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.

"New Castle Lighthouse"

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This post will be short and sweet. Or maybe just short. I'm off in a little while to the big city of Ben Wheeler to deliver several paintings, including the one above, to be delivered to Maine. In case you're unfamiliar with Ben Wheeler...I'm not sure it even qualifies as a small town. To say that Ben Wheeler is a big city is akin to saying that Kim Kardashian is an intensely private and unassuming person.

I wish that I could be in Maine right now. It's only June and the temperature is in the upper 90s. As I've already mentioned...I do not enjoy sweating. No plein air painting for a while. Unless I do it at 2 a.m. I suppose I'll have to resort to what I think of as "pretend plein air painting", which entails standing at the easel in the air-conditioned comfort of my studio, imagining that I'm outdoors. It doesn't really work very well. I never actually lose sight of the fact that I am, in fact, standing in my studio.

Kim Kardashian...now I'm thinking about her. It's like having "the song that never ends" or "B-I-N-G-O" stuck in your head. And now I have both songs AND Kim Kardashian stuck in my head. It's hard to be me.

Three In A Row

"Untitled"

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This must be a record for me...three posts in three days. I just finished (or almost finished...I haven't decided yet) this one, so I haven't thought of a title yet. All suggestions are welcome.

I feel like celebrating tonight. Not that I finished two paintings in less than a week, though that is true and I'm glad of it. No. I've been trying to finished "The Bully Pulpit" by Doris Kearns Goodwin for what has felt like an eternity. Not that I haven't thoroughly enjoyed it. I just haven't have the large blocks of time needed in order to finish it in a timely manner. I finished it today and was pleased to find that I only owed a 25cent fine for turning it in late. 

I took the opportunity to get rid of 25 pennies that have been taking up way too much space in my coin purse for far too long...so all the more reason to celebrate the hard-fought battle to learn everything I ever wanted to know (and more) about Theodore Roosevelt and William Howard Taft. 

When I use the word "celebrate", it probably doesn't hold as much meaning as you might think. For me it means that I'll have real salad dressing instead of low fat. Or maybe I'll really splurge and have extra Parmesan AND full fat salad dressing. And I'm pretty sure there's a glass of Chardonnay with my name on it. So...good night. And celebrate when you can, for both real and imagined accomplishments.