Big Game on Sawtooth

This week has swiftly ran by like rushing waters of a white raging river, standing still, mezmorized by the quickness and speed of time. For the most part, I've been tending to minor things on the ranch, such as preping the ground for a garden, re-outfitting (still) the pipe house, and cleaning/clearing brush and so on. It's all a slow moving process out here on a ranch, best not to get too anxcious about things because a single man really has no power to slow or speed up the river.


Yesterday, Andy and I went out on an all day ordeal, to the West End, to help the ranch's game guide and his hunter find some bighorn sheep (aoudad) on a mountain called Sawtooth. They call it that because it consists of a long flowing peak of sharp, rocky terrain that looks much like a sawing tooth of an animal, such as that of a dog. These sheep like to stay in the rocky elevation and lookout over the land, grazing on grasses, berries, yuccas, and so on. As it goes, the guide was having trouble locating anything during the first two days of the three day hunt and moral seemed to be that of a potential failed campaign.
On the third day, Andy and I headed out and met them at the Jones and set out for Sawtooth. The first couple of hours we had no luck "glassing" the backside of the mountain in search of these animals. The term "glassing" refers to using binoculars to search the mountains for animals, game and so on. Finally, Andy expressed, "This mountain cannot be hunted from the road, it's too rugged and coarse. We'll never find them from here," he said.

With that, he and I packed up a bit of gear and began ascending the mountain. Within a half mile of my hike, taking point, I stirred a herd of about 14 sheep up from their sleeping position on the edge of a knob, but quickly they were up and over, out of sight. Andy was about a quarter mile behind me and within the next hour he spotted two of the large, male sheep on a peak across from us, a very long 650 - 750 yards away, mearly specs of dust on a mountain side.
Over the course of the rest of the afternoon we watched the two animals work their way closer toward us while the guide got his hunter into a good position. Finally, in the late of the afternoon, the hunter fired a single shot at a range of about 400 yards and brought down one of the beasts. It was a good, clean, patient shot. We made our way to the animal, dressed him out, and took him off the mountain. In the end, I guess we saved this guy's hunt, and up'd the adventure greatly, as at this point we were another 1500 ft above sea level and a good mile or two from the road in hard rugged country. He enjoyed a great hunt, and so did we. At best, the experience offered up a possible way to make money with cameras and video making equipment, personal game hunting memorabilia? We shall see what the future holds, big river.

Weekend at La Junta

This past weekend of February 20th, 2011, I ventured off the Slaughter Ranch here in Brewster County, Texas, over the mountains and through the parks into the basin, back to Redford and on to Presidio to meet those who were gathering to establish an organization known as La Junta Heritage Center. The La Junta group had planned to gather on the 17th - the 20th to clean up and plan out the next move for the organization's eventual establishment. The La Junta project was the vision of a late rural, cowboy artist, A. Kelly Pruitt. He had visualized a place where art and agriculture come together to preserve and teach the rural, agricultural artist heritage he was a part of, a vision I share in greatly. It was an uplifting and exciting weekend. I was delighted to meet with most of the board members andenergetic volunteers including Mr. Bishop, whom awarded the organization a 99 year lease on the 72 acres to erect the foundry. I believe in what these folks are doing and also understand from experience that there is no stronger bond in cultivating a lasting human experience, than coupling art and agriculture. Both require and instill great amounts of patience and hardwork, not to mention a deep understanding of where we all come from. I wish this organization the best and look forward to future participation. Follow the title link to the La Junta website.
Meanwhile, back in Redford, the Gallino Brother (GZupp) was packing his gear to finalize his studio stay for the second time in Big Bend. I joined him Sunday evening in Marathon to have a look at his plot of land, site of the newer, better, bigger West Texas Gallino and had a few beers with him and photographer James H. Evans at the Famous Burro. "Thanks for supper, James." I'm looking forward to all the future shenanigans we will hopefully, productively, get into. Spending time with those mad scientist creative types is sure worth a few bushels of joy and laughs. Until then, I'm back at the Slaughter for now, doing what I tend to do.

