Blue-plate special

Texas Roadway. Oil on stretched canvas, 10x30

The gorgeous places in this country move my heart, thrill my soul, excite my eyes. The Petrified Forest, the Painted Desert, the Canyon de Chelly, Shiprock, all the extraordinary places I've seen and painted on this trip - they have been miracles of nature and inspiration.

But still, to my peasant eyes, there's nothing quite as wonderful as the ordinarily beautiful. The sun setting on the grasses of the prairie on a secondary road in Texas was so breathtaking that I pulled over, just like that, set up my easel and painted in a near-frenzy. The light and the landscape grew more and more beautiful as the sun neared the horizon. The grasses became rosy, warmer and warmer in color, the shadows deeper and deeper - and then a train passed, and the engineer whistled his whistle at me, and it was such a perfect piece of America, it brought tears to my eyes.

In all of this journey of discovery, it is these moments that are my touchstones. Yes, I can go to the miraculous places, the ones we all cherish and protect - but my gift, I think, is recognizing the beautiful in the mundane, and my challenge is to capture and communicate that understanding.

Thanks for reading!

Heading east

Painted Desert. Oil on stretched canvas, 12x36

This is the last painting I made in the Painted Desert. It was this one I was finishing when the friendly group happened along.

It was tough to leave the Painted Desert - but as I said to Peter, I could stay for weeks or months, painting, and still feel as though I were leaving my soul behind when I finally left.

And so I headed to Canyon de Chelly, and then Shiprock, and then into New Mexico.

The Navajo reservation I drove through for most of the day was, by and large, a cheerless place. It contains gorgeous landscapes and amazing natural scenery. I met lovely, friendly people there. But I saw poverty everywhere. Buildings, homes, mobile homes, by and large, were decrepit, missing windows, boards, roofing. Everywhere, junk was piled, dusty, blowing, rusting in yards. Garbage and litter were strewn everywhere, as if everyone just throws his trash onto the land as a matter of course.

In the wind, the red dust is always blowing, covering everything. Wild dogs roam the towns. Horses and cows wander everywhere - along city streets and sidewalks, along the highways, through parking lots. There is apparently no water for landscaping.

And yet, tribal government seems to be everywhere. In Ganado, in Fort Defiance, in Window Rock, in Chinle - in every town I passed through on the reservation, there seemed to be a plethora of government buildings.

Time and again - in Fort Defiance, in Ganado, in Tec Nos Pos, I saw an odd thing. It was as if the towns were abandoned and then rebuilt just down the road. This was most striking in Fort Defiance. The hospital where my father worked was once the center of the town. Now, closed and shuttered, it is on a street that is clearly rarely used. Around it, buildings that once were homes are tribal government offices. Trailers and shacks stand decaying nearby.

But the new hospital, a few blocks away, is shiny and fresh and big. Next to it is a new school. And next to that, there is what appears to be row after row of brand-new housing. The buildings look a little regimental, a little like a project, but they are, again, brightly new and occupied. It's as if the townspeople just looked around old Fort Defiance, found it unworthy of fixing up, and built new Fort Defiance instead.

A handout from the Canyon de Chelly visitors center discussed the issue of litter. When people feel undervalued, when they feel no ownership or pride in the land, they litter, the handout said. Twice yesterday, I saw recognition of the problem by the people who live there.:"One was a hand-lettered sign outside a ranch at the edge of a town: "Don't Litter," the sign read. The other was a woman and her daughter or granddaughter, picking up litter in the dusty wind at the edge of their property.

Sculpted by the wind

In the Petrified Forest. Oil on stretched canvas, 10x10

Outside Senoita. Oil on stretched canvas, 10x30

After painting in the Painted Desert Friday morning, I headed to Canyon de Chelly (pronounced "de shay," a fact I only recently learned).

It's a terrifyingly beautiful place. It was snowing, and the wind was blowing hard, and it was not really a day to paint, so I just looked. And looked. And was amazed.

The canyon drops hundreds and hundreds of feet from the rim. The drop is dizzying and, honestly, frightening. Never have I walked so carefully, or been so aware of my clumsiness. I could just see myself tripping on my feet and flying over the edge, tumbling to my death.

Wind and water have cut this canyon, carved it into swirls and cliffs and stone pillars. At the bottom, Native Americans still live, some in hogans. They tend sheep, weave, pursue native activities while tourists go by in buses, and jeeps and on horseback. I stayed on high and marveled.

Today, I will try to paint this amazing place. And then it's on to Santa Fe, and heading home.

Spider Rock, one of the formations in Canyon de Chelly.

The friendly group

Here's the friendly group of people I met in the Painted Desert.

A warm cold morning

Petrified Forest. Oil on stretched canvas, 10x30
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I spent last night in Holbrook and started my day painting in the Painted Desert. It was about 30 degrees, and the wind was blowing! The weather people had predicted warmth, and so I had dressed for warmth... then put my winter clothes on, on top of my spring ones, and still, I was frozen.

As I was finishing my painting (will post it tomorrow), and starting to pack up, a melodious voice with a lilting accent sounded behind me, disappointed that I was finished. "I wanted to photograph you painting," he said.

And so, I painted a little bit more.

He was from Kenya, and then, suddenly, there were a couple dozen people there, sitting for photographs, looking at my painting and exclaiming, laughing and smiling and talking and complimenting. They were from Kenya, and Malaysia and Indiana. From Taiwan and Ohio and Indonesia. Many of them are painters, studying watercolors, and they took my business cards, and delighted in my Art for Shelter Animals project cards, and they shook my hand and gave me an apple and juice, and then clambered up into two white vans, called out goodbyes and left.

It was a marvelous meeting, and warmed me through and through. I wish I had asked where they were from, and what had brought them together. If any of the group members are reading this, please let us all know!

And speaking of "all," subscribership to my blog is up to more than 50! Many thanks! If you enjoy it, please tell your friends.

And thank you for reading.

Painting in the Painted Desert

Painted Desert. Oil on stretched canvas, 18x18

I spent yesterday in the Petrified Forest National Park, which includes the Painted Desert. I usually avoid the national parks - they are protected, visited, known. But I was drawn to this one. And I found it so breathtaking, so moving, that I am going back today - at least for the morning.

Every curve in the road brought me to a site that was so spectacular, it overwhelmed my eyes. Vast open prairies spread out in all colors, as far as you can see. Mesas rise up, and then spread into multicolored hills, striped and ridged and pulsing with color. There are pastels, and grey-blue scenes, there are reds and violets and purples, there are colors I can't even describe, created by weather and wind and erosion, by man and by animals and the forces of nature. It truly is amazing.

Thanks for reading!

On the road from Snowflake

On Route 77. Oil on stretched canvas, 10x30
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The road from Snowflake to Holbrook, Arizona 77, is one of the lovelier roads I've driven out here. The prairie rolls along in gentle waves, the earth red beneath soft green and gold vegetation. In the distance, cliffs and mesas stick up from the horizon, and the sun seems to soak into the whole scene.

There are few houses between towns here. Cattle graze, and near the spot where I made this painting, a group of 40 or so horses gathered, including some very young, very long-legged colts. There are almost no trees.

Nights have been cold, down into the 20s. I saw snow two days ago, the day that gale-force winds closed the Interstate. I took that day to visit Ganado, Window Rock and Fort Defiance, the area where I was born and grew up. Later that same day, a McDonald's golden arches sign fell and crushed a car, injuring the people inside. This is wild country.