...

Artist Rides

"Rebecca"

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This is really an oldie...currently in the Walking Horse Gallery in Ben Wheeler, TX. I always want to call this gallery the "Whispering Horse", though that doesn't really make sense. Horses don't whisper. Though I hear their trainers sometimes do...

So I did this painting at the Celebration of Fine Art in Scottsdale, AZ...can't say I remember the year. Probably 2000 or 2001. The model - conveniently named Rebecca - is a professional artist's model who has all her own costumes, etc. Until I moved to Arizona, I had no idea where western artists got their photo references - especially Native Americans and cowboys. 

I've mentioned before that I went out to Arizona in 1999 (going through a divorce) for a visit and bought a house. I'm aware that this was spontaneous in the extreme. Don't judge me. During that same visit, I was introduced to a western artist who assured me that there is life after divorce...having been through 5 (or maybe it was 6) divorces herself. Anyway...she invited me to a weekly Artists' Breakfast. I attended regularly until I moved back to Texas. It was at the breakfast that my fellow (mostly western) artists told me about Artist Rides.

They informed me that one of the best rides is in South Dakota, and that sometimes there is a waiting list of artists. Therefore, they said, I must contact the organizer and try to get in asap. Which I did, dropping a few western artists' names in the process, hoping that it might give me an inside advantage. Apparently this ploy worked, because I got in. Or maybe it was an off year and they would have taken anyone. It's hard to say.

I think that I will separate this post into several consecutive posts, in that...well, there's a lot to tell. And I don't want to tax my readers - especially those who read multiple blogs every day (you know who you are). Suffice it to say...my first Artist Ride enlightened me to a whole new world. FYI...I will end Part 1 of this post by informing you that there is actually no riding of horses on the part of the artists. So I have no idea why they call them Artist Rides. To be continued...

Knowing Too Well

"Jordan"

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A while back, my daughter's boyfriend took us both out for lunch. After several minutes of repartee between the two of us concerning whether or not to share something and, if so - what would we both enjoy equally? (we are accustomed to this, in that we have an extended history of - out of financial necessity - sharing restaurant food). He seemed amused and mumbled,  "You two are funny". To which I replied, "Oh...you have no idea".

When I moved to Arizona to pursue my art (as well as to burn marital bridges), it was just the two of us. My son was in college by then, but my daughter was still in junior high. So we spent a lot of time together. A LOT of time. Just the two of us. We have a tendency to know one another's thoughts and moods almost too well.

An example...one day - after she had moved out on her own - I decided to call her to test out this "knowing one another too well" theory. When she answered the phone, I dispensed with the usually small talk and said (having just watched "City of Angels"), "I wish an angel would give up his powers to be with me..."  With not a hint of confusion in her tone, she said, "I know...but it wouldn't work out for you".

My daughter is the subject of the above charcoal portrait study. I had never really done much with charcoal and decided to experiment with it. And at the time, I was looking for a way to offer some of my artwork at a lower price point.

Back to the original subject...I actually wrote a book a few years ago. It is basically about the life of a working artist (I write about myself...but other artists as well). I would like to publish it as an ebook, and sell it on this blog, but so far I'm too techno-challenged to actually do it. Some of you techno-geeks out there? Any advice?

Not Cool

"Cape Neddick"

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Today has been unusually busy for me, starting with my morning walk at 6-something. Now that summer is upon us, early morning is the only time of day that one can possibly bear walking. I can't say that I really enjoy walking, but I do it. I guess for my health. Walking and sweating...yechhh. I'm waiting for the day that some study concludes that walking is not healthy after all. Then I will hang up my sneakers. But I digress...

This is another Maine painting, which (I think) has already been sold. It looks so nice and cool there. Of course, most places are cooler than Texas. That can be interpreted for both temperature and trendiness. It's okay...I can say unflattering things about Texas because I'm a native.