Tangled

Sunday, February 13th, 2011. In two days I will have been back on this West Texas ranch, helping out, for two full weeks. Things have been busy, organizing, setting things to function properly and efficiently, finding a place for everything. I've been entertaining the idea of starting up another blog for the sole purpose of documenting the happenings and functions of this ranch; but, at this point, I would need permission AND I'm not entirely sure what kind of terms I'm being offered or how long the need for my stay out here will last. No real surety. Things just don't seem to work out here like they do in other places, it's sorely confusing and a
little tormenting.
Several objectives are in the works. Around the headquarters the effort has mostly been to organize and set a function to what have been useless buildings. This one I've been working on is set to become a pipe fitting room, or a building specifically for serving the supplies, construction, and maintenance of the ranch's water supply. This last freeze caused problems throughout the ranch, busted valves, broken floats, frozen water lines.

On the other end, it has been feeding livestock and tending to issues surrounding the game hunting. Andy and I have been setting up a water supply high in the bluffs to serve the deer and aoudad sheep that are here and I've road along to help him set a few traps to catch the mountain lion problems of local ranches. All in all there's a lot to do, this stuff takes some time. I'm hoping things will secure up for me here, under conditions that can be agreed upon and settled. I believe I could do some good for this ranch and at the same time get on with the bigger objectives of my own art making. The latter rides upon the former. I think I'm even losing friendships and family relations because my quest for seeing a vision through is so important. Alas, it is larger than I am, and must be done at all costs.
God help us all, but sometimes, most, I feel just like my Texas State alumnus here, tangled up in the traps of the world... see you soon.

What keeps you up at night?

The space was low lite, dark like the first light of a morning or the absolute last light of day when everything falls to shadows of shadows, movements of dark and light. I find myself fuddling around with various glasses, cleaning, arranging a till. A man comes and askes for a beer, strangely it seems as though I know the person, a past friend maybe, a little more light now. More people begin to arrive. They sit down and begin conversation with each other. I look up from my familiarizations with an unknown bar, always keeping the hands busy. More guests arrive, and more there still are those I've not yet greeted. By this time I've realized where I am, there's enough light brought with each new guest that I understand what I'm doing. I set pace to attend to each one of them. At first it seems as though the first groups are family, deep friends, happy to just see me again. The man who was at the bar I served only one beer but he spoke as though he knew me, and he left an extra twenty dollars for my troubles.
On to the third, these I do not know. I greet, ask of needs, offer my service. At first it seems they are inquisitive to the offerings,asking certain questions regarding certain items; but soon inquiry turns into explaination, explaination into definition, meanwhile more guests begin to arrive, but this table lingers on in a dead humor sort of way. Their questions are not serious, they seem to know the menu better than I, the wife cracks smile at husband. Are they asking simply for company of conversation, perhaps they've been marooned here, lonely, left for an eternal stay long before the lights ever came on. Perhaps they ask intentionally to delay my response to those guests not yet attended, they smirk at one another. The idea of watching me squirm; they have some x-rated delight in the disruption of the single task manager. I realize they have drinks already, there is no real need here. As I turn to attend those who are without, the couple asks for more to drink.
Low light again. My eyes crack open to the electric heater in the middle of the room. It's three o'clock on a Sunday morning, February 6th, 2011. I'm in the guest bedroom on a ranch in West Texas, wondering how I got here. What events transpired to lead way out to this place? What sort of misdirection has befallen me? I have a good idea. My gut rolls in bed. I stare into that low darkness. I see every picture that has been on my mind as of late and every picture I've been attempting to render. Are these pictures off my intended task? My heart answers the question before it is even through. Somehow, there is some hard-truth similarities to the dream, albeit, a server's nightmare just had in the darkness concerning my last two years as an artist. Some spirit hovering over the deep, arcing past lives with current in subconcious slumber in order to correct the direction of a path. Switch the lights on. A swift river of realization runs through my blood and happiness in the truth of the coming reflection....

Take Your Medicine, Son.

