tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28754321054029634522024-03-12T18:50:10.771-07:00Land/Art DiariesBY CATE MOSES. Notes from the forest and studio, on land, nature, and art. All images © Cate Moses.Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-77771753682670584062015-08-09T08:18:00.000-07:002015-08-09T08:19:45.618-07:00First Iceland painting completed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF-9E6PHwUhjRP0n_W1_wqOIUjvafqZNdbMoEXGwGLWHqwNy9WPSodoMCA4xrgeCnFc4-xvPq8QnFB_Js4-2pcYanQJz93mQ5JMPe7Yw1NAUu6N7qLb0y6rSTO23H4BsT8UpTRnZrdwThX/s1600/Lambhagi_oil_andpaper_on_panel36x80Lrg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF-9E6PHwUhjRP0n_W1_wqOIUjvafqZNdbMoEXGwGLWHqwNy9WPSodoMCA4xrgeCnFc4-xvPq8QnFB_Js4-2pcYanQJz93mQ5JMPe7Yw1NAUu6N7qLb0y6rSTO23H4BsT8UpTRnZrdwThX/s640/Lambhagi_oil_andpaper_on_panel36x80Lrg.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Lambhagi--click on image to see the whole painting.<br />
oil, aspen bark, and paper on panel<br />
36 x 80 inches</div>
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New painting, inspired by my travels in Iceland. A lambhagi is a pen where newborn lambs were isolated from their mothers before the practice went out of fashion. It's also the name of a place on the trail to Skaftafell waterfall in Vatnajokull National Park that left an impression on me.</div>
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Icelanders cut down almost all of their trees centuries ago and are now trying to reforest. The hike to Skaftafell wound through a beautiful forest. In a small lambhagi in that birch and willow forest stood the biggest birch tree I'd seen in Iceland. An amazing beauty. A closer look revealed that it had been newly girdled by some axe-wielding lunatic and was dying. It broke my heart; such a beautiful place and such depths of human ignorance.</div>
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Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-84232692713544644272015-06-14T16:00:00.000-07:002015-06-15T14:19:30.966-07:00Icelandic Saga: Part 1<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was lucky enough to enjoy a late spring trip to Iceland with my family. Midnight sun, whales, puffins, hot springs, glaciers, and waterfalls; oh my! It's going to take several blog entries just to report the highlights. I'll be processing the imagery for months in my dreams and through painting. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Many tourists zip around the entire "Ring Road" encircling the country, but we opted to spend a week based in Reykjavk, taking day trips, and a week on the South Coast. The population of the whole country is about 330,000, and 119,000 live in Rekjavik. The rest of Iceland is rural, with tiny towns of only a few farms, and villages with a grocery store, church, clinic, and gas station. My teenager told me that if I said pastoral or bucolic one more time she was going to slap me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We stayed in a refurbished loft apartment in the heart of Reykjavik. Our landlord was still refurbishing when we got there. Because a few minor details we did not even notice remained undone, he gave my teenager her own adjacent loft apartment, rent free, to everyone's delight. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is swell street art everywhere in Reykjavik, some of it legal. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cats own the town. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People told us the cats were strays, but they were mostly fat and wearing collars. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We found our way on foot through shoulder-to-haunch cats to a swimming beach. Yes, a swimming beach, in Iceland. A brilliant local designed it in 2008, walling off a nano-bit of the bay with lava rocks (deposited everywhere from erupting volcanoes), and intermingling natural geothermal hot water with the sea water. The city imported a few tons of Moroccan sand to complete the scene. There are also hot pots there, so that one can cook oneself in preparation for a brisk dip. It was a chilly spring, even by local standards, and folks were out in their parkas with the whole family in tow, grilling ubiquitous Icelandic hot dogs at the beach. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Reykjavik is a great coffee town--not a bad cup to be had--but not a vegan paradise. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Minke whale, reindeer, formerly adorable puffins & baby sheep are what's on the menu. Iceland stopped hunting whales and then started again, reportedly to serve it up in tourist restaurants. If you go, enjoy the whales from a kayak, not on your plate, and let them know that eating whale is not an integral part of the tourist experience. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is a great contemporary art museum in Reykjavik. More about that in a later entry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our first foray out of Reykjavik in our trusty rent-a-wreck
