you can never see it all at once...

I've never really been a skeptic of climate change.  When I was 10 or so I started reading Omni magazine.  Not only great science fiction, but also great articles in general.  I remember reading a rather large article about the "greenhouse effect" after those initial climate change reports were written right around 1981.   I think I was in the 8th grade at the time and the article left enough of an impact that I had quite a vivid nightmare.  In the dream, all the industrial pollutants mixed and the miasma ate a hole into space releasing the atmosphere.  It was one of those classic suffocation nightmares.  A few years later when I was in high school I turned it into a short story called "The Balloon Theory" and it borrowed heavily from Kurt Vonnegut's style.

Without wading into the savage debate whether climate change is caused by man-made misadventure, orbital variance or sunspots, one thing is quite clear and that's the climate is changing. I've been around long enough to realize the number of "hottest month on record" headlines have been increasing and beyond being an anomaly and ocean dead zones aren't natural.

I tend to lean toward data as proof.  Over the past 2000 years the environment was generally stable.  Since the mid-point of the Medieval Warm Period around 1000 AD the global temperature trended downward until the Industrial Revolution.  Since then it's been trending upward with increasing velocity.  You can get unadulterated daily temperature data from the weather service and quite a few universities who host weather stations going back to the mid-1800's.  Just download the data and plug it into Excel.  Using formulas you can do simple monthly hi/low averages and graph the results. You'll notice an upward moving trend line. There's also some temperature data going a little back further.  You can plug that in, too and the trend line remains sharply upward.  It's that upward velocity that's unprecedented.

I love the visual presentation of a good graph.  If done really well it presents a set of complex ideas clearly and efficiently.  Edward Tufte thought an excellent graph would induce the viewer to think about the substance rather than the methodology, graphic design, technology of production or something else.  I want my pieces to do the same even without graphs, but  I'd like to sneak a few more into future pieces.

The piece below is called "you can never see it all at once" and is a nod to never being able to fathom a complex problem all at once.   I left the title in lower case for two reasons; it looks cool for one and secondly we don't seem to be taking the topic of climate change seriously.   The piece is set upon a mid-20th century topographic map of the Lexington, KY toned with a blue wash. The blue perhaps represents the rising seas.  Over it I painted an approximation of a UN global temperature graph. The three vertical yellow bars are from photos in a Scientific American article about exploring the Sahara which more areas will be victim to desertification in the future.  I ripped the pieces linearly and toned them with Indian Yellow and tried to lay them out in a pleasing arrangement.  The piece is anchored by a Baltimore Oriole that was painted in acrylic on a 6 X 5 inch piece of watercolor paper secured by gel medium.  As more habitat is lost we going to lose the diversity of more and more wildlife.

Incidentally, the Oriole is one bird I've kept records on when I see them arrive in the Spring and depart late Summer.  The particular fellow in the painting I've named Bertram.  He's returned to our property the past seven years and announces his return by pecking on our kitchen window reminding us it's time to put out the jelly feeders. His offspring is flourishing and I hope to see he and family next Spring.

Here Comes a Regular

I lived in Destin, Florida for a couple of years in the early 1990's.  I was living with a friend of mine and this period was typified by aimlessness.  I was slowly (actually glacially) working on a computer science degree, trying to hold part-time work and also thinking I could be a writer with a sketchbook.  I actually had pair of poems published; one mediocre and one quite good.  Along with that came the "writer's" lifestyle which meant a bit of drink, hit that favorite waterhole with the notebook and become a regular.  The barkeep would know before the door closed behind what I wanted and it would be waiting on a coaster at my spot.  It didn't take long for me to realize I wasn't going to be the next William Blake and how being a regular here would end.   After watching an apocalyptic thunderstorm roll in off the Gulf of Mexico early one morning I decided I had to move on cause I didn't like where I was headed.  I packed my bags and headed to Pensacola, Florida to get on with my studies and one might say the rest is history.

Now, sipping my early morning coffee,  I notice one of my regulars on a high branch.   The kitchen lights are off so I have a good view.  These are the kind of regulars I want to see; early risers ready to get on with things.  He cautiously works to one of the lower branches and stops, checks left and right.  I'm able to get a good photo before he moves to the feeder to get a sunflower seed and back to a higher branch to crack it open.   He'll repeat this dance for about 15 minutes before moving off to other daily duties. I'll see him and possibly his lady friend in the morning.   It won't be long before those showy Goldfinches show up.