Sunday, January 30th, 2011, and I am finalizing my pack up for the excursion to the ranch. Simultaneously I am feeling much like the new book I'm reading, given to me by the foreman of the Slaughter, called "Brutal Journey", written by Paul Schneider, detailing the first crossing of North America by Narvaez and Cabeza de Vaca. Roughly the trip from Lockney, in the Texas Panhandle, to the Slaughter Ranch, southwest of Sanderson, is a shade over 400 miles, the last thirty of which are through dirt roads and rural pasture lands, cliffs, creeks, and desert mountain vistas. And much like Narvaez, my ship is in poor condition and I am overloaded, as always, with the expectation that motivation will meet precisely in time with opportunity and that art will be produced. This, however, is always an idea of hope in the mind of a broke, over invested artist much as it was the same for the conquistadors of the 1500's. I, like them, must believe in the unbelievable and insist this is God's plan for glory and success in my career, although Narvaez never returned and Cabeza de Vaca was only one of four survivors out of more than six hundred who ever made it back to Spain. That's encouragement.
Even so, I carry supplies to an area of Texas that is certainly the most rural of outposts, even Redford had a town just 15 miles away. But under the circumstances of my capabilities there are only a few choices I can make: 1.Take this job ranching and hold the potential for art making 2. Apply for master's schooling with art making coupled with treacherous financial deficit and deficiency 3. Return to the highway and trucking with no promise of art or life and little money (not too short of prison). Sometimes I'd trade the struggle for the ladder, but the conquistador inside me just won't settle for it. I'd press on into the mouth of unknown oblivion chest up, head high, looking to the Almighty to make the way before me although it likely leads me to intensified struggle and ultimately death, much like it did Narvaez. My only hope is that once the layers of time have been peeled away, my art will find it's way alive, out of the void like the record keeping of Cabeza de Vaca, and live on to tell the story.
There are a lot of similarities between the artist and the conquistador, a lot of similarities in the journey, like mice feeding on supplies below deck. Include me in your petitions to the Lord, I will need them. Thank you.

Revision and Packing Bags

This body of work is that exactly. Work. Sometimes it's not good to restrain yourself in artwork but sometimes it is. For me it helps in building that overwhelming surge to do something beyond, the change that is uncomfortable but what is that supplies life to medium, the presence of art. My intent, for this body, is for the sake of my conservative origins, and because I need the discipline of completing a series of real subject in acrylic, despite my wanting to do anything else, I press on.

Artist's Texas Panhandle Studio, 2011.
It all fastens around the merger of abstract ideas and realistic subjects. The further I go, however, the more compelled I am to initiate the "Negetism", as I refer to it, or the act of destroying it. I viewed an artist interview yesterday, a very good artist in my opinion, who was speaking of the same concept. He works up these great oil pictures only to "destroy" them in a positive sort of way. A way that makes them great; like one of my favorite stories from undergrad, Honore de Balzac's "The Unknown Masterpiece".
For example, in this piece I call "The Straggler". The picture itself worked fine previously, but it lacked the asthetic to make it a mystery, or to show some hint of real carelessness. For me that makes the painting new, that comunicates the human condition. There's not much in this picture that changed, but enough to hint at the idea, enough to "help" it become a better painting.

The Straggler, acrylic on canvas, 36" x 48", 2010.


The Straggler, acrylic on canvas, 36" x 48", 2011.

I took this piece over to Cheli's Cafe in Sanderson with a few others, I had my predispositions about it but had semi-settled on letting it be; until I saw the thing outside of the studio. In different light it felt a dead, and lacking finish. It just didn't have the fire a painting should have. I wanted to change it a bit, anymore would likely destroy it. That lesson noted in this conservative acryic effort. Time to move on to the next picture or risk going "Frenhofer" in my mind forever, which therein lies the potential in every piece.

In a Few Days I'll Turn 34

After my visit with Mr. Wells at The Field Lab, I made the pass through the Big Bend National Park. It's faster that way, although the speed limit, for about 70 miles of road, is only 45 mph. North of the park on Texas Highway 385 there's an entrance into a series of ranches across Brewster County toward the Rio Grande. From there it's roughly 68 miles of dirt road and secluded mountain, desert terrain until ultimately crossing the San Francisco Creek and the Slaughter Ranch. I was happy to be there once again, but was also a little apprehensive. When I last left the Slaughter it was not under the greatest circumstances, but that was mostly due to my own business error and artistic desperation. I don't want to be the sour grape in the sweet patch, but I guess I felt like that upon my last departure. It's a difficult explaination, but it seems to come upon me stronger these days, the impulse to find stability to make the greater works of art, to deliver a higher message than just myself. I don't fully understand it, or do I know how to get it done. It's tough to be a man in this civilization and remain at the mercy of the universe, to sit patiently and wait for God.