was a tour through nearby <span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 14.9333333969116px;">Þingvellir N</span>ational Park . . .</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and the Golden Circle, featuring Europe's largest waterfall, Gulfoss, which is something like the Taos Box + Niagara, and the original Geyser, which gave the word to the English language. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjdGmtuqepNPbMlmtvX5nooUbNeEx2nJ8ljhjMuCEjpCZMzSnWSsNPagm5z4CA7jmmAXWT_T05RUkfExDrpjUNNFVw8Z3cEALeSqv7FGjRTR0q1mSpXUQ4YSN4w4ITuG2fVPzRNly9hC3M/s1600/IMG_0703.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjdGmtuqepNPbMlmtvX5nooUbNeEx2nJ8ljhjMuCEjpCZMzSnWSsNPagm5z4CA7jmmAXWT_T05RUkfExDrpjUNNFVw8Z3cEALeSqv7FGjRTR0q1mSpXUQ4YSN4w4ITuG2fVPzRNly9hC3M/s320/IMG_0703.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6cwqboFFPrH0kk0N8iz6gnU3gcdOZe1p-5axet5QU9-FxSTBY_Ups67XdjVkdyKVn9t3nJP1g9EoqFOYdtaO9Cv3wHFao6rDPHb_AGofSnrysX30Y3zbeI5smyLT6hWAJ68xv8iEMbdqO/s1600/IMG_0705G.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6cwqboFFPrH0kk0N8iz6gnU3gcdOZe1p-5axet5QU9-FxSTBY_Ups67XdjVkdyKVn9t3nJP1g9EoqFOYdtaO9Cv3wHFao6rDPHb_AGofSnrysX30Y3zbeI5smyLT6hWAJ68xv8iEMbdqO/s320/IMG_0705G.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We enjoyed the isolated expansive beauty mostly from inside the rent-a-wreck
with 30 mph winds raging. A light breeze by local standards. </span><br />
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The hot
pools in a small geothermal town on our way back to Reykjavik were perhaps the
best sensory part of the tour. The locals there were growing cherries in geothermal greenhouses & selling them to tourists for a buck a piece. And big honking raspberries.</span><br />
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Many little towns have naturally hot swimming pool complexes. Some have hot pots of varying temperatures for bathing. Reykjavik has one with a monumental internally LED lit water slide, volleyball courts, steam rooms, and a massage therapist. Locals hang out in these pools in the long summer evenings, and probably for much of the winter. It's a great social scene, with no phones or devices isolating people. No wonder they pulled off a 27-union national workers' movement whose demands were met while we were there. They are all hanging out actually talking to each other in the hot pools.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They cut down all of the
trees in Iceland a long time ago, but now they realize the error of their axes and have launched a national tree-planting love fest. Hardy little birch
and evergreens are braving the wind along every roadside. The government hands out plaques to tree planters. The US
Forest Service should be sent to Iceland to learn the value of trees.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidp4PKJEsHiSu1YoNCIsYG45fwpq-3pASS29MXyu_w3D8R2SZCZ7MlN-8pUEnOzw4fh2Fp2pi4W3ImmRRMkeFyWJj3IB3j3ovWI1pn-QHXPKsgdxCGHM2f8RYcWq5YAZNqRTVbq4WC30YB/s1600/IMG_0778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidp4PKJEsHiSu1YoNCIsYG45fwpq-3pASS29MXyu_w3D8R2SZCZ7MlN-8pUEnOzw4fh2Fp2pi4W3ImmRRMkeFyWJj3IB3j3ovWI1pn-QHXPKsgdxCGHM2f8RYcWq5YAZNqRTVbq4WC30YB/s320/IMG_0778.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because I never miss an opportunity to see whales, we donned full body parkas that double as flotation suits and set out on the Atlantic, whale watching. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqU_7aIQ6zRnPIzeMSFVnagKbTgrPWA7iCgvz0gqTKDKm7qYwJsancTsCmieICl4nBa3YN7kNCtc2970eHciNak9ZBRbXnNij_TqzUa9h5YWpbP1fbBJEYzYZF3l17AfFFz1GQHGGmafsI/s1600/IMG_0734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqU_7aIQ6zRnPIzeMSFVnagKbTgrPWA7iCgvz0gqTKDKm7qYwJsancTsCmieICl4nBa3YN7kNCtc2970eHciNak9ZBRbXnNij_TqzUa9h5YWpbP1fbBJEYzYZF3l17AfFFz1GQHGGmafsI/s320/IMG_0734.