It's Spring -- Bless the Baby Birds!

I couldn't resist sharing a childhood experience with you. The story probably accounts for why I love birds and delight in painting them.

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He was pink, blind and featherless when I found him lying in the bright spring grass. His lifeless three-inch body brought back a rush of memory and I was eight years old again, looking down on another fragile baby bird.

"Tufted Titmouse" drawing

He had fallen so far from the nest that I convinced myself his mother would never miss him. Carefully, and with a modicum of shame, I scooped the tiny fledgling into my cupped hands. I would nurse him back to health and become his protector. In turn, he would be my friend, my pet. He could perch on my finger and I would teach him how to do tricks. He could sing for his supper. Surely mother would let me keep him.

"Courtship" pencil drawing

She shook her head when she saw him; a bad omen. But when she gave me an empty matchbox, I grew hopeful. We stuffed the matchbox with tissue and laid the bird gently on the soft white sheets. His head wobbled back and forth as his tiny body struggled to get up. The dark swollen eyes were closed, but the hungry beak gaped wide in a perpetual state of readiness.

My mother went for the “crumb jar;” the kind you fill up with leftover toast or stale bread until there are enough pieces for croutons or crumbs on a casserole.

We moistened a small chunk of bread in warm milk; and while mother left to prepare dinner, I dropped soggy snippets of bread into the bird’s open mouth. The feeding lasted until the tantalizing smells from the kitchen and the clatter of dishes distracted me.

"Berry Picking Time" 16 x 20 acrylic on panel

It was nearly bedtime before I remembered. I skipped to the back porch, half expecting birdsong to greet me. Instead, I slammed into a cold wall of silence. I held my breath and peered into the matchbox. The bird’s too-large head lay angled against the white tissue, his pale colored beak hung open. The bread I had pushed down his throat earlier was now stuck like a gummy wad of dough. I yelled for mother.

"Hut Two Three Four" drawing

She came quickly with tweezers in hand. “He’s too weak to swallow,” she said, making one final effort to remove the dough from the tiny gullet. “He’s not breathing,” she muttered to herself. And then seeing my tears, she added, “It’s not your fault. He’s too young, that’s all. His eyes aren’t open. He has no feathers.” In spite of her words, I cried. Sad lesson learned -- end of story, or was it?

Returning to the present and my adult moorings, I studied the baby bird at my feet. If I left him here, a neighbor’s cat or a hungry hawk would surely destroy him or a child’s bicycle could crush him unawares. Impulsively, I scooped him into my hands. I had to give him a second chance. Who knows? This time I might succeed; and, perhaps, redeem my childhood guilt in the bargain.

"Star Billing" mixed media on 14 x 18canvas

A Walk on the Wild Side

I’ve never been to Africa. Wilderness parks and my own neighborhood provide a glimpse of wildlife. All I have to do is put on my walking shoes, grab my camera and head out the door.

On my journey, I’m also looking for palm masks which eventually drop from the Queen palm tree. My hope is that it won’t be damaged by the fall or partially rotting from too much moisture. The possibilities expressed in the unique shape and markings of these masks lead me into the far realms of imagination.

I may see a golden panther waiting there or a grizzly baboon with a blue nose. Sometimes a chunky contemporary face beckons my brush to let go and have fun.

I’m also surrounded by ideas and the creatures I may pass on my morning walks: an armadillo, a coyote, or even a black bear. There are herons, egrets, ibis, roseate spoonbills, wood storks, Sandhill cranes, eagles, hawks, ospreys and feral pigs just to name a few. They all become inspiration for paintings, illustrations or masks.

With Halloween coming up, one of them may even end up in black and orange. The woody masks must be treated with care. As they dry out, hairline cracks may form in the wood. The grain is so porous that it soaks up layers of paint. The hairy dry strands that fringe the edges sometimes get bumped off as I work.

(This is odd shaped and contemporary)

(Could make a funny face?)

People love to wear masks. Children enjoy the game, too. We like to become something we’re not or pretend that we’re a celebrity or a monster. Our real feelings are usually hidden behind a frozen face that refuses to give any clues as to what we’re thinking. But during this one time of year, we put on a new face and “let it all hang out.”

Politicians wear a mask while campaigning; but once the election is won, they forget their promises and become just another “Washington Insider.”

Lovers may wear a mask in the beginning of a new relationship. Looking our best, showing only those traits that we feel might be acceptable. If the bond is solemnized too soon, the “coming out party” may be a shock or at least a jolt of reality.

     

   

 

Caught up in the glitter and dazzle of romance, the nitty-gritty everyday struggles are masked. Once the make-up is off and the real you comes forth in all its fury plus a boat load of attitude, the feel-good veneer of the honeymoon period is gone. Some couples come crashing down only a few weeks or months after the marriage.

For those unwitting spouses, the fall is long and deep. For couples with children, the entanglement may take longer. Often in the bloom of initial romance, the red flags are ignored or not revealed. Dishonesty becomes a giant hurdle that can’t be overcome.

(This very large mask could end up a fish or . . . )

(a funny-faced baboon or water bird?)
What do you think?

  

It’s great fun to wear a mask when a mask is called for on Halloween, at Mardi Gras time or during other annual celebrations. But all bets are off when the masks come off. An old saying comes to mind: “Lasting love is not about finding the right person, it’s about being the right person.”

Put a Stop to Wheedling Behavior that Robs You of Time and Space

Martin House.  Birds spar for a room in this busy hotel! They fly in
in March and stay until May. I love to watch them.

Do you always get the short end of the stick? Do you shortchange yourself in a negotiation? Do you sabotage your own needs in order to keep the peace?

Heaven forbid there should be a rift in your relationships! But cowardice-to-confront does not make the problem go away. There’s never a good time for a dust up or a scuffle. If you’ve allowed someone else to take the reins in your life, you may be headed for disaster rather than the destination of your dreams. Sometimes you must put your foot down and stand up for what you need, even if there are those who may feel alienated.

Let the person who has power over you own their own problem. You are an artist, a professional, an entrepreneur who must do certain things each day to be successful. When you take back the reins, you also take the power away from those who are used to manipulation or anger to get what they want. Remember, it is their anger not yours. Let it go! Respect goes both ways. 

Allocation gives you control over your circumstances. By parceling out units of time to the priorities in your life, an erratic schedule based on pressure and emotion can be tamed and placed in logical sequence. So that instead of crashing into each other, your activities and interactions bend and flow.

 The “new you” will feel empowered rather than powerless. No more crashes and jump starts. You’ll transition from one project or event to the other. You’ll know where you’re going and how much time it will take. These organizational skills will help you plot a course from one day to the next.

Mimosa Tree in bloom (I should have captured
it sooner!)

If this sounds a little too perfect, be patient. Once your trajectory is on track and is repeated over and over again, it will become a habit. Experts conclude that it takes approximately one month to form a new habit. This varies from person to person because “old habits die hard.” But don’t give up. If you are willing to take control of your life and your success, the awkwardness of building a new life for yourself will soon become a reality.

Mimosa "bush" is more like it!

The Mating Game is a Fascinating Dance of Chemistry and Attraction

"This will be perfect!"

I'm not a photographer, but sometimes I get lucky and come up with a winning photo or two. I decided to repost one of my favorite blogs with photos.  

Mating season is underway here in Florida. The other day, I drove into a parking lot and nearly mowed down a great egret that was wandering about in a drunken erotical swagger. In the movie Bambi, Disney’s Thumper called it “twitterpated;” and by the flashy green down between the egret’s eyes and bill, I had to agree with that spunky rabbit. 

Being twitterpated is not limited to birds. Alligators get downright mean and nasty when the urge to mate overtakes them. One lusty gator saw its reflection in the sliding glass door of a local resident and pursued the image aggressively thinking it was a prospective mate. The terrified homeowner called animal control when the twitterpated reptile stood upright against the glass to “get a little closer.” Lucky for her the door held until local authorities arrived. 

One memorable morning, a “testy” gator proceeded to crawl across the road in front of me. Apparently a grate at the edge of the pond prevented the gator from swimming under the roadway to the other side, presumably, to meet its prospective mate. The gator drew quite a crowd as it hissed and snarled across the asphalt, warning passers by to stay their distance.

"This will be a fine nest."

Even anoles get in the act; pumping their bright red throat fans to impress the opposite sex. This undulating process goes on all summer and into fall as these lizard-like creatures mate and nest. During the winter months, anoles and lizards hibernate, and I rarely see them scurrying across my path.