Lovingly, the family at the ranch welcomed me back as if
I'd never left. Time filters out a bit slower I suppose, or, it speeds along at a runaway rate. Things that happen are forgotten or understood to be a symptom of a detoxification of sorts; like a addict of the world going into a rural rehab, tossing, turning, convulsing in fits of violence. They informed me of all they were hoping to accomplish, and I met a couple of the family members who own the spread. They are happy and excited, understanding of the blessings it is to be stewards of such a place. There was a lot happening, hunter's were there to hunt a big horn mountain goat called Audad, and Andy has been trapping an outbreak of lions who make meals of small calves in their first year of life. All in all, it makes for a plethora of storylines and rural ranch dramas.

I spent about three days working in the barn area, cleaning and organizing some of the tools, re-aquainting myself with the area, forming a game plan with what and how I would begin the reorganization process of the areas in need. After the weekend, I packed up and left for the panhandle to check into some unexpected business. I also dropped some work at a local cafe that has some great wallspace in Sanderson. As I write this, the panhandle winds blow without stopping, and at times I grow weary of being caught in it.

Trip out to West Texas

Six days since I left the panhandle to collect and cleanup things out in Redford. Got down there last Monday night, after a trip with more than one hickup and delay, but beat out the freezing cold weather that was setting in behind me on the plains.
Spent the night on the floor, covered with plenty of blankets I brought along. Tuesday was an entire day of cleaning the apartment at Enriques, packing up and repacking all the supplies in my truck. I have about a half dozen completed paintings of West Texas subject matter I brought along to display and try to sell in Sanderson, so the packing has revolved around the placement and protection of those pictures.

Everything went well in Redford. Scrubbed the floor where I'd spilt paint and repainted the walls where pictures were once critiqued and reworked. By the afternoon the girls whom had come to Redford to rent my place were settling in and making it their own, all that remained of my presence was the cardboard eagle cutout on the door and an oil painting of a cow that George and I collaborated on back in Brenham, 2008.
The installation left in the desert leading out to Checker's Hill and opening into a view of the Bofecillos still remained, mysteriously placed, inviting wonder, yet the true mystery of the installation is that it points the direction of the buried art capsules I place on two separate occasions.
They serve as the beginning of an engineered trailhead I used; assembled, installed, yet incomplete as my finances depleted before the whole vision could be delivered. The whole of the idea was to stretch them over the course of several miles, like way points on a map. It will be interesting to see how the materials I used will stand up to the test of the desert. Perhaps I will return and complete it one day. Of the three days there one included a return hike to the Bofecillos Mesa cave to retrieve my cot. Two nights on the floor was going to kill me and it was good to get out and stretch my legs. Afterwards I wondered how I was able to do a three to six mile hikes in unforgiving terrain with sixty plus pounds of gear on my back. Two days ago, with only a bottle of water, the excursion almost killed me.
On Friday I said my goodbyes and hopes for a return and headed East on 170 toward Terlingua. I had a brief, late afternoon visit with John Wells at the Field Lab. His progress is coming along fashionably and in the next year the off-the-grid site he's working on will be transformed. Next stop is the Slaughter Ranch in Brewster County, then through Sanderson to deliver paintings for show and sale. The newspaper in Floyd County wants me to do a second interview, I think this time they may actually want to give me a job writing and reporting! Either that or the guy still needs some other information. Also, a Lubbock gallery contacted me for a better look at my West Texas work, all happening right about the time I start to feel like lauching a long awaited body of work that picks up where my abstaction left off. A side of me is gaining momentum to break away from the safety of my cultural heritage and use painting as the communicative issue it was meant for. Here's to the grand revival of all ages. Wish me luck.

Digital image from "Rapturing the Candles of God", one of twelve, acrylic on paper on board, 7" x 24", 2006.