I named this painting "Here Comes a Regular" after the song by the Replacements; a wonderful dichotomy for then and now and the paths we can take.  I'm happy to be sharing my morning coffee with this regular.

Peanuts!

I think this piece is more about the peanut than the Blue Jay.  I was in the FFA when I was in high school.  I had several ag classes in 9th/10th grade and was the chapter's Vice President before the allure of the bass guitar became too strong.  I remember one of them was Agricultural Mechanics and I learned to weld in that class.  During football season the FFA would sell boiled peanuts at home football games. Every Friday when we had a home game the class time was spent pulling peanuts and getting them ready to boil.  More than a few were eaten during the process along with the usual teenage mischief when left unattended by Mr. Russell or Mr. Campbell.

My Dad was a hobby farmer and tried to grow or raise a little bit of everything at least once including peanuts.  We had several long rows and had to hand harvest them.  Hard work, but worth it. To me, there's nothing like a freshly dug peanut.  Dad even built a contraption to allow them to air dry before storage.  By trade he was a Computer Maintenance Manager for the Air Force.  Hobby farming was his relaxation.  Occasionally he'd take me along when he went to various farm machinery auctions.  He had a pair of Farmalls and was always on the lookout for an attachment or extra parts.  One auction was in Cairo, Georgia.  It's in Grady County between Bainbridge and Thomasville.  Cairo is just visible on the painting below on the lower left.  The county Cairo (pronounced KAY-row) is in was known for it's syrup making until the mid-1990's. When you went thru town you knew syrup was the industry by the smell.  What they made was not related to Caro syrup you find in stores.

It was autumn when we went to Cairo.  Right in the sweet spot of the peanut harvest.  We were heading right thru the heart of peanut country.  75% of the nation's peanuts are grown within a 100 mile radius of Dothan, Alabama.  We were looking for a disk attachment for his Farmall.  It was summertime hot and every small intersection had someone selling boiled peanuts. Cooking them on the spot in giant pots fired by a propane burner.  He stopped on the way home to Defuniak and got me a bag.  A reward for not being a pain-in-the-ass 14 year old.  Next to the county fair it's  Indian Summer heat, high school football and the smell of boiled peanuts which makes early autumn.

Here in Western New York where I live now fruit stands are aplenty, but I damn sure miss boiled peanuts.

This piece is called Georgia Peanut and is acrylic on an 8 X 10 hand-dyed map of the south Georgia area.

Map & Legends

Fall 2019 will see a body of my work called "Maps & Legends" presented at GoArt!'s Main Gallery in Batavia, NY.   Birds are my primary subject and maps are used as backgrounds.  The maps are either vintage maps from the USGS or NOAA that I've downloaded and color manipulated in Photoshop or actual road maps that I've hand-dyed using watercolors.  Elements of collage might also be used; watercolor paper with various bits and pieces of maps to serve as background.  Radius Gallery in Missoula has categorized my work as assemblage and I like that term over "mixed-media."  

Maps can trigger the memory of a place long lost, but still crystal clear; a grandfather's yarn beginning with "I remember when Daddy and I used to go..."  Due to habitat loss, birds are experiencing more and more of what would be our version of "remember when there used to be..."  As the climate changes and unmanaged development continues, wildlife is pushed to the margins of existence. These paintings might mark an unfortunate place on the map for "remember when we used to see...."

I'm also planning some sort of presentation as well.   More storytelling than presentation. My roots are Southern and storytelling is in the blood.  Each piece should have its own narrative.  There's always more to them than just a well executed painting.  I wasn't always this "into" birds, but they've been at the periphery of my experiences waiting for me to notice.  It is that story that will be told. Not just the story of me, but the legend of us.

For those that can't attend I want to include you via these blog pages.  As each painting is finished I'll post it's story here.  Please climb aboard for this ride of Maps & Legends!

