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

Talking With Dogs

Til shows off some of his prizes from a Frisbee competition.

As I am moving back into my role as teacher, not only through an upcoming Tricks class at Borderhauss Kennels but as a certified CATCH trainer mentor, I'm realizing how much nonverbal actions and consequences go into my daily routines.  My thoughts are constantly on reinforcing behaviors that I like, eliminating ones I don't like.  There are very few random treats I give my dogs.  I am in the mode of thinking that no cookie goes wasted.  I am, in essence, a training machine.

While this might seem kind of sad, it puts communication on a whole new level.  I have had to reassess this, too, because now that I have my first border collie, I realize that I haven't made full use of the wonderful cognitive skills in dogs.  I no longer use the grunts and broken English reminiscent of an old Tarzan movie.  I use full sentences.  "Til, Nikita stole your toy and hid it in her cage.  You can find it in there.  Go get it out and bring it to me."

And he does.

I am talking to the border collie much more than I have to others, and the overflow extends to other dogs around him.

Now in house sitting for my friend Cindy while she's away, and caring for her two dogs, I am back to Square One.  The dogs, a Labrador named Nikita and a spaniel mix named Maggie, are both "amateurs" when it comes to the ever evolving "Bailey Method".  Nikita especially is completely clueless.  She is a big, tan, smiling, good-natured oaf, awkward and pushy in her affections.

I hold up a cookie.  "Sit."  I KNOW she knows this cue.  She just stands there grinning, ears flattened, whipping her tail back and forth.

At this point, I have another revelation that with rescue dogs, and dogs who have been randomly reinforced, it is better not to talk.  Their lives are filled with meaningless noise.  They tune it out.  So I revert back to my old nonverbal ways and simply hold the cookie back over her head.  She sits. I toss the cookie and she clumsily snaps at it.

With Nikita I would be back to Tarzan Talk for a little while, using the barest of verbiage, while she begins to grasp all over again that language really does have meaning, and to listen intently for more complex instructions.  As she got to know me, she would eventually start to pay more attention.

Perhaps even more importantly, I would have to learn how to listen to her.

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"

Grazing in the Evening Mist

A soothing sight for horse owners, two pasture mates in the field together. Acrylic, 11x15" on canvas.

Bald Eagle, Acrylic

What a tremendous comeback the bald eagle has made! I see families of them often, frequenting the scenic shores of Michigan's eastern Upper Peninsula. This is acrylic on canvas, about 11x15" on canvas.

Where Does a Horse Stay When He Travels?

Motel 6 will leave the light on for him! See more photos of Clifford on his website: www.cliffordthehorse.com

Morning Oats

Well, what can one say after a long hiatus? I have let my blogspot fall into neglect... Alas... And unfortunately the past year has provided plenty to blog about. Clifford has toured the eastern part of the USA, visiting libraries, pet expos and yes, nursing homes. We are about to embark on hopefully our most exciting journey of all... But it will remain a mystery for now!

I have produced much art, including equine art. I am now immersed in what I call my, "acrylic phase." Here is the newest example, painted yesterday: "Morning Oats".  I will have some more originals for sale as the Christmas season approaches! If I have any excuse for not blogging, it is to say that Facebook took over. I have posted all new art on my facebook page, "Nancy's Art Studio" faithfully. Many of Clifford's adventures are on his Facebook page as well. One thing I realized about Facebook though, is that the archives aren't organized as a blog. You can post lots of photos and albums, but I am fond of the "journaling" aspect that a blog provides. I wish I had kept up on this more faithfully. Oh well... Lots more stories to tell and art work to blog about!