Morning Interview

Last December I spent two weeks framing all the cotton module paintings I created in 2008-09 while working out of my Texas Panhandle Studio, even donating one to a benefit auction for Lockney Health and Reabilitation. I wanted to celebrate my agricultural upbringing and reconnect with the days of operating implements in agricultural fields of cotton and corn. The diesel engines of the agricultural machines have terrified, and inspired me (the title of this blog for example), for the whole of my life. Agriculture and it's distribution, the infrastructure supplying life to the global civilization of man, has an impact exceeding the heigth of the heavens or the depth of the seas. Agriculture is the true direction of the future, and this ministry is no secret to those who till the earth and know the land. Today, these men and women, the people whose crops I once irrigated, cultivated, fertilized with my own sweat are the very patrons I seek to establish an artistic dialogue, to gain support and patronage, to provide the ability to do something farther than creativly imagined in their communities and the world. Indeed, it is truley a great commission to find whatever means necessary to implement the largest vision of the greater good into reality. Art in it's nature, demands it from the artist and patron alike who embrace it; for those who do not, disolve into unknown history.
This January, after a record cotton crop in the Texas panhandle region (the largest ever), the timing seemed right to show and display the two year old works, my effort to make contact with the agricultural peoples of my origins. How better to do this than the local barber shop in Lockney, Texas. For over a year now I've been displaying paintings on a small, clean, and well lit wall space of Bobbie's Buzz Cut's. The shop provides the closest contemporary gallery type setting I've found in such a small, rural community that is still capable of maintaining the traffic and dialogue of many people; not to mention, most of my target patrons cut their hair there. My question now, will they understand the capability of their support for things such as art? Will they recognize the opportunity, art reaching out to them, of this artist? The life of my art in this area swings in the balance of their generosity and ability to realize, and patronize, the arts. And by that I mean original, not reproduction; original equals the future, reproduction equals worthlessness, that's an art history lesson and fact. Time will tell, on the bright side the show landed me an interview with the local newspaper, The Floyd County Hesperian-Beacon, at the descretion of reporter Homer Marquez, whom I met at the barber shop while distributing these 4" x 6" post cards marketing my campaign. My conversation with Mr. Marquez was well rounded and thought loftly towards the possibilities of revival in these sleepy little ag communities, whose fruits sit as the foundation of all human civilization. I look forward to reading it, (title link to paper's page) and the outcome, and exceeding possibility of cultivated good possible through the hybridized realization of art and agriculture at the highest level. Godspeed, and thank you.

Christmas 2010

Exhausted. Traveled down to South Texas for Christmas time with family and friends. Met up with a dozen or so of the old Warehouse Arts crew in Austin for a night, or, the San Marcos Group, as I like to call them. A lively bunch, I always feel the potential possiblity for anything great while around so many of them.

Then it was off to me mum's for the Christmas Holiday. We hung around and ate rounds of homemade chocolate pie, buttermilk pie, fresh apple and bannana nut cake, sweet potatoes, chicken and dumplin's, ham, the works; all of it homemade from scratch of course. One of the best things about my upbringing has always been the cooking. One of my gifts was a pound of beef jerky from Dziuk's, a meat processing market located in the next town over, Castorville. That stuff is great, I coundn't stop myself, I blew through the entire pound in four days. Now my teeth and gums are aching in pain from the constant ripping and tearing, chewing and grinding. If I could have anything other than mom's great pies and cakes and chicken 'n dumplin's, I'd have a pound of beef jerky.

The other highlight was playing round after round of the domino game "chickenfoot" with family including my 93 year old grandmother. There's nothing greater than seeing an ancient old woman laugh her heart out at the cutting up of family and a simple game. It was the most fun I'd had in awhile, and a very good Christmas.


There's potential developing out in far West Texas that could really kick me into high gear for this next year. I'm feeling optimistic about it all, but not enough to go talking about it, I'll let you know. Happy New Year 2011!

P.S. Click on the title link and buy a pound of their strip beef jerky. It's good stuff!

