That’s a wolf, a member of the Blacktail Pack, on his way to get lunch.

I took this photo through a spotting scope, so it’s a bit blurry.  That’s a bison carcass.  Though the wolf looks savagely fierce, he’s really just working hard to strip meat off of the carcass.  The likely scenario is that the bison broke through the ice and got stuck and a grizzly dragged it out and started work on it.  We missed seeing the grizzly, but got to watch the whole pack.

So maybe Yellowstone isn’t always great for gettin lots of paintings done- there are just too many distractions.

Like this:

It’s a redtail hawk feasting on a tiger salamander.  I have to thank my good friend and accomplice George Bumann for filling me in on what it was having for lunch.  I didn’t even know Yellowstone had salamanders.  Every time the hawk pecked at the head, the salamander it wiggled it’s tail like a snake.  I hope it was just the whole nervous system thing, like when a chicken runs without a head, ’cause it was a little creepy.

If you haven’t heard of George Bumann you need to check out his website.  And then collect his work, much of which is sculpted from life in Yellowstone, lending it a fresh authenticity.  I failed in my attempts to sketch bison on this trip, so the idea of “plein air” sculpting just blows me away.  Light moves fast enough for me; forget animals!

We did eventually get to work, painting in the Lamar River Canyon and at the Confluence.  The weather was crap, (snow, sleet, rain, mist) but it made for great atmosphere, and at this time of year, we pretty much have the park to ourselves.

This is George, showing the intelligence of his species by sketching from the warmth of the truck.  I however, am not so intelligent.

I have romantic sensibilities about painting outside in crappy weather. I worry a bit about natural selection.  I just might get weeded out.

In this picture I’m working on a pastel for the “Artist in Action” event for the CM Russell Museum. It’s a great event, allowing the public to meet artists and watch them work, while raising money for the Museum.  I’m honored to be a part of it; I think it’s good for artists to connect with the public and share the process of making art. It’s just that when I finish I know I have to parade my painting in front of seven-hundred people while they bid on it, and that makes me a bit queasy.  Seems funny considering that I’ve just finished another stage role, this time playing Friar Laurence in Romeo and Juliet. The problem is that here I have to play myself, the hardest role of all.   A little honesty:  art openings make me squirm.  It’s not that I’m an anti-social hermit.  Quite the contrary; I like people.  I just haven’t figured out the balance between being an artist and managing a career.

I’ve just returned from the Western Masters Art Show and the CM Russell Art Auction.  Four days of events, auctions, quick-draws, crowds and long hours sitting in a room trying to sell paintings. While I enjoy the conversations I had with other artists and collectors during the week, I sometimes feel like the need to sell paintings gets in the way of sharing the art.

My solution is just to sit back and enjoy the music.

So what does this picture have to do with selling art?

Happily, nothing.  This is the amazingly talented Sean Devine playing in my new Great Big Studio.  Stick with me here; this all connects.  I’ve never had a space that I could dream of doing something like this!  I love my new workspace.  I’m not tripping over myself.  I can work on three of four paintings at a time, and still have plenty of room for frames, storage, and whatever else I need.  Sometimes I look around and think, “I don’t deserve this!”

My impulse was to share this wealth with the community. So I decided that before bringing all my work up to Great Falls I’d host an open house. I wanted it to be about more than just my new paintings, so I invited artists that I admire to join in: Marc Beaudin read his poetry and Sean Devine played music.  I called it an Art Jam. I told stories about crazy adventures I’ve had while out painting in the field, and then sat back to enjoy the performances.  It was pure bohemian  magic, and it had nothing to do with selling art.  People came that I’ve never seen at a gallery opening, and we all shared in a larger picture of what art is: interactive, open and with risk.  It is simply how we share.

I did sell art over the next week, for which I’m thankful.  And I did my best to be friendly.  When I started to get grumpy, I thought of the music, the poetry, and the gift of having a space that other people can visit, and I felt better.  To be an artist I must be a good businessman, but it must always be the cart, never the horse.  Sometimes you have to sit back enjoy music, share the art, and not worry about the mortgage.

I’ve unpacked now, and spent my first day home out painting in the best studio of all: the great outdoors. It’s a good way to recover from four days in a small room selling paintings.  After all, good art shouldn’t just be what fits in a frame, and a studio should be bigger than its walls.  

This is an idea that was slow to gestate.  I had done an oil study at this spot, but earlier in the day and from a different angle.  In the last minutes as the sun was about to drop behind the hill, I knocked off a quick study of willow and snow, concentrating on the intense evening color. I had these two studies sitting in the studio for months, knowing that there was a good idea hiding in there somewhere, but unable to figure out what it was!  Finally, I turned to my old friend, charcoal, and did a drawing that was based on the idea of the two paintings, but resembled neither.  In short, I recomposed the place to convey an idea.  Warm and cool, and the rhythm of the trees, willows, and drifting ice.   Funny thing is, when I think of the actual spot where I painted the studies, I remember the place as I recomposed it!

My biggest struggle in this piece was the ice.  In fact I hesitated to do the painting at all, worrying that this thin skin of ice and the drifting ice floes would be unreadable to most people. I grew up in the midwest, and never saw ice form on the big slow-moving rivers in the way that it does on the fast moving Yellowstone River.  Would people look at a piece like this and simply not understand it?  Add to that the trial and error process involved getting warm reflections to disappear beneath that skin of blue ice in a convincing way, and well, you had hours and hours of good old fashioned frustration!  But it finally came together, and when I finished this piece I really wasn’t sure that it was good, I only knew that it was intensely personal.  The painting had carried me somewhere new.  That’s what we should be going for isn’t it?

Some of you might recognize this painting from the Pastel Journal.  It won the Gold Medal for the 2011 Pastel 100.  I guess the lesson here is that if it really interests you, paint it!  Work through the challenges and see where the process leads you.  You just might surprise yourself!

Click on the link to see the online Plein Air Magazine article.