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Above: the Harpa (Reykjavik) Concert Hall & Cultural Center, from the harbor.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_TGDS9RxCQMM2Ki8hbiXoBJfs-vxc5PtqO7gGSI1KL70xgoZK00-FrO18W_t1X1f4HAMhMjavAYZ9G_28LCNYxy62_P-2hhyuFD78wx5j_E5hxyOAmT-HF3g4ji5NV5ZbINXVYb4a5M0/s1600/IMG_0735.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_TGDS9RxCQMM2Ki8hbiXoBJfs-vxc5PtqO7gGSI1KL70xgoZK00-FrO18W_t1X1f4HAMhMjavAYZ9G_28LCNYxy62_P-2hhyuFD78wx5j_E5hxyOAmT-HF3g4ji5NV5ZbINXVYb4a5M0/s320/IMG_0735.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9J-1zEi-tMIL3NE6M_pHhOFVpKwkLp9bWm_cE0p94qluXQCd_q2Dtf7xFC_g-dKLD2ei5yFyBJvZ54TyitHi_QaaYixAFZm1GnDZLIJhyphenhypheniH-aFoxafoV2-qhN6EcwKob1G3N6Fbwf60ET/s1600/IMG_0738.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9J-1zEi-tMIL3NE6M_pHhOFVpKwkLp9bWm_cE0p94qluXQCd_q2Dtf7xFC_g-dKLD2ei5yFyBJvZ54TyitHi_QaaYixAFZm1GnDZLIJhyphenhypheniH-aFoxafoV2-qhN6EcwKob1G3N6Fbwf60ET/s320/IMG_0738.JPG" width="203" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was actually the warmest sunniest day of our trip (not very). And winds at only 10-15 mph. We were rewarded with a visit from 2 minke whales calmly hanging out, diving, and feeding. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5nErXayHbgt5VUVKE_DAvT-_Upc67hf0r_aSXCywEQFdspVOrRybuJVDlmKU7wPWkYrajOHh6lYGBXW5L0f207BDx5mCRkcWgHaVjkDzQstC3YFCSmEGOV8Q-ARQRHNIRmPyN3d7QPlp8/s1600/minke_whale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5nErXayHbgt5VUVKE_DAvT-_Upc67hf0r_aSXCywEQFdspVOrRybuJVDlmKU7wPWkYrajOHh6lYGBXW5L0f207BDx5mCRkcWgHaVjkDzQstC3YFCSmEGOV8Q-ARQRHNIRmPyN3d7QPlp8/s320/minke_whale.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Later, on the way home
from fabulous hot pools, we caught a brilliant sunset over the bay, the
1st real sunset we saw in Iceland. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKlvZUJ3YyFgd3_FQIE36QsiJSfDph7xpWSnuCHs6Yt7v8BHE3LswyEY3jmSEV4K940RGvxaKwbN_PLSfVsGRJ4O69_Iyrg8BoBd8gRf0QlcgTTehUTrFjVrHF9Sz0qK8Zj8DvvL2yJju/s1600/IMG_0793LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKlvZUJ3YyFgd3_FQIE36QsiJSfDph7xpWSnuCHs6Yt7v8BHE3LswyEY3jmSEV4K940RGvxaKwbN_PLSfVsGRJ4O69_Iyrg8BoBd8gRf0QlcgTTehUTrFjVrHF9Sz0qK8Zj8DvvL2yJju/s320/IMG_0793LR.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It never gets dark--except for the entire winter. The summer sun fades into twilight, and five minutes later, around 3:30 a.m., the sun rises again. But when there is a fabulous sunset, it lasts for hours. It morphed and reflected off the still bay from 10:00 until after midnight. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWZd9jgp79LQFZ3Pc8-6TdeIOjoPc83ol-_auAM8ix1uWPqlDk8eabqkXS8IMbpzbjQqXdgNu_l5-BVoRRQn53yfJrQo27L6ljhSIKBWHUndmzmPZvVlRtOaaz6Ugu3_wvfJVVczVM79Sn/s1600/IMG_0797LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWZd9jgp79LQFZ3Pc8-6TdeIOjoPc83ol-_auAM8ix1uWPqlDk8eabqkXS8IMbpzbjQqXdgNu_l5-BVoRRQn53yfJrQo27L6ljhSIKBWHUndmzmPZvVlRtOaaz6Ugu3_wvfJVVczVM79Sn/s320/IMG_0797LR.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, did I mention that
I'm changing my name to Halldor? I love the Icelandic language even as I
daily butcher it. Better butcher a language than a whale, I always say. </span></div>
Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-14721515814651825972015-05-11T10:34:00.001-07:002015-05-11T10:34:51.425-07:00<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Maybelle--Queen of our yard. Ahem . . . I mean her yard. I'm spending a lot of time Maybelle-watching, and most enjoyable time it is. I'm painting wolves right now, but I will definitely be doing a painting of Maybelle the Magnificent. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2Rwkzc5Xos7nQsWUFihjBmEzafdBpV-YkZ0WUSLTcCgss94Wtk7zHwlSpLFBWjQfYMu07X3HNelrGijh-TAhV64YInquVJWHFPnv_olSWxQ2zY7vm1OnX3h28fK20IEwWzxj4Yu1RtMr/s1600/Maybelle+006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2Rwkzc5Xos7nQsWUFihjBmEzafdBpV-YkZ0WUSLTcCgss94Wtk7zHwlSpLFBWjQfYMu07X3HNelrGijh-TAhV64YInquVJWHFPnv_olSWxQ2zY7vm1OnX3h28fK20IEwWzxj4Yu1RtMr/s320/Maybelle+006.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">She follows the cats around, always within a few feet, screaming at them, pecking menacingly at tree branches, and dive bombing. They come running for the door like they've been fired from a cannon, with her swooping right on their butts. As soon as they are safely in, they give me that stink-eye "whaaat?" look and proclaim that they were coming in anyway just then & the bird had nothing to do with it. