The Painted Smile

I have a forty-year love affair with dolphins.  I am not sure how it started -- I became enamored when I was about 12, long before they were as hip as they are now.  I had dreams about swimming with them; many of the same dreams over and over; their undulating shapes moving around me, silhouetted in the spangled light from above.

In 1986, National Geographic magazine published an article about dolphins which included a graphic aerial shot of a bloodied cove in Japan, where fishermen where murdering hundreds of them.  This was long before the film, "The Cove" exposed the practice. 

 

I've never seen, "The Cove" and I probably won't.  I'm afraid the images would stay with me, like my dreams have.  I've seen a few photos and that's bad enough.  I don't understand this need to murder, even through tradition.  The killing of dolphins is such a bloody, wet, messy business.  Even if I weren't in love, I think if that were my occupation, I would be looking for some other line of work.

 

It's time now for the annual roundup in Taiji, Japan, and every day, families of dolphins are being herded into the cove where they are trapped and slaughtered.  Their bodies are taken away for meat; and a few remaining ones are kept alive to be sold to marine parks.  The captive dolphins are starved and taught to perform tricks in order to earn the nourishment: Dead fish, which is not natural to them.  They have to learn to eat it.  Many of these dolphins do not survive long in captivity.

 

We are surrounded by greed and the disregard for what should be considered sacred.  I have trouble understanding how anyone can bulldoze an ancient forest or stick a knife into the throat of a dolphin -- or a person, for that matter.  Today a video surfaced of a group of terrorists, all wearing masks, marching 21 Egyptians along a shoreline and cutting their heads off.  The sea runs red again today, in various parts of the world.

 

I think of some lyrics to a John Denver song.

"There are those who would deal in the darkness of life,

There are those who would tear down the sun.

And most men are ruthless, but some will still weep

When the gifts we were given are gone."

 

 

 

It's true -- I believe there really exist "those who would tear down the sun".  People destroy themselves as well as those around them.   And those who, "deal in the darkness of life" are best handled by shedding light on them.  The Taiji fishermen don't want to be found out.  They have been practicing their tradition of butchery for generations.  But now that there's a film, things will change for them.  Dolphins are a vastly sympathetic cause and the protests are rampant.  The marine parks will suffer attendance now that the sad source of the public entertainment is known.

 

The crazies in the Middle East -- well, that's another story.  They share videos so the world can see their acts.  But they wear masks.  Their cowardice is blatant.  But they are making so many worldwide enemies now with their indiscriminate hatred and murder that they are becoming a universal target.

 

Sometimes the sadness of the world can be almost overwhelming.  I have been resurrecting dolphins with my art, celebrating them as they should be; colorful, surrounded by family members, and always smiling.  I think, to that end, each of us can make a difference in the world.  Concentrate on what is beautiful and right.  Shun all those who are greedy, toxic and hurtful.  Put forth positive energy.  We must keep our minds on what is good.  Even one small gesture of beauty, generosity, or gratitude can help to change a life.  Then the rest can follow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cats & Dogs in Art, and the Purrfect Bonus

Paintings on slate take on a life of their own, partly due to the chinks and cracks and chips in the stone itself.  It lends itself to all kinds of creative idiosyncrasies in each piece.  Here are some cat paintings I did recently. With the tabby cat you can't probably tell from the pic, but the foot projecting forward is utilizing a corner chip for a 3-D effect.  The slates are so nice to handle.  These ones are "wearable art," being just about three inches high.

 

The black and white kitty in the portrait is my own kitteh, Chuck, captured in his typical upside-down pose.

 

 

 

 

These mini pieces are getting popular.  Below is a commissioned portrait of, "Prada," a corgi who lives in Colorado.  The ink pen is included for size reference.  1.5x3" is a pretty darn small surface to work on!  But they make beautiful pendants. 



 

 

    When I ship these commissions, I often try to include a little free gift, especially for my repeat customers.  Enter Wysong Pet Food, a Michigan-based company with all-natural products.  They sent me some samples to include with my commissions; small packs of biscuits for dogs like Prada, and even better, some "Dream Treats" for cats.  Each treat is a medallion of compressed chicken.  I tried one out on Chuck, and he went crazy for it!  I was able to break it up and get a few tricks out of him.

