Three Days Trying to Save a Painting and Repeat (Idaho Road Trip)

I’m amazed my knee has held up.  I didn’t understand why I was trying to save this painting until the end of the day yesterday when a couple long lost friends from NYC called to remind me it was 9/11/11 (and that I’d spent in NY with them on 9/11).  I realized that I’d been painting ground zero.  So here is the progression.  It is overworked but it shouldn’t be facile if it is in fact a metaphor for 9/11.  Definitely I wanted it to read apocalyptic.  I like the first drawing of it the best, but the problem I felt was that it was a drawing and not developed enough.  Artist’s are never satisfied and are constantly challenging themselves.  The first rendition was prettier, but less meaningful to me. I  worked on this Cinder Cone painting all day yesterday.  At dust I found myself on the cone’s rim with a rain shower and a couple of geologists who were hiking late.  One helped me finish the painting by telling me to include the little black line down in the center of the cone, which was once a shelf  for a disappeared lake inside the cone.  He also wanted me to include a more richly colored mineral deposit at the bottom. I added two trees on top (like a couple) to bear witness to the cataclysmic event and be a little sign of rejuvenation and rebirth.


Repeat (Idaho Road Trip)

Got up, made my latte, walked the dog, locked myself out of the cabin, went in through the window screen and then went to the general store where I broke the ritual and ordered pancakes, eggs and sausage and sat and spoke with two women, Joy and Pam, who were about to go riding.  I saw the Purdys. Sharon was making her own grape juice in the back of the store. She had made jam the day before.

I took a walk with Buster on the ranch alongside Silver Creek.  Silver Creek is world renown in the fly fishing world.  I guess that and both hunting is why Hemmingway hung out here.  The stream is completely spring fed.  It comes out of the aquifer right on the Purdy ranch where I am staying.  Most of the stream is on the ranch.  Only a small portion is a conservancy allowing access for fly-fishing.  I guess the nutrients in the water cause a rich array of vegetation to grow, which brings better insects and bigger trout, and bigger birds, which make the trout feistier and more difficult to catch.  I’ve only been here a couple of days and seen Sand Hill Cranes, Eagles, Osprey, Hawks, and a huge Owl.

There is this weird little white dog that hangs out on the ranch and is curious about Buster.  The little dog doesn’t like people and he lives outside.  He must weight about twelve pounds.  I think he might be a Chiwawa.  He runs when I try to talk to him but he is always waiting for us to get home–to meet Buster.  I’m worried about this little dog living outside with all these birds of prey.  My brother John’s friend had such a little white dog. An eagle snatched it. The dog went yelping over the tops of pine trees in the eagle’s talons.

I’m going to continue the cinder cone painting.  I’m going to try and work on the big one and then do a full moon painting.  I want to meet the ranger named Dianne this evening, who conducts art workshops in the park.


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