I will admit that there are less cool places than Texas. Arizona for one. I lived in the Phoenix area for about ten years. Summers there are brutal. One doesn't go outside unless one absolutely has to. And if one must walk...one does it at a mall. Discretion has overtaken me...so I won't comment on the relative coolness of Arizona in regard to the other connotation of the word. I don't want to be YELLED AT IN CAPS from my Arizona friends/followers. As I've said before...I am a delicate flower.

 

I'm done with my walking for today. I've driven to the big city of Tyler to run errands today. I've sold a small painting today. I've had coffee with friends today. I'm going to kick back and relax for the remainder of this day in this decidedly not-cool place. I hope the same for you, my friends...there are worse things than not being cool. And I should know.

Monday Musings

"Scott"

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Redheads are fun to paint. And, yes, I did exaggerate the red somewhat. But that's okay...I have a license to do such things. An artistic license. Oh, it's nothing I take pride in. Anyone can have one. Really. ANYONE.

In fact, one of my pet peeves (that should probably be the name of this blog..."Pet Peeves") is that in my two particular areas of skill - music and art - there really isn't a license. No bar to pass. Anyone can buy a guitar, learn four chords, learn a couple of songs, and say with great conviction, "Yes...I'm a musician". In the same vein, anyone can buy paints, brushes, and canvases, take a few lessons - or not - and say, "I'm an artist". I think it's one of the reasons that people tend to not take artists seriously. And I'm no different, really. Every time I do an art show, there are at least a few people who say, "Oh...my mom is an artist" or words to that effect. And I usually imagine a gray-haired little lady painting bluebonnets very badly.

At the risk of offending a few people, I'll continue on my roll. Not just anyone can practice law. There's standard that must be met...a bar to pass. I'm sure some of you are thinking that the standard for being a lawyer is woefully low, but that's not the point. There are requirements that must be met.

I can't just declare myself a therapist. Nor can I prescribe medicine (if I could, I'd prescribe a few good meds for myself). And I can't arrest anyone. That one really blows. I've met quite a few people I'd like to arrest.

I usually don't know where these posts are going to go. This one went in an unexpected direction. All because of the term "artistic license". Sometimes it's hard to be me.

Without going into too much detail about the model for this study, I will say that he's related to me by marriage, and that he's a vet. I always say that, in regard to finding models, I exploit my family whenever possible. They usually work really cheap. Or cheaply. (For the grammar nazis among you)

I've noticed that while quite a few people read these posts from time to time, very few leave comments. Which is okay. But as always...feel free to make your own observations and comments. I will publish them. Unless I don't like them. Kidding. Mostly.

Shoes Dropping

"Untitled"

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You know the expression "waiting for the other shoe to drop"? I've had a shoe-dropping kind of day. Everything's been going along quite well as of late. Until today. I received a text from my property manager (I have a house in AZ with a renter in place) informing me that the A/C has gone out.

I will throw in here that I'm notorious for borrowing trouble. I'm already preparing for a worst-case scenario. So...hopefully it will not be such a big deal, but I'm inclined to imagine the worst. To elaborate a little bit about this house...

In 1999, in the midst of going through a divorce, I visited AZ and while there I bought a house. I know. Don't ever tell me I'm not ever spontaneous. Anyway, I lived there for 10 years before coming back - somewhat reluctantly - to Texas. Since then I have had three different renters in place. Between the three of them, they have (1) changed the locks on the doors without consulting me (2) been perpetually late paying their rent (3) used my house as a daycare - also without consulting me (4)...well, you get the general idea. 

I really don't enjoy being a landlord. It's one of the many things for which I'm not well-equipped. As I write this, I'm waiting to hear from my long-suffering property manager as to what we're dealing with. Any and all advice is welcome, FYI. 

 

About the above painting...it's actually an experiment I tried last year in which I took a photo from a movie still to use as a photo reference - just for grins (it was a slow week). So this is actually a photo from the movie "Bugsy". And now you know, if you were interested in the first place. If you weren't...oh, well.

 

Fingers crossed...when the shoe drops, it won't make too much noise.