 

 

 

     Thanks Wysong for your sponsorship -- here's to natural pet foods for a long and healthy life for Pup and Kitteh.

Breakfast Plates, and Slates

My boyfriend made me this special pancake this morning. He claims it just appeared.
"It's a sign!" I screeched, running for the phone.
"Hurry up!" he yelled. "It's gonna burn!"
Native Americans believed that eating the heart of something would transmit its spirit to you.
I didn't know what it meant to have a Pancake Spirit....
So I ate it surreptitiously.

 

 

He not only provided breakfast, but then went out and cut all these slates for me, and drilled the holes for them to hang from.  This is a little bit lighter colored than our last batch. The photo was taken right after I had scrubbed them, and they were still pretty wet.  To me, they are delicious to look at -- the grain, the chipped edges, each one like an empty canvas with its own quirks.

 



 

Any day that you feel loved, is a good day.

Winter Wolf

Someone posted a photo of a black wolf crossing the ice near my hometown yesterday in Michigan's Eastern Upper Peninsula.  It inspired this painting.  The canvas is small, only 9x12", so the wolf is done in very tiny detail.  Wolves are considered a threat to livestock and house pets, but they mean so many good things for the environment.  I've heard them at night, but have never actually seen one this close to home.

 

This painting is really all about the sky and the burgeoning snowstorm.  The Eastern UP has its own definition of wild beauty, even in the depths of winter.  I wanted to show the flat landscape, the cold, the icy shore, the moody sky. 

 

The camera didn't negotiate with yellow very well -- they are blended better in reality.  I may touch it up some more.

Horse and Sleight

I am eagerly anticipating the arrival of more slates!  Just last year I started doing more slate paintings and am going full throttle now.  One of the challenges lies in the inherent grain of the slate. This has been especially interesting when painting on the smaller pieces. I have enjoyed solving each one as it comes. Especially apparent in this group is the elephant, where you will see the chips along the edges, which worked nicely into the top of his head, and in his ear on the left side, and the tusk on the left, which has turned out to be a broken tusk.  Each piece of slate has its own personality, and sometimes I set one aside until inspiration strikes.  Right now, I am slate-less.  Ready for more.

 

Elephant, 6x8"

Bluebird Bath, about 4x4"

Sleigh Slate, about 6x16"

Horses in Snow, about 8x10"

Bunny and Trillium, 6x8"

Evolution of a Dolphin Painting

Despite being a movie buff, I have never seen, "The Cove," and that is by my choice.  I think I would find the imagery too disturbing. I've been enamored of dolphins since I was about 12 years old, and had recurring dreams wherein I am swimming with them amid shafts of sunlight that filter down through the water. I admit to romanticizing them somewhat just like everyone else does, although Karen Pryor's operant conditioning training methods have changed my life.

I'm currently recovering from an artistic slump, and what better way to do it than turn to my lifelong inspiration.  Here's the progress of my newest painting, in photographs.  This is 9x12" acrylic.

 

Laying the foundation for the painting; blues and purples.

 

Adding some darker areas for detail.

 

Now the contrast -- yellows and oranges to brighten the image.

 

Final highlights

Because Mean People Suck

 

I have a sweet friend who is slipping away.  Even though I haven't seen her in a year's time, I can feel her spirit leaving.  It might be because my consciousness knows she is going, and I am becoming resigned to the idea. 

I met her in 1989.  She is a great lover of animals and a champion of homeless cats, especially.  She is a tremendous patron of the arts.

But she is fragile.  The abuse she was witness to has hit her hard.  She was bombarded with dysfunction in her family and, probably because of her involvement in rescue, she had a high number of encounters with jerks.  Her sadness pervaded and there was always an air of desperation about her; an energy of forced attempt at happiness.

She wanted to die for a long time, but she was resigned to living.  Finally, cancer is having its way with her.  And this is our loss.  The world is losing a tremendous benefactor, a vessel of generosity.

Yesterday I had an unpleasant encounter with an unhappy person who oozes hatred, who puts her energy into twisting words and facts in order to trick people and fool people and cause dissension.  I am faced with the age-old question:  Why are the creeps allowed to stick around, while this beautiful, educated, kind hearted friend's life is cut short when she is barely 60 years old?