Last Installation in Redford

For my last appearance out in Redford I had devised a sequence of movie scripts to cover as a finale to the year spent there, a closing that would leave open narrations for future ideas. Having placed burial capsules within the park already, my finale was going to include some work, placing objects, sculpture, in the desert along a path leading the viewer into the mountains of the Bofecillos.


George Zupp and I made a decision to join each other in Redford back in 2007-2008. During that time we were discussing the issue of how an environmental change can affect an artist's work through a healthy natural influence. In May of 2009, the capital had been saved, and the adventure was set into action; however, my arrival in Redford was met immediately with tragedy. Losing a friend and companion to the harsh nature of West Texas, my first "marker", or sculpture, went up without my realizing it's importance. It would mark the beginning of my time there, and also serve as the center piece for an ending as well.


An environment such as Big Bend can generate a multitude of inspirations within the heart of an artist, needless to say, it flooded mine with ideas. My relationship with George was a bit distant, while at the same time loosely collaborative. Each person wound up watching the other in what felt like a Mexican standoff of artistic egos, each reluctant to place ideas on the table for fear that the other's were better, or would be stolen, however, we did try to work together in the media of video but from my perspective, the video collaboration was largely unsuccessful. In retrospect, the bigger narrative videos I had scripted were never produced, largely due to difficulties between collaborative energies, and partly due to a lack of dependable resources. On the brighter and better side, the desire to produce these videos inspired the greater of the two, an on site installation leading into the mysterious Bofecillos.



The path of the installation was originally intended to compliment George's work beginning with a pyramid of food cans, which he had been sculpting with, and ending with his being reunited with a bunny sculpture, which made several appearances throughout our time there. In the video script, he was to acquire a lost map from the Angel of Death after a West Texas shootout concerning a desert art critique gone wrong. From the first map, he would have to follow along a series of markers and installation pieces to find new maps ultimately leading him in the direction of the hidden bunny. The first point on the map was the pyramid of cans, climbing out of an arroyo near Texas Highway 170 and the old Redford Elementary school.



From that point, a series of posts, or markers, doubling as removable walking/hiking staffs, would lead deeper into the desert. Each post,a total of five, were created from recycled spam cans, metal striping, polymer resin, acrylic & wood and were topped with blue paint buckets or hoods, to protect the medallion pieces from the sun and to also make the markers more visible in the desert landscape. Their installation was key, four being set on a line leading to the top of Checker's Hill and the last positioned off the beaten path leading to an alternate hill where sits the "Golden Chair of Academia", the last resting place of the bunny.






Coupled with the video idea, this was meant to indirectly give a "choice" to George concerning which path to take. The path is not an easy one however, after the second marker the trail dives off into a series of arroyo channels and the path becomes lost, hidden there was a sculpture I rescued from the old San Marcos Warehouse arts scene and titled "portrait bust of a Lost Soul". This was a location of the second map, and encouraged keeping faith and pointed to the next direction. Also, there was a dead tree of stolen spam cans meant to incite horror or disgust in the arroyos. All in all, the participant could find their way out of the labyrinth by maintaining sight of the remaining markers.







The markers eventually follow a path leading up to the top of a hill where my dog was buried and where a blue cross now stands overlooking Kelly Pruitt's jacal, toward the old Polvo Baptist Church, and a view into the larger Bofecillos mountains and Texas' Big Bend Ranch State Park. Just beside that hill, and on the alternative route, stands another smaller hill where I placed an old elementary school chair painted gold, calling it the "Golden Alter of Academia", or "Golden Chair of Academia". It was a poke at our academic backgrounds and an indirect blow from my position that academics will never rise above the magnitude or potency of the supernatural or biblical prophecy in the minds of humanity. But still acknowledges academia's importance as a continuingly vital institution while leadership and direction maintain truth.






In the end, my vision to produce an entertaining sequence of videos revolving around this installation piece were never realized. Fortunately, the installation itself was. In the larger scope, the finale was the installation. It was the artistic effort to produce a physical journey for viewers to experience in a site specific space, a call to all, to adventure seekers to explore some of the desert's mystery in real time. An invitation to take the path of discovery, to continue on into the greater mountains, to reach the higher peaks and find the treasures hidden there, the treasure of imagination sparked by the natural world itself.

More images from the installation: