I'll take mangos...

Marie Antoinette said let them eat cake. Personally I'll have mangos...mango snapper that is. You'll hear mangos called by a lot of different regional names like grey snapper and mangrove snapper; the latter because these fish are found in abundance just about anywhere you'll find mangrove environments and salt water. They have formatable teeth and when captured by anglers will snap with great gusto at any fleshy appendage in their sight. 

Years ago when Gia and myself were living in downtown Key West, we were out for an afternoon stroll when we spotted one of Gia's co-workers from the hospital fishing on a nearby break water. He was a new employee and new to South Florida. Gia introduced me to this young man and I asked how his fishing was going. He promptly told us it was his first time fishing in saltwater and he had no idea what to expect and so far he had not caught a single fish. The conversation shifted to where he was from and so on. While he was talking, his fishing rod suddenly arched seaward. He grabbed it and before too long he had a nice sized mango flapping on the break water. He was excited and talking away about how fun fishing was and how great Key West was and before I could agree he reached down to grab the mango to place in his cooler. Gia and myself skipped a breath as the snapper locked down on his thumb, blood flew and curses raged. 

As the fish was finally pulled free of my new acquaintance's hand, it angrily held on to a piece of his thumb now in the snappers possession. As he conked the fish on the head repeatedly he asked me, "what in the hell kind of fish is this"?! I paused a moment before telling him, "they call those toothy bastards"!

talk turkey

Spring will be here soon and is usually the case my mind drifts to turkey hunting and fishing. I like to work on small studies of subjects that I'm going to incorperate into larger paintings. Ican't remember which artist in history said paint a thousand pigeons and by the thousandth painting you'll know pigeons but it certainly is true.

the french say all great paintings have cracks

A lot of you kind folks out there that have been following my artistic progression have probably noticed how my technical execution of painting techniques has changed the way I'm expressing myself with paint. It's been a multi year study of the history of painting techniques that are allowing me to paint the way I currently am. I've got a long way to go but who knows, maybe a couple of hundred years from now one of my paintings will hang in a museum cracks and all. I personally like the cracks in the Mona Lisa. It's my understanding that the painting was done on a base of glue made from animal hides and through the years atmospheric expansion and contraction caused the cracks. The cracks weren't intended and in reality are a failure of the artists materials; some how it still works, don't you think?  

Oh well, like the French say,"all the great paintings have cracks".

catfish in december

We have been in middle of arctic blast here in Livingston and while enjoying a warm fire the other day, I started to think about what I would eat for lunch.  I went to the freezer, serveyed my options, pulled out a bag of channel catfish filets that Gia and myself caught in the Missouri River this last July.

As the catfishes sizzled in Gia's favorite cast iron skillet, I reflected on how wonderful and often times overlooked this fantastic North American gamefish is. One of my earliest memories of fishing in the hot jungle-like conditions of South Carolina was of being rewarded with feisty and very good to eat channel catfish.  While most people associate catfish with Elvis and southern cuisine, Gia and I have found them everywhere we have travelled, minus Alaska. 

As I enjoyed my lunch of catfish and the snow flew outside, it reminded me of sunny days on southern streams with names like Withlacoochee, all the way to northern streams with names like Milk. 

daily living with an artist...or at least Artist D. Rivers

It is the middle of December and it is post a very gnarly arctic blast. I get a phone call from D. asking if I have his truck keys.  Not sure why I would since I don't drive his truck often, so I say no.  Upon my arrival home to retrieve him to taxi him on his errand, he starts naming all of the locations he looked for his keys. While walking towards my rig, I spot something peculiar...his keys...in the passenger side door...in his truck.....

This is just a moment of a normal day living with this artist. He is one of the most intellectual, eccentric and talented people I know.  He is so absorbed in his career right now I don't believe he has the concentration to focus on the day to day living scheme.  Or maybe, it is just our scheme and he doesn't buy into it.  

Good Day!

fresh eggs to paint

meet Gertie......

Neither my wife, Gia, nor I have ever had chickens. This has become quite the life altering experience for both of us and our bird dogs.  Of the original three chickens, Gertie, is the last birdie....standing. What Gertie represents is far more than just a yard pet that brings hours of pointing for our bird dogs and giggles to Gia and I. You see, Gertie lays us one beautiful egg a day. It is at approximately the same time every day and I lovingly go out to the hen house and remove the deposit. These eggs are precious to me and always account for a battle of wills within me. Do I eat the fresh, delicious egg or do I use it produce artwork? These fresh eggs are far more palatable than store bought eggs, but they can also create exquisite paint colors on the palette.

Today I opted for the production of artwork, which probably has to do with the warm air finally arriving with the sunshine here in Livingston, Montana. Below is a painting I painted with (fresh) egg tempera on paper. 

-D. Rivers

he did it....AGAIN!

Being a non-artist living with an artist has proven to be quite the maddening challenge at times.  Yesterday we celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary (WOW!) and quoting a divorced artist friend of mine, "staying married for 20 years is way more difficult than divorcing".  It took me a bit to absorb what she meant.  

I am a clinical manager in a hospital setting; multitasking is my game.  I only have about a 1 mile ride home from work, thus not long to decompress from my stressful day.  Upon walking through our front door this evening, I felt as though I walked into a wall of pure heat. He did it....AGAIN! The thermostat in the living room read 84 degrees.  

I know the entire story before the clash of wills began. It is early April in Montana and it is overcast and humid.  His paintings are not drying rapidly enough for him.  Our gas and electric bill are not low enough for me. The paintings are lined up above, beside and around the gas fireplace. The struggle ensues in a typical married couple fashion as it does after a long, exhausting day of work.  We are both hungry, tired and cranky.

As the frustration and tears welled, my friends voice set in, "staying married for 20 years is way more difficult than divorcing". Ah-ha! I got it! This is what she meant.  He is my best friend, life partner, soul mate and most importantly, my favorite artist and I haven't even bothered to take a deep breath and look.  And not just look, but to see.  It was all around me and I haven't even noticed.  Maybe, just maybe....I did it....AGAIN?!

 above the fireplace

 and on the table

 and on the counter

How can you argue with a house full of beautiful art being created in various stages throughout your home?  I guess you can't.  Gotta love 'em..... 

-Gia