Love bugs are another southern phenomenon. These red-headed black bugs spend their entire adult life copulating. The male and female attach themselves at the rear and remain that way even while flying. They splatter themselves over windshields and car radiators from April through May.

Shortly after mating, the love bug male dies; but that doesn't dampen the female's incredible urge to reproduce. She simply drags her dead mate around until she lays her eggs in the grass; and then she dies, most likely from exhaustion. Her eggs will hatch in the warmth of rotting grass mulch and become the next season's wave of love-bugs.

"Do I smell alll right?"

Squirrels in my neighborhood get downright silly during the mating season, which usually happens two or three times a year. They showoff, turn backward somersaults, and play games like “twitch” the tail and “tag you’re it!”

For two seasons running, squirrels built their nest in our cabbage palm. The mated pair cleaned and secured their nest in the spiked bark that protruded from the top of the tree. Their nest included escape tunnels and front and back points of entry.

During the gestation period, all was quiet except for excursions, in turns, by the parents to obtain food. After about two plus weeks of silence, three babies appeared. The youngsters brazenly crept to the edge of the palm fronds that made up their front porch and peeked over the side. Before long, they were chasing each other through the tunnels and playing “hump” games in preparation for future mating and nesting experiences of their own.

"It's a long way down, father. Will our babies be safe?"

When the squirrel mama decided her litter was ready for life outside the nest, she carried each baby by the scruff of its neck much the same way a cat carries its kittens. One by one the tiny squirrels were transported to a nearby live oak. The process was repeated until all three babes were safe. 

Two families of squirrels were born and nurtured in my cabbage palm, and then hurricane Charlie whipped through the area and scattered the nesting bark to the far winds. Many times the squirrels and their offspring returned perplexed, sniffing and searching my cabbage palm for evidence of their former home. I miss those squirrels.

"Three Newborns" (photo a little blurry -- they move around fast!)

Next Time, Allow Yourself some Wiggle Room!

"Twitters and Twigs" 11 x 14 Oil on canvas / framed

When I ask a salesperson if they have any wiggle room, I’m really saying “Are you willing to make a deal?” I’m hoping he or she has the authority and the willingness to give me the best price possible and at a much lower cost than the current offer.

The tables are turned, of course, when I’m on the selling end and a client is paying me for a product or service. Wiggle room can be anything from extending a deadline to outlining expectations. The more information I can get about what is wanted, what is expected and when, the better I’ll be able to fulfill my obligations.

"Brown Thrasher in Sunlight" 16 x 20 mixed media

Having adequate time and space to complete a project is essential. Rushing either the execution or the required drying time may be hazardous if not fatal to the final outcome. Just because a customer demands something on a given date doesn’t mean it has to happen. Helping them adjust to realistic goals and objectives is part of your job as artist and director.

(Work in progress:  Florida Panther on woody palm frond; a mask when completed.)
I must conform the head to fit the constraints of the mask.
The porous wood drinks up paint like a sieve! It will require layers, and layers
of paint. The final coat will be varnish; inside and out.

Many businesses get into trouble when they over promise and under deliver. Explaining why things may take longer in the beginning saves a lot of hassle and stress. Clearly understanding a client’s vision and what they hope to achieve may alleviate unnecessary delays or revisions. It’s not just your reputation that’s on the line, but everyone else who has a part in the planning and decision making.

Honesty goes without saying. Integrity is the backbone of any company’s success. Positive feedback and repeat business are the lifeblood which ebbs and flows between capital expenditures and profits. It’s a balancing act between the needs of both owner and client.

(One of my mask models)

As I used to tell my children when I roped them into helping me stuff envelopes for my pet projects; “You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.” They soon learned that it was in their best interests to humor me now if they wanted a favor later. Reciprocal agreements make everybody happy.

The outcome of any negotiation should be a give and take of mutual need. If I don’t have to sacrifice profits and my standing as an artist, I’m more willing to work harder to provide you with the finished piece in time for your special anniversary or birthday. 

The customer, in turn, must plan far enough ahead to provide you with adequate time for completion. If the artist is always on the losing end, the final product suffers.

(Another one of my mask models)

Angry Florida panther. Golden eyes with green reflections.