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFHDll6e3_RubuQV3duEsnoh7XSdO-JGq_p-3mUx6fkZ61QOdvco0RyFcQ5muo0RdsS7QYPBSlPJBePZaKsSV9bSe2HV4oVz67Mw9ytU36W9Sp8UZQ_X6irlH5h_lngHG4dL55MjpgBm_/s1600/Maybelle+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFHDll6e3_RubuQV3duEsnoh7XSdO-JGq_p-3mUx6fkZ61QOdvco0RyFcQ5muo0RdsS7QYPBSlPJBePZaKsSV9bSe2HV4oVz67Mw9ytU36W9Sp8UZQ_X6irlH5h_lngHG4dL55MjpgBm_/s320/Maybelle+003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, 'lucida grande', sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">Last night Ron lay in the sill of an open window, inside the house, and Maybelle perched on plant pots stacked outside the window, screaming at him for a good half hour. I love her! Cats are safely indoors most of the time now & rodent and bird death in the yard is down about 90%. Watch out for that bobcat, Maybelle. Not a kitty to mess with.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIkTy_C8k7cBCRt7HkYG9JiCO_1zsWk1ANNGyJzCV2UST1Zkqo88HURKW4q-kNG0Yhm660oq8C4BLcR9gTvSt8p9DxK6A_aSRSHmxlPZlPYDXOOu677DlfM5iBwAiHc0soxHXu0S3V9SOV/s1600/Maybelle+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIkTy_C8k7cBCRt7HkYG9JiCO_1zsWk1ANNGyJzCV2UST1Zkqo88HURKW4q-kNG0Yhm660oq8C4BLcR9gTvSt8p9DxK6A_aSRSHmxlPZlPYDXOOu677DlfM5iBwAiHc0soxHXu0S3V9SOV/s320/Maybelle+005.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-37901085772807969792014-01-05T12:37:00.001-08:002014-01-06T08:37:12.913-08:00Deer Sonograms<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibtzjQfYJQWAn3h6vkRmdU1atCBqfOAyfJqWu0FpXKNPYRLs8B6jxpO9JUCWGWK_HmHpkGXuBHPjtIxviez7wK1eqOYm3R7GJKDdX7U01OmG6IIkdLVKiW3958f-seOlBdD2I0TPqnuCL7/s1600/Deer_Sonogram_T-2-3_watercolor_5x7LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibtzjQfYJQWAn3h6vkRmdU1atCBqfOAyfJqWu0FpXKNPYRLs8B6jxpO9JUCWGWK_HmHpkGXuBHPjtIxviez7wK1eqOYm3R7GJKDdX7U01OmG6IIkdLVKiW3958f-seOlBdD2I0TPqnuCL7/s320/Deer_Sonogram_T-2-3_watercolor_5x7LR.jpg" height="219" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGF6bd3d_fI_JSq77PH-njekwc9BqYyG5ih-ZRmhCZmk5NRyXsj1_RY2H9hKUHW88jp2IDdprN-tbZ0jh-2cGxkfJFpxe8z8qMM8VJdrJOIwoXsYTZl9zRHfVAM_wG_d12YnhcwNEUvgy/s1600/Deer_Sonogram_TL-K3_watercolor_5x7LR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGF6bd3d_fI_JSq77PH-njekwc9BqYyG5ih-ZRmhCZmk5NRyXsj1_RY2H9hKUHW88jp2IDdprN-tbZ0jh-2cGxkfJFpxe8z8qMM8VJdrJOIwoXsYTZl9zRHfVAM_wG_d12YnhcwNEUvgy/s320/Deer_Sonogram_TL-K3_watercolor_5x7LR.jpg" height="222" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">And now for something completely different: deer sonograms. My thoughts about my pregnant daughter and my ruminations on the life cycle of deer seem to have found common ground. Watercolor, 5 x 7 inches.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I've observed the same big doe and her family in the wild </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">for years now. This year, for the first time I know of, she had triplets instead of twins. She was so big and uncomfortable in July that I was concerned for her safety. She looked like a cow. Her front legs were wide apart and facing outward with the heavy load of what I knew had to be three fawns. I was relieved when all were delivered healthy. All three look robust going into their first winter. They have the benefit of a steady water supply and quality food, near a river. That and great mothering mean everything.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">I've been doing a lot of watercolors in the wee hours when I cannot sleep. Painting is so much more fun than lying in bed fixating on things that would never enter my consciousness in the day time. The down side, if there is one, is that four hours slip by while I'm in the creative space, and I toddle back to bed near dawn. </span>Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-87844688337235206142013-01-25T19:19:00.001-08:002013-01-25T19:29:04.744-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH43sggDKuHq-saaIzNSGzVGsb9f28NZQJ3htP_38Ec7jXN4Dd72bpbEhPADcLz9dFTDh4XidWXtYfqhtnm4CgUN0dTJMqdH_VVa-YUaoHJzJ5UcxNT3G4ukOG9l3DIWawg7EfkssQj05Z/s1600/Lucky_60x50_Lrg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH43sggDKuHq-saaIzNSGzVGsb9f28NZQJ3htP_38Ec7jXN4Dd72bpbEhPADcLz9dFTDh4XidWXtYfqhtnm4CgUN0dTJMqdH_VVa-YUaoHJzJ5UcxNT3G4ukOG9l3DIWawg7EfkssQj05Z/s320/Lucky_60x50_Lrg.jpg" width="261" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Lucky's