Because mean people suck!  They suck the living life blood right out of you.  They suck your energy.  They suck away your happiness and your positive thoughts.  They spread misery because it is all they know.

This is why the kind-hearted often succumb to disease, while the evil people forge onward.

Evil people will kill you.

I learned a valuable lesson from my sister Amanda, who has Down's syndrome, and recently went through a horrific time following the death of our Dad.  In the midst of bad behavior among her relatives, she stayed focused on what was important to her:  Love.  She was somehow able to shed all the abuse and hysteria that was heaped upon her, and concentrate on the thing that mattered most:  Her love for her family.

Now with my friend's demise, I am reminded again how important it is to turn away from the negativity dished out by those who thrive on it.  Concentrate on people who make you laugh, who love you, who are grateful for the time here.  Life is a brief and precious gift.  No matter who someone is, be they blood relative; be it a sibling or a spouse or a parent; no one has the right to steal your life away.  Get rid of the jerks; move on; stay focused on those who are kind, who have empathy, and who know how to love.  It's never too late to learn to truly live.

If You Call, I Will Panther

When I was in high school, my art class took a field trip to a gallery in Sault Ste. Marie, Canada, to view a show featuring some Canadian wildlife artists.  I wandered around the room looking at various paintings of foxes and wolves and loons.  They were all impressive, and I thought I could have stayed there all day, but one kept drawing me back.

It was an arctic gyrfalcon sitting on a cliff.  The thing that was most remarkable to me was the atmospheric feeling about it.  Even though the focus was on the bird and the rock, it gave the feeling that I was viewing something that was very high up in the air.

I went back to this painting so many times that my classmates started making fun of me.  "Nancy really likes that one!"

I didn't care.  I wanted to make sure I remembered the name of the artist.  And his name became emblazoned on my brain:  Robert Bateman.

That was in the late 1970's. Now everyone who is the slightest interest in the wildlife art world has heard of Mr. Bateman, and most are familiar with his dusky technique, his soft naturalistic stroke, his muted colors.  I can usually identify his work on sight.

I was even able to meet him in person one day in the early 1990's, when he was riding the crest of his fame and success.  I had stopped at a bookstore in Ann Arbor, and saw a modest sign on the door:  "Artist Robert Bateman, here today."  I could hardly believe my luck!  I went home and got the book I had featuring his work, and brought it back so he could sign it.  Like many artists, he was rumpled, soft-spoken and modest. He spoke reverently about the earth and its creatures.  I was smitten.  I was so tongue-tied that I couldn't express my admiration, or even propose marriage.  But I did hold out my hand, and he shook it and I came away thinking I'd never wash the hand again.

So when I was approached by Fulcrum Gallery to blog about their product, and they offered to send me a print, I skimmed through what they had available.  I was thrilled to find Bateman's "Tropical Cougar" in their inventory.  Fortunately, their website was easy to navigate.  I pored over matte colors and deliberated over how to frame it.  Finally, I picked a soft eggshell matte and dark wooden frame to match the understated tones in the image.  It arrived two days ago, packed securely in cardboard, flawlessly framed in the colors I requested.  It now hangs in my bedroom, designed to inspire me every morning.  Thanks Fulcrum Gallery.  Thanks Robert Bateman.  I did eventually wash my hand, but now at least I have one of your prints.

Border Collie on Slate

My friend Barb's border collie is featured in today's slate painting. This beautiful dog has appeared on billboards promoting pet expos all over the country from Michigan to New York. She is easily one of the fastest dogs I have ever seen. I was happy to be able to paint her and I incorporated the image of the sun in honor of her name: Bryte!  About 6x8"

Feline Art

 

I was a little tempted to change this cat into a Somali or Abyssinian, as that is my "breed bias", but this time I decided to leave it black.  I think it works with the coldness of the marble sill, the snowy day and the blue glass.  This painting is about as close to a still-life as I get.  It is actually a study in textures.  I found it an interesting challenge to have black fur, under the circumstances, emanate warmth.

This is acrylic on 9x12" gallery-wrapped canvas.  I have prints available in my online gallery at Fine Art America.

