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This is the most asked question I get. What most people want to know is, “As an artist do you paint from memory?”  While some artists do paint from memory, my answer is never. Whether it is a lighthouse or a portrait of my Lab, Dolly, as a realist artist, reference materials like photos are a must for me to capture the proper proportions, lighting, and color.  

However, while reference materials are important to help bring the inspiration to life on my canvas, life experiences bring an equally important component to the success of my paintings.  This is why I also have a strong desire to experience the natural environments where my subjects live. 

Early in my art journey, I was told by my first mentor, Duane Raver, “Now that you are an artist, you will never see the details of God’s Glory the same.” And he was right.  Many times, I find myself evaluating an edge, or a light bounce, or the distant perspective of atmosphere, trying to understand how it will find it’s way into my capturing of how I see the “details of God’s Glory”.

For the first ten years of my present art journey my tag line was, “I’ve never had a class and never had a lesson.”  You see, as a child and pre-teen I often dabbled in painting, but at the start of my teenage years, I felt I had to put the brushes aside to concentrate on my schoolwork.  Having some challenging learning disabilities, it did not seem that there was room for my art with the demands of the school curriculum, especially of science and math.  Growing up in an upper middle-class environment, there was always pressure to succeed and as high school years turned into college years, engineering school became the path of choice, seemingly greatly opposed to the world of art.  

It took almost forty years for enough time to pass that I could once again tap into the art space of my heart.  I found myself in a season of life where the nest was empty and the days were longer. And at 50 years of age, I decided to pull out an easel and some acrylic paints that I had received as a Christmas present and start finding my way back to my love of painting.  

At about that ten-year point, it became clear to me that I had taken myself as far as I could in painting in my studio on my own. I desired to know more and grow in my craft, and to do that I would need to pursue a mentor relationship that would take me to those next levels. With help and guidance from some truly gifted and generous art mentors, whom I now call my friends, I have found myself in this present day space. For their truthful critique, and help in building a formal foundation of the fundamentals that was missing from doing it on my own, and changing my painting medium from acrylic to oil, I will always be eternally grateful.

It seems my love for all wildlife and seeing them in their natural habitats has been a part of me since childhood. I’ve been blessed to have the people and opportunities along the way that opened this up for me.  Both my Uncle Bill and Aunt Jane were always encouraging me to step into the sights and sounds of the outdoors.  Aunt Jane loved her birds.  She always had her patio feeder active with the neighboring birds and occasional mammals.  The specialized store-bought foods were never a thought for her, but table scraps from the breakfast table did the trick. And the variety of choices that came from her table satisfied the appetites of countless species at her Southeast Tennessee home.  

My Uncle Bill was older in years, more the age of a grandfather than an uncle.  I only knew him post retirement when he had the time on his hands to enjoy hanging out on that same patio where, on the outer corner, the bird feeder was mounted to an old cedar post that was just rising above what seemed to be an ancient juniper bush.  The birds found this arrangement to be the perfect offering providing many perching options for their egress to the feeder.   

I can still remember the laughter in my Aunt Jane’s voice, as she would share the story of my Uncle Bill and his Blue Bell cap.  You see, on many occasions, as Uncle Bill would be quietly resting in his favorite patio chair, the frequently visiting Chickadees would use the bill of his cap as a resting stop on their way to the feeder.  I can only imagine my Uncle Bill sitting there with an ornamental Chickadee getting the lay of the patio from the bill of his cap.  Only the Chickadees were comfortable enough to find this refuge, as they perched on top of the man that introduced me to the world of birding.     

As a young child, I have fond memories of that stretch of windy highway between Gatlinburg, Tennessee and Cherokee, North Carolina.  Newfound Gap Highway was known for numerous black bear sightings all along the way.  These were the days where the picnic waypoints contained a gravel parking pad, the traditional concrete picnic table and a trashcan made from a 55-gallon oil drum.  Black Bears were known for not being able to resist being drawn out into the open by the scent and aromas seeping from these points of treasure.  For two young boys, my brother and me, we were more than willing to post up at our car door windows in order to be the first to catch a glimpse of a Great Smoky Mountain Black Bear.  Here is where I first found affection for the icon of the Great Smoky Mountains, the Black Bear.

Many years after my first encounter with the Grizzly, on a late November evening I had my first close encounter with a Black Bear.  I was deer hunting from a ladder stand in Eastern North Carolina, my back against the woods, looking out across a clear cut.  There was a pine straw carpeted path right behind me that went from right to left.  With the sun just having dropped below the horizon and the temps falling, the hunt for the day was coming to a close.  There was just enough light to make out the shadows of the evening as I realized from my right, at 30 yards out, I had not one but three Black Bears coming straight toward my stand.  Not just three Black Bears, but a mama bear and her two cubs.  When it comes to the great outdoors, finding yourself between any mama and her young ones is never a good place to be, especially with bears.  So, what to do??  My first reaction was to whistle.  Mama looked straight up at me, not missing a single step of her bear gate, and not changing course.  My second reaction was to turn on my cell phone flashlight hoping to give her pause.  Ditto, she kept walking.  By this time, they were well within 15 yards from the base of the tree, so I then chose the direct communication approach, and in a stern voice I called out, “Hey, y’all get out of here!”  To my relief, their response resembled that of a busted covey of Bobwhite Quail.  Black shadows rocketing, each chose their own path directly into the woods. Whew, a moment of relief, giving me the time to quickly climb down from my stand, grab my gear and to make a bee line back to my truck, wrapping up another awesome day in the great outdoors.