Reach</i>, oil, enamel, shot targets, and gel transfer on canvas, wood frame, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">60 x 50 inches (click on image to enlarge)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lucky is a fawn born last June. I've been following his family (quite literally) for several years now. This painting continues my <i>Horizontal Brothers</i> (John Muir's words for nonhuman animals) series. It's part of a new group of paintings celebrating the Santa Fe River, a reach of which is Lucky's home turf. The Santa Fe City Council committed to keeping water running in Lucky's Reach of this endangered river. It's been a tremendous support to the neighborhood wildlife, including a group of three wild turkey hens I've been seeing there regularly. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2J-9_vEc8wPnk_IEaW9Vz8GVVd5Ev5LFe0qUX9WYluJmbk3OFIAedsLM_aAttqfx-uwJubsRlIJY-rFs_3HfVrX5PPAH0I8lj9LU8sFxD3qefRXS-f1jQVQj2NMK_qIFY-OW-f-Rw31wu/s1600/Turkeys020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2J-9_vEc8wPnk_IEaW9Vz8GVVd5Ev5LFe0qUX9WYluJmbk3OFIAedsLM_aAttqfx-uwJubsRlIJY-rFs_3HfVrX5PPAH0I8lj9LU8sFxD3qefRXS-f1jQVQj2NMK_qIFY-OW-f-Rw31wu/s320/Turkeys020.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Coming soon: a turkey painting. Meanwhile, long may they all run. Special thanks to the Santa Fe Watershed Association. </span></div>
Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-57501603146921171262012-09-13T16:05:00.002-07:002012-09-13T16:05:33.754-07:00Drowned Sparrow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOlgF6VJI5kc5RYppc6juNVDZ9KxmOZfOGWQ8eQZuF3HW2YcCmE2DwWFQfBwQAMetbkH-n3AKlyl-fHaz-SE-mI6Jqi4d2mxdqnYaEh720X3qHRM99mf-1BgVcxazdXpzw30xoA_7YcF7/s1600/Drowned_Sparrrow_8x8_oil_on_panel-lrg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvOlgF6VJI5kc5RYppc6juNVDZ9KxmOZfOGWQ8eQZuF3HW2YcCmE2DwWFQfBwQAMetbkH-n3AKlyl-fHaz-SE-mI6Jqi4d2mxdqnYaEh720X3qHRM99mf-1BgVcxazdXpzw30xoA_7YcF7/s320/Drowned_Sparrrow_8x8_oil_on_panel-lrg.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<em>Drowned Sparrow</em> / oil on panel / 8 x 8 x 2 inches</div>
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In my last post, I wrote about finding a drowning sparrow in the Santa Fe River and rescuing her. When I went back to check on her in the warm nest I had made, she had passed away, still standing upright. She remained that way for several days. </div>
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The little bird haunted me. All I could do was give her new life in a painting. In addition to a memorial, the painting is also an homage to the German expressionist painter Franz Marc, one of my favorite masters. If you can tell me which of Marc's paintings inspired my stylistic treatment of the sparrow, I'll buy you a cup of coffee.</div>
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My painting is on exhibit in Arroyo Gallery in Telluride, Colorado. </div>
Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-15556582530465442832012-05-22T13:37:00.001-07:002012-07-05T12:17:09.852-07:00Two Ecosystems, One Morning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi6-X628tjsbvMge9KdV10s__h6F5I0G6du7vBE2RjaFiivZfwwn5y640Civ_X09Ne9K0a_2L3RSaxBhkD7psTCcsKd8n3s_0rlOfLSuA7HhVbZfAo-6MnNsHWV9FAH67gn6w5JO6HeZrO/s1600/WaterGateHandColored.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi6-X628tjsbvMge9KdV10s__h6F5I0G6du7vBE2RjaFiivZfwwn5y640Civ_X09Ne9K0a_2L3RSaxBhkD7psTCcsKd8n3s_0rlOfLSuA7HhVbZfAo-6MnNsHWV9FAH67gn6w5JO6HeZrO/s320/WaterGateHandColored.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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This morning's run covered a stretch of the Santa Fe River along Upper Canyon Road, beginning at Alameda. </div>
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If you live in Santa Fe and have not been down to see this year's snowmelt and the resulting<br />