Endless Equine Art

Last night I watched "Cave of Forgotten Dreams" on Netflix, Werner Herzog's documentary about the Paleolithic-era paintings in the Chauvet cave of Southern France.  Deemed the oldest works of art on record, the paintings were primarily of horses.  Their scruffy manes, knobby heads and arched necks are easily recognizable, and they are pictured running in groups.  The lines and textures of the images are so beautiful that I want to get a copy somehow and hang it on my wall.

Morgan stallion on black canvas, 9x12" acrylic

It leads me to reflect on this equine wonder, a limitless source of inspiration though the ages.  The horse lives on, forever stretching our collective imagination.  When I learned to hold a pencil and make a mark with it, I started drawing horses.  Even though I had never owned one, I drew them galloping with flowing manes and tails.  I drew long heads with pointed ears and rounded cheeks.  I drew bent legs and bulging knees and comma-shaped nostrils.  Now all these years later, I am still painting horses. It seems only appropriate on this Valentine's Day that I should be reflecting on my first love, the horse.

Here are two new salutes to our eternal friend.

"War Horse", Mustang 9x12" acrylic

Paintings on Slate

For my gallery show, I ordered a few slabs of slate from SlateLady.com . It was my first time ordering from them. I was happy with the product, except that one of the holes wasn't drilled all the way through. But that's easy enough to fix.  They come with holes so they can be hung with something like rawhide or baling twine.

I had painted on slate before, but it's been years.  My first attempt this time was this chickadee with winter berries, on a small piece, about 3x5"  The teeny, tiny detail makes for an interesting challenge on the textured surface of the slate.

Next was another small one, this lady cardinal on a wrought iron gate. 

Once I got the slates, I couldn't seem to stop painting on them.  I am learning that slate has a rough side and a smooth side, and for some reason I keep opting to paint on the rough side! Duh. Also, it sucks paint like a sponge. It likes a lot of layers. Sometimes you think you are done but then your paint disappears!

 Today's project is a group of horses running in snow.  This piece is 6x9"  A coat of glaze made a big difference in all of these paintings.  It darkens the slate and adds a nice sheen, for a good finishing touch. 

Here's another pic of the running horses, after glaze was applied.  The glare in this photo shows the bumps and ridges on the slate which makes it a challenge to paint on.  However, it was fun and a nice diversion for me -- so I will probably order more.

A Gallery Show at Fernwood Botanical Garden

Several of my paintings, including "Dots", this watercolor of an Appaloosa filly, will be hanging in Fernwood Gallery for their Contemporary Show beginning on Valentine's Day.  Fernwood Gallery is located in the sprawling and inviting Fernwood Botanical Gardens in Niles, Michigan.

Also present will be my experimental acrylic collage on 10x20" stretched canvas. "Bubbles," features a family of dolphins undulating over paper background "sand," which  has script in it about love and affection. I added some adhesive gems for the sparkling bubbles, giving this painting a whole new dimension of light and motion. It must be seen in person to appreciate! See it at Fernwood in Niles, Michigan, Feb 14 - March 16, 2014.

I Am the Eagle, I Live in High Country, mid Rocky Cathedrals that Reach to the Sky...

"Spirit Bird" 9x12" acrylic

 Yep, I am flying on Cloud Nine these days as my artistic career has reached an all-time high (wait -- that's a different song).  Beginning June 22, 2014, Fernwood Gallery in Niles Michigan will be featuring my art in a one-woman show, through most of July!  That's right -- all me, all the time! 

Fernwood is a lovely place, a state-of-the-art facility located in a beautiful botanical garden.  I can't think of a better setting for wildlife art than a place surrounded by trees and fields and the flora and fauna of Southwest Michigan.

Needless to say, this is a dream come true.  I have my work cut out for me as I now need to have 30 original pieces ready to hang on display.  Yikes!  It's a good thing I have a few months to do this.  Here are a couple of my first attempts to fill the gallery.  Both are eagles, and both are acrylic on 9x12" stretched canvas (which is easily hung without the expense of framing).  I have an affinity for raptors and so probably will be including some owls in the mix.  With these will come some other birds and wildlife, and of course, some of my equine art.  All pieces will be for sale as I produce them.  I will try to keep my blog updated with new art -- so check back for lots more where this came from!