Hunters actually shoot these adorable Partridges

"Northern Bobwhite" Drawing; prints available

When I spotted the two birds, they were running alongside the chicken wire fence, hidden beneath the Brazilian pepper, the hedgerow, and the Spanish moss which draped from their lower branches.

The birds saw me and a soft chortle started up in their throats as they ran for a hole under the fence to escape. They were so fast on their feet that I failed to capture the details necessary for identification.

Checking my Audubon Field Guide later, I tried to piece together my impressions: stocky round bird, reddish brown feathers, unique head markings or Mohawk haircut; a chipping or swamp sparrow I wondered? Naw! Too small.

It was a year later in March before I saw another pair scurrying along the fence line. This time I got a good look before they slipped under the fence and disappeared in the dry pasture stubble. 

Turns out, they were northern bobwhites; members of the quail or partridge family and indigenous to Florida.

When the mating season begins each spring, coveys break up and mates build their own covered nests in the grass. In late summer, families join others to form a new covey until the next breeding season.

My husband and I saw the bobwhites almost every day for several weeks. One lusty fellow searching for a potential mate flew to the upper branches of a live oak and serenaded us with a “bob bob white.”

On days when we didn’t see the quails, my husband would whistle his own rendition of the song and we waited. Sure enough, an answering whistle told us where the bobwhites were located that day.

When the spring rains came early that year and flooded the grasslands, our bobwhites disappeared. My husband whistled to see if they had returned, but so far, there has 

been no answering call. We have waited four long years for their return. I miss those bobwhites!

Mike Barr has one of the most helpful videos on painting a rainy day scene:  

Roll with the Punches and Live in the Moment

Work in Progress -- Black-eyed Junco  Oil on Canvas (white marks / edits)

I completed reading the book: “A Shoemaker’s Wife” by Adriana Trigiani; a delightful tale which takes place in the Alps of Italy. I was intrigued by this story having traveled to this area and experienced the beauty and the people of that region first hand.

I wrote down the advice given to the young bride, a key character in the story, because I knew it was a golden nugget of truth: “Don’t worry about bad things that haven’t happened yet. It will save you a lot of anxiety.”

We all tend to worry about the things we fear and the events that we suspect are inevitable. We waste time and effort fretting about those things that we cannot control most of which never happen. If we followed the advice of the author, and stopped worrying about “bad things that haven’t happened (or may never happen), we’d be a lot better off.

I was told this was a walnut tree, but they don't develop a real nut???

I’m reminded of an experience I had years ago when I was in charge of a Hawaiian dinner that was being held outdoors. On the ground, we had colorful cushions placed around lengths of white butcher paper that served as a table cloth. Fresh flowers adorned the paper at intervals. Barbecue grills were set up for cooking, and leis were given out to each guest.

A former resident from Hawaii provided music and dancing while the food was cooking. What could go wrong? And then a rain storm moved in quickly and forced us inside. We pulled the barbecue grills under the eaves, gathered our cushions, flowers, and table adornments indoors and improvised things from there.

Initially, I thought I might come “unglued” and fall apart the stress was so great, but I didn’t. With the help of others who pitched in to help, we ended up having a glorious time. I learned how important it is to be adaptable. When fear and a crisis threaten to shake your sanity and your coping mechanisms, go with the flow. Roll with the punches and deal with one crisis at a time. Of course, a sense of humor never hurts either.

If you can identify this tree / nut, please give me feedback!

I was amazed and grateful at how forgiving other people can be in a crisis and how willing to pitch in and help when the “going gets rough.”

This is a close up of the "pod" as it grows on the tree; notice the shape of the leaves.

Being flexible and adaptable reminds me of the principle behind a rubber band. It’s a simple tool that we use all the time to bind things together. It will stretch and adapt as needed; but only to a point. Its flexibility may be tested if pushed too far. When we press it beyond its capability, a rubber band will snap. But it will expand and grow if we ease it slowly and carefully; a simple lesson in how to adapt in a crisis.

Another "work in progress" with editing marks; 11 x 14 oil on canvas

Just because you can’t see God, Doesn’t mean He’s not there

"Raccoons at Sunrise" (that last drink of water before sleep) 16x20 acrylic on canvas

From my bedroom window, I watched three raccoons shimmy head first down a live oak tree. Since it was barely dusk, I figured they were foraging early. At first glance, I thought they were large house cats; but three together? When their ringed tails and bandit eyes appeared in the ebbing twilight, I was blown away!