(high desert version of a) jungle, do like Bruce Springsteen said and go Down to the River. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJorO71wyFOWeTwv_CtdoYc2RSfGfD3CFnQ0IN3HL2xqDayBTH7mqKnk-z42l8pJHwC6NM9k7w_ce-j6cJvzieBQVjNHyEi-d_BGwzmFTkPdM77kPYK6cURJpKPwZg1DrCTtSPIxHte6l-/s1600/Water_gates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJorO71wyFOWeTwv_CtdoYc2RSfGfD3CFnQ0IN3HL2xqDayBTH7mqKnk-z42l8pJHwC6NM9k7w_ce-j6cJvzieBQVjNHyEi-d_BGwzmFTkPdM77kPYK6cURJpKPwZg1DrCTtSPIxHte6l-/s320/Water_gates.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm drawn to the intersection of nature and the industrial/antique. These gates divert water into the Acequia Madre. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjODnOFqQBqQT_askQ3_f1-m4grQlnkNWo3jxXC5pzVsfbmVfjfF3Sth9CVx_mSK59IThXAkfOPMaaMCdrZ-WVXQgzOBKgWyF5-7C9wa-FLG4t1jpZHzMa296-qDyJmuw0HM0RgCO9GBt3i/s1600/Bench.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjODnOFqQBqQT_askQ3_f1-m4grQlnkNWo3jxXC5pzVsfbmVfjfF3Sth9CVx_mSK59IThXAkfOPMaaMCdrZ-WVXQgzOBKgWyF5-7C9wa-FLG4t1jpZHzMa296-qDyJmuw0HM0RgCO9GBt3i/s320/Bench.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgmeiVSJQEmsR1cIxaGSW8fM8QLmoYiN3MUO0I_0xfvEGNhy-lwrGMH1rzngvesXlIafhWwoYhZtOlWh2PUY6ZmSUNM835WeZoACFzpX7iSZn5QPuqqgn31Jxi7_Z-F985PFO3PY_O1tZL/s1600/DeadBird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgmeiVSJQEmsR1cIxaGSW8fM8QLmoYiN3MUO0I_0xfvEGNhy-lwrGMH1rzngvesXlIafhWwoYhZtOlWh2PUY6ZmSUNM835WeZoACFzpX7iSZn5QPuqqgn31Jxi7_Z-F985PFO3PY_O1tZL/s320/DeadBird.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I found a juvenile bird floating downriver, gasping for breath. I picked him up, cradled him in my hands, and made him a warm nest in a quiet place. When I returned later, hehad died. I took these photos after his passing. His mother had built a nest over the acequia, when no water was running . The nest is now empty. I hope its siblings did not meet similar fates. I've been thinking about this little being ever since. I've no doubt I will make a painting to memorialize it. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicPkv5IRwvYZ0moLUAXAy0KquBz3mHXslgIQ4DMLvz8bWvSKb6KHlM1FNHF9q_pwUmbxFebmbezDeqBuIyBQk-zxris-YF1cbqNLyUdPZr83MfA_LnFI7yeHfLc2iIgGLtLywRRCli7q2H/s1600/DeadBird2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicPkv5IRwvYZ0moLUAXAy0KquBz3mHXslgIQ4DMLvz8bWvSKb6KHlM1FNHF9q_pwUmbxFebmbezDeqBuIyBQk-zxris-YF1cbqNLyUdPZr83MfA_LnFI7yeHfLc2iIgGLtLywRRCli7q2H/s320/DeadBird2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw_7kv4nbik2z5IV8PyGSO7Tz5lKyNhaTDbBsBFf61Doz-InNMU28lIHS5e8VlLFI6AiUdbb5qlCWkbZZ77V6hG6kZEGUVM2DWblziJWvbMgoQGAz-6zRWCdONmJ3VFjEng3vkuFN59n_J/s1600/EagleNest.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw_7kv4nbik2z5IV8PyGSO7Tz5lKyNhaTDbBsBFf61Doz-InNMU28lIHS5e8VlLFI6AiUdbb5qlCWkbZZ77V6hG6kZEGUVM2DWblziJWvbMgoQGAz-6zRWCdONmJ3VFjEng3vkuFN59n_J/s320/EagleNest.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
A little further upstream, I came upon a raptor's nest, about three feet in diameter. No visible occupants.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKoJMpMwAfkimE2CUY1xFrujnZ5LiW4YapHabGkD3b-SFh3Cra3BV2fk5mh6n7PzJ0-7dUJTL4iJVTnDewgVgNo3rds8aIwCpU52HBUxm-rPRhD40dvkSDJ-h9n8-T-GU3UeCi8avtzLh/s1600/LazyRiver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdKoJMpMwAfkimE2CUY1xFrujnZ5LiW4YapHabGkD3b-SFh3Cra3BV2fk5mh6n7PzJ0-7dUJTL4iJVTnDewgVgNo3rds8aIwCpU52HBUxm-rPRhD40dvkSDJ-h9n8-T-GU3UeCi8avtzLh/s320/LazyRiver.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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A favorite children's spot, quiet now.</div>
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I left the river, wild sweet peas, willows, and tangle of vines behind, and crossed Upper Canyon Road into a very different ecosystem; the high alpine desert. . .<br />
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. . . and made my way home across a dry, pi<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">ñ</span>on-dotted ridge, not without ornaments of its own. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0gl8-cNGMDt-1_rMxPuc7-wVeQwnUUL6I51zfc_ZrQGxQXWMPnxN6eOr4B4cyOkReVNd5y9T5XKlFdIx3z4m8xXEZl52QdLnf9ieU8ap8UaOkoBNsVZMQirYtKWL104nTYp9PB893Nme/s1600/PricklyPearBloom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0gl8-cNGMDt-1_rMxPuc7-wVeQwnUUL6I51zfc_ZrQGxQXWMPnxN6eOr4B4cyOkReVNd5y9T5XKlFdIx3z4m8xXEZl52QdLnf9ieU8ap8UaOkoBNsVZMQirYtKWL104nTYp9PB893Nme/s320/PricklyPearBloom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-50857619041470875182012-05-15T10:11:00.000-07:002012-05-15T10:12:37.381-07:00May thunderstorm, from the ridge behind my house<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The coolest, loveliest, least windy spring in at least three decades is still gracing us with its presence. I was out running the ridge behind my house when a thunderstorm moved in and then to the West. The Jemez Mountains are barely visible through the rain. <br />