Golden Eagle, 9x12" acrylic on canvas

Today's Project - the Kingfisher

When I hear the signature chatter of this crested bird, I always stop and scan the trees to search for him.  He might be shooting overhead, preparing to dive-bomb the water (because if I hear him I am inevitably by the water) or sitting on a post or limb, unmistakable with his over-sized, crested head.  If I spot him, I get an rush of sudden and complete happiness.  I am not sure why the sight of Kingfisher accompanies this giddy feeling.

Today I looked him up and found that he is a cousin of the Kookaburra, the Australian laughing bird.  Native Americans believed Kingfisher to be a good omen -- a sign of new warmth, sunshine, prosperity and love.  Who wouldn't welcome all these things?  Supposedly, people with a Kingfisher totem should live as close as possible to water, and as far north as possible. That certainly applies to me.

But I think the reason that the chortle is so infectious is because of where I am when I hear it.  I am hiking, or riding my horse, or out in the canoe, or someplace where the Kingfisher frequents.  It is a call to the primal side, the voice saying, "Look! Over here!" and there he is.  It is an audible signature of being in nature, of living in the moment.

I haven't seen him lately, but I have him on the brain.  Here he is, materializing from my mind's eye, in acrylic, 11x15".  Thinking of him makes me happy, so he is already bringing good things.

My Best Cat

MY BEST CAT - a Furry Murder Mystery.  While this book is a departure from my usual work (read: adult humor), it is by far the funniest, and one that I wish had garnered more attention.  Maybe it would have if I put more effort into promoting it.  I'm in the process of making it available on Kindle and so it's gotten something of a facelift, with a new cover and all.  The cover illustration is a watercolor I did called, "The Blue Curtain".  Some people will recognize the breed of cat as a blue Abyssinian, which is featured in the story.

There is something deliciously naughty in writing fiction (adult humor) about people whom you have known.  In MY BEST CAT I have combined some of the most horrendous qualities from a few real-life despicable characters in the deranged hobby known as the cat fancy.  Writing can be a cloak-and-dagger form of personal protection.  Karma is in your hands.

The characters shall remain fictitious, but here is a short teaser passage from an early chapter, just to give you a taste.  Oh, and did I mention there is some adult humor?

“Hold still!” Roxanne barked.  She stood with her butt sticking way out while she groomed my Somali.  She would bend over while she combed Kenya’s britches, then grab the tip of his tail and shake, shake, shake the hair so it fell down backwards.  It made his tail real fluffy, and made her butt shake at the same time.  Kenya’s back feet would be lifted off the carpeted grooming table, but he didn’t care.  He just kept right on purring and smiling that kitty smile.  He was that dumb.

The real goal in Roxanne’s grooming yoga was to get Jack, the guy down the row, to look at her ass.  Jack was married to a giddy, heavy-set blonde named Tracy.  But he and Roxanne had been carrying on for a few weeks, and were fresh in the throes of new lust.  Jack pretended to be oblivious to Roxanne’s grooming efforts, but it was only pretend.  He rattled the newspaper he was reading, but I saw his eyes roll briefly toward the target area as he turned the page.  It made me want to gag.  Nothing more nauseating than being witness to someone else’s foreplay.

I didn’t think Jack was all that attractive.  He had pasty skin, a fading mustache, and overall he looked sort of used and dull.  But he was one of the only straight guys in the cat crowd who was over eight and under sixty.  And he was great with the cats, handling them gently and with adulation.  As a result, he was object of perpetual crushes of various cat fanciers.  While other husbands scorned the cat shows, Jack came weekend after weekend, trundling the grooming carts, fetching litter and water, and pinning up lacy cage curtains.  I could understand why.  In the real world, Jack was a dork.  In the cat world, he was a god.

What's In a Face?

Native American girl holding a baby owl, acrylic, 8x10".  The painting is still available for sale.  This is from an old photo (I mean really old, like from the early 1900's).  I was compelled to paint her because I was captivated by her expression.  She is clearly dressed up -- maybe to have the photo made.  But I would really love to know what is happening here.  What could she possibly be thinking?  I invite your thoughts!