I often walk or sit under that tree. The squirrels amuse me as they chase each other’s tails. Blue jays screech from time to time, and playful goldfinches proffer a twinkling counterpoint in the bright sunlight. I’ve seen brown thrashers, loggerhead shrikes, and pileated woodpeckers in those gnarled branches. I’ve watched red-tailed hawks perch and search for prey within a hairs breadth from where I’m standing. But I never imagined there were wild raccoons sleeping in furry balls right over my head. How could I have missed them?

The world is full of hidden treasures all around us, and miracles and wonders from God. Just because we can’t see them, doesn’t mean they’re not there.

Bill Maher, a comedian and avowed atheist doesn’t believe in either religion or God. He holds tightly to his beliefs. Perhaps he’s afraid that if he lets go of his skepticism, he might find out he’s wrong?

For believers, God is real. He has answered their prayers and spoken to their hearts. To deny this reality would be to disavow their personal and private experience. This personal witness becomes a sure foundation of knowledge that cannot be denied.

Maher is like a child who sits before a plate of Brussels sprouts and declares he doesn’t like them, even though he’s never tasted them. Then he hides the evidence of their existence under his plate or under a nearby lettuce leaf and tells his mother (and everyone else) that the Brussels sprouts don’t exist because he (and you) can’t see them.

To a Christian, Maher’s position is both immature and foolish; like my story of the raccoons: “Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not up there.” This is where that invisible component called “faith” comes in. Why is it so hard to believe that God exists when evidence of his creations are all around us?  Is Evolution really a substantial explanation for our existence or is it still, after many decades, only a theory, an excuse, a crutch, for non-believers?

"Brown Thrasher" 16x20 acrylic on canvas in barnwood frame

Technology has advanced in quantum leaps over the past 30 years. Today transmitters communicate around the globe and into outer space, yet they are so small you can hold them in the palm of your hand or on a fingertip; some are even microscopic. These electronic devices may look naive and primitive fifty years from now as newer, smaller, faster, and smarter gadgets replace them. It’s simply a matter of time, degree and intelligence.

During the day, you can’t see the stars, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. Conversely, on a stormy day the sun’s light is blotted out, but its radiance still exists and glows continually in spite of the weather. God’s radiance and reality are constant and eternal, in spite of our darkened imperfect minds and man-made barriers.

"Looking over the Salt Lake valley from Immigration Canyon"

How foolish we are as humans to deny the existence of God because we cannot see him, because we don’t understand his ways, or because we can’t find physical evidence or proof that he is real; even though countless miracles happen every day in the realms of nature, science, medicine and personal encounter.

“But there’s a logical, scientific explanation for everything,” some may counter. And when there isn’t, science is all too eager to supply one, or at least a theory of rhetorical possibilities. We’ve lost that childlike quality of trusting divine truth and promise. The young child who leaps off of a ledge into the waiting arms of his or her father exercises this trust through love, knowledge, and personal experience. He or she has learned that their earthly father can be trusted.

We need this kind of faith again in our world to bring back God into our hearts. It’s a “letting go” of pride, bitterness, and stubbornness; character attributes that harden our hearts and close our minds to truth.

"Looking back across the causeway that bridges the Great Salt Lake, between Antelope Island and the city."

In “Our Daily Bread,” a Christian pamphlet produced monthly by RBC Ministries, the following story was included in the October 9 reading:

“If we’re not careful, we may become like the man who prided himself on being an expert archer. The secret to his success was that after he shot his arrow at the side of a barn, he painted a bull’s-eye around the arrow.”

Many people are so eager to be right, or so hungry for success and notoriety that they paint a ring around their own favorite causes, special interests or personal agendas and then proclaim that they’ve hit the bull’s-eye of truth.

Proverbs 14:12 tells us: “There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way of death.”

"Barn Swallows" on Antelope Island outside the Gift Shop"

God doesn’t need to prove his existence to us; it is we who need to conform to his will. He is the bull’s-eye we should aim for, not some delusional man-made target created by people who think they are smarter than God.