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I rounded the back of the ridge, and saw snow falling at our ski basin, 10-12 miles north as the crow flies. <br />
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And little signs of spring everywhere.</div>
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I would not have seen these tiny pi<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">ñ</span>on jays if their mother had not flown in and out a couple of times with food. What a good mom, to have raised five of them to this age, and all looking healthy and content. I'll be doing a painting of them soon. I'm now working on a steller's jay and blocking out a portrait of a gorgeous little buck I've known for a couple of years, who lives on this ridge.Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-76298343925809942722012-05-09T08:45:00.001-07:002012-05-09T08:45:15.964-07:00Running at 10,000 feet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm lucky to live where I live! Especially in this, the loveliest spring I've experienced in 37 years in NM. Although we have not enjoyed much rain this spring, it has been unusally cool, with mild winds; rather than the usual "hair dryer" weather of spring in the Southwest. Even with little rain, flora are budding out and blooming long. I ran at 10,000 feet yesterday, along a nameless stream, and took these photographs. There were elk nearby, but they did not consent to be photographed. <br />
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<br />Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-20041850842194898522012-04-11T14:32:00.000-07:002012-04-11T14:32:02.680-07:00Why I Paint<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7uEWXKsz8AYnsxVtN-q7BD2IEzgrtvMQdIx_w3bykQYua46_jBzAohxKdKowtvSL8gyFFOnvfruZnrUcMcw1RyN6KLsX6CQM7cOemCUdf_ghgysEQqpwoO9HZNeu0NAw0X-suGwtW47O/s1600/Grass_Mountain_Pikas_12x16_oil_on_panel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" qda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7uEWXKsz8AYnsxVtN-q7BD2IEzgrtvMQdIx_w3bykQYua46_jBzAohxKdKowtvSL8gyFFOnvfruZnrUcMcw1RyN6KLsX6CQM7cOemCUdf_ghgysEQqpwoO9HZNeu0NAw0X-suGwtW47O/s320/Grass_Mountain_Pikas_12x16_oil_on_panel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em> Grass Mountain Pikas</em>, oil on panel, 12 x 16 inches</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv1jVzt7Vs2FwSn6B9fkHzqEDYQr94HC7BY3WQIZjEB5X9wmm7nDV6Ajmylj_lLH957A3SgKvhrLQIu5xAc9zuBG3IYJt-yKJ5DS8Np-J8j3gWuKJz4_nHx5EmPDW7QqmpsIAOEa_j0DN-/s1600/Mountain_Lion_at_Rio_Pueblo_Gorge_24x18_oilLrg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv1jVzt7Vs2FwSn6B9fkHzqEDYQr94HC7BY3WQIZjEB5X9wmm7nDV6Ajmylj_lLH957A3SgKvhrLQIu5xAc9zuBG3IYJt-yKJ5DS8Np-J8j3gWuKJz4_nHx5EmPDW7QqmpsIAOEa_j0DN-/s320/Mountain_Lion_at_Rio_Pueblo_Gorge_24x18_oilLrg.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Mountain Lion at Rio Pueblo Gorge</em>, Taos / oil on canvas, 24 x 18 inches</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">You're all invited to Botanica, a group exhibition at Arroyo, 200 Canyon Road, Santa Fe (505.988.1002), Friday, 13 April, 5:00-7:00 p.m. I'll be there. So will the pikas.</div><br />
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The water dakinis are being kind to us here in Santa Fe. We've actually had a few drops of rain. And the snow melt continues to feed the mountain streams. It's been worse here. Way worse. Living through the most severe drought in recorded history, we're hanging in there. <br />
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I was out running by one of those little snow-fed streams this morning, thinking about why I paint. Maybe thinking is an exaggeration. It's pretty simple. I can't not. It's a cliché and it's true. Why I paint wildlife is a bit more complicated, but the essence of it is that I believe they'll all be gone in 100 years. I'm a visual griot, a recorder of the soon-to-be-lost. <br />
<br />