Barn Owl Art

Owl Totem

The owl is the universal symbol of wisdom and insight. Perhaps that is what I am seeking since I have been painting owls all weekend. Today's subject is a barred owl. He sits amid branches that are orchestrated to repeat the arches and angles of his wide-eyed orb.

I envy some of his qualities, most of all his focus. I am scattered in a thousand directions and my body is manifesting the emotional disarray. Mom's illness was just the beginning. When she died on the New Year's Eve that ushered in 2011, Dad not surprisingly went downhill. The first year after her death, he required emotional support and attention. Then last year in 2012, his health began to fail.

All summer, I was plagued with a persistent cough as I delivered him to one doctor after another, in a vain attempt to find the source of his back pain. It was a rough year. I had very little time with my horses, as they were boarded a half hour away. We didn't get to go to Drummond. Dad became more and more crippled with his pain and my frustration levels rose. It was so hard to watch him suffer, while dealing with the never-ending bureaucratic red tape of the medical community.  He had a new pacemaker installed, surgery for bone spurs in his neck, and pain injections in his shoulder. The pain would not quit.

Though I have a huge family with seven siblings, the others were of minimal help, choosing to immerse themselves in the details of their own lives. As seems to the be the wont of many families, they were quick to criticize everything I did. My cough hung on as Dad finally began to have trouble breathing. He was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. I knew this was wrong, and I made an appointment with his cardiologist. Dad became very angry with me when I insisted on having him admitted, but then under the care of a pulmonologist, we finally found the source of the pain. There was a tumor capping the upper left lobe of his lung. It had been hiding behind the pacemaker, so didn't show up in the many x rays we had ordered over the months he had suffered with it.

Dad couldn't stay up in the far north and have treatment for lung cancer. A brother stepped forward to take him in. My dogs were not welcome in the brother's home, so Dad's care shifted to him.  When Dad started radiation treatments, my cough immediately stopped. I was convinced that it was psychosomatic, connected to Dad as I was. After all, my bond with him was the closest of all people I had known.

But the cough was replaced with terrible pain in my right shoulder. I realized that somehow I had torn my rotary cuff.  I couldn't remember doing it, and it brought home the fact that I had not been caring for myself.  At this point, after two years of being consumed by worry and care for a sick parent and disabled younger sister, I realized that I had to find my own life again, spiritually, physically, economically and in every way imaginable.

My faith had been shaken, not only by the experiences of the past couple of years, but by the religious zealotry of siblings who didn't help. I realized that life would never be the same. I could use some of Owl's wisdom and insight now.

A good friend let me stay in her house while she went away for a few days. I knew I had to recover. I decided to begin with the outside. I started lifting weights again and took walks in the snow. I drank lots of water. I sat in the tub for a long time tonight, letting the heat soak into my shoulder, clearing my mind. I noticed the shower curtain nearby had some text on it. It was a Bible verse:  

The LORD will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. -Isaiah 58:11

Printed on the shower curtain was a picture of an owl.

Traditions with Equine Art and Lunch!

When you live in one place for a long time you develop traditions with people and places that are sweet and sort of comforting. Since I have been displaced due to caring for sick parents over the past couple of years, most of mine have fallen by the wayside. My best friends have made the effort to keep things rolling so I don't feel too out of touch.

This drawing stems from one of them. Muriel Herrick and Dianne Dervin help organize the Michigan Morgan Futurity Stallion Service Auction every year. Muriel owns Century Oak Farm, home of her ever-youthful grand stallion, Gradell's Wild Magic.

Every year now, one day in January for the past seven or eight years, Muriel and Dianne take me out to lunch! I deliver a piece of art and usually a Clifford book, and we sit and eat and talk. We talk about friends we know in the Morgan world. We talk about dogs. And we talk, talk, talk about horses -- especially Morgan horses.

In my current state of upheaval, with Mom being gone and Dad having been so ill this year, the farm lost and struggling to feed Clifford and Trudy this winter, I find moments of comfort in my friends, and in the things we have always done together. My heart is grateful.

Here's a picture of my donation for this year's Michigan Morgan Futurity Silent Auction: Oil Pencil and Conte, approx 9x12"