Granny Magic

My Maternal Grandmother, Cora Lee Whitfield, was a major part of my life. My brother and I called her Mawmaw. All her grandchildren were important to her, but she and I had a special bond. I was asthmatic as a child and she'd help my Mom take care of me.  She knew just how to hold me so I could breathe a bit easier and made soft French fries for me to eat.  I have a distinct memory of the rocking chair creaking as she rocked me as a young child.   She was praying as we rocked, talking with her ancestors.

I have picture of her as a beautiful 19-year old with long dark hair in my living room.  When my daughter was an infant she woke up crying.  I took her to the living room and I was rocking her in a rocking chair.  She continued to be fussy, but stopped.  I looked down at her and she was leaning back a little, staring at the picture of my grandmother. I firmly believe Mawmaw was soothing my daughter.  Her spirit was alive in that photo.

My wife's grandmother was an artist.  I never got to meet her as she passed away in 1985.  When my wife and I got married I was given her old easel and one of her old stretched canvases that had been stored. I put away the canvas for the right idea, but set to work using that easel since it was taller than the one I was using. Some of my better paintings were done on her easel.

This past weekend I had an idea for a painting so I decided to use her old canvas. I thought the time and the subject were right.   This canvas is 24 X 20 and close to 50 years old.  It was hand stretched, used tacks instead of staples and looks to have been gesso'd with what looks like a palette knife. The back had been aged yellow and had a few water stains.   Lets say it's got some personality.

I set to work using a style I'm not quite used to.  My normal work is small, technical and precise.  Here I used jabs and smears of color using my hands, an older brush, and even paint slung from a brush handle for a splatter effect.  The central subject was a Great Blue Heron, a bird as always, but it was done quick with less thought, more feel. Before I knew it I was done.  I kinda thought Alex's Grandmother might've guided me or at least helped me shut out my monkey mind to let it happen. 

Yep, Granny Magic.

Catch of the Day

I'm slowly working my way through In the Company of Crows and Ravens by John M. Marzluff and Tony Angell.  One of the Corvids outlined was the New Caledonian Crow.  This crow is capable of tool use as well as solving multi-step puzzles to get to tasty morsel.  Its passed a number of sophisticated cognitive tests which suggest it's particularly intelligent.

The New Caledonian Crow isn't the only one.  The Green Heron is also a tool user.  The Green Heron is an accomplished fisherman, perching motionless on the bank or a branch, ready to grab a fish by striking out with their long necks.   You can imagine it much like a snake strike.  What makes them amazing fisherman is their use of bait as a tool.  They'll put the bait (food or an object) in the water and wait for a fish to appear.  They won't wait too long, they'll reposition the bait much like someone casting his line over and over again.

So my most recently completed piece was of a Green Heron.  It's called "Spying the Catch of the Day" and you can image he's just placed the bait and is patiently waiting for his catch of the day.  It's acrylic on a 6 X 8 canvas panel.  It's available for purchase using my available gallery gadget at the upper right.

Learning to Fly

I sometimes feel I in a running battle with time.  Maybe "battle" is not the right word since there's nothing you can do about the passage of time.  It just is. George Harrison said "time is a very misleading thing.  All there is ever, is the now.  We can gain experience from the past, but can't relive it; and we can hope for the future but we don't know if there is one."  Maybe that's it, having reached that point in my life where there's less road ahead and more behind and the world situation increasingly fragile. The "now" is more important.

I think that's why I'm really enjoying painting small works (less than 8 X 10) as a preparatory study.
They are as highly detailed as their sibling just smaller and I finish them sooner. I can complete a small piece in a day; two at best and get that endorphin dump of accomplishment.   Even small,  each piece gets the same amount of attention to detail.  The only difference is the small piece is done on a canvas panel instead of the smooth birch of the final piece.  Both are unique due to variation in brush stroke and lessons learning from color choice or layout decisions.

The most recent one I've completed is one called "Leaning to Fly" and was based on a photo of two fledgling swallows perched upon a concrete fence post.  You can imagine the pair debating the conditions.  "I'll go with the bit of  breeze"  or "I'll try it if you go first."   It's on a 6 X 6 canvas panel. 

Would I do anything differently?  The only thing differently for the final piece is include a small retaining wire that folds over the front of  the concrete post and wraps around the fence wire on the right. It'll look perfect on its larger relative since it'll cast a faint shadow on the post and won't compete visually with the swallows.