If that sounds too doomsday for you, I hope it is. I hope I'm way wrong. I spend considerable time tracking, observing, and photographing wildlife. Painting is an excuse that enables me to do that. I also study wildlife in a nonexperiential way. I read a lot of books and research, watch films, and study other people's photos and narratives of wildlife. All of this leads me to conclude that humans have been hell bent on eradicating every living thing on the planet, ourselves included, for about as long as we have been around. And we've gotten progressively better at it. If it sounds crazy to say that there will be no mule deer in 100 years, consider that that is what people said about the carrier pigeon before it went from plentiful to extinct in less than a decade. <br />
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Cheery as thinking about an Earth without wildlife isn't, it lends an urgency to my work. I do what I can to make mine an unfulfilled prophecy. <br />
<br />
Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-63079622827975719822011-12-02T09:50:00.000-08:002011-12-05T19:05:35.969-08:00In the Service of the Beaver<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Valles Caldera: The Return of the Beaver / oil and mixed media on canvas / 16 x 12 inches </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBiiAtA_R0Q90zyL-LAwW9JytsRCab73n1dKLt46czwKcsM-e5MNARgkD6FOrdq_1SAn8J-6pylK1MhjOXXDR72cL7p1aRxxhtnNUpl59aa500qyfQAVN1BcLemcvokHVkE3lEwrDPIQMu/s320/AboveAuga+Sarco16x12Lrg.jpg" width="241" /></div><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CCate%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CCate%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"></link><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CCate%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"></link><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I was fortunate to be able to join WildEarth Guardians on a recent Beaver Restoration Project in Valles Caldera. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Cattle have recently been removed from riparian areas in the Valles Caldera Preserve, and wildlife biologists have been anticipating the return of native beavers, who were starved out of the area decades ago by cattle competing with them for food. Their preferred food is the inner bark of willow and poplar saplings.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Two wildlife biologists had been monitoring the entry and exit points of the San Antonio River in the Preserve for signs of beaver activity, but they spotted nothing--until recently. To their surprise, one of them stumbled upon a small beaver dam deep in the heart of the preserve. A trail cam confirmed the presence of an occupant. The little guy (or gal) trudged for miles to lay claim to a new home on the river. </div><div class="MsoNormal">By the time dam construction began, winter was approaching, and food supplies were scarce. WildEarth Guardians came to the rescue. Local Guardians loaded a large flatbed with willow shoots, some generously donated by Santa Clara Pueblo, and we set out for the site in the midst of one of the season's first snowstorms. We also brought more than forty willow saplings to plant on the river banks, so the beaver will have a food supply upon emergence in the spring. In the photos below you will see two handsome foresters operating an auger for the tree planting. (We're sporting day-glo vests because it is elk hunting season). WildEarth Guardians plant thousands of trees every year, hiring local labor to supplement their volunteer workforce. </div><div class="MsoNormal">We made our way to the site and spent the day off-loading the willow bundles, dragging them over a ridge and down the other side to the river, and placing them on the banks, cut side in the water, which served as the beaver's big refrigerator. We wished we could have seen the little guy's face when he emerged after we left.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzU5jC3-XMyqKrDRjw0r7qIX9M-zkv-ZS8kV7iLhbm9Kw_r4f69ioiIO9TFQdW8g9t8jr0W7NmaV_ulLX3lkl2G9fRHX-zq2dsB55yp1lTiC5maBenhz591DBul-kdnvR18kkS8waSYaZ/s1600/Serving+the+Beaver+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzU5jC3-XMyqKrDRjw0r7qIX9M-zkv-ZS8kV7iLhbm9Kw_r4f69ioiIO9TFQdW8g9t8jr0W7NmaV_ulLX3lkl2G9fRHX-zq2dsB55yp1lTiC5maBenhz591DBul-kdnvR18kkS8waSYaZ/s320/Serving+the+Beaver+025.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPbf0aIRr13IQEwrPG7vZNbVeYDDLPKj4uSe4Q-ZrylsbjqQiwimcjsOJGieEDgOOIq2RWSjoQFzG84O1gguO_ha1KHIcp_yDIKr16jAo3N-_BTe1fCe4ZHlUMuVAGxJ-Gb3QjXULEAyb/s1600/Serving+the+Beaver+080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPbf0aIRr13IQEwrPG7vZNbVeYDDLPKj4uSe4Q-ZrylsbjqQiwimcjsOJGieEDgOOIq2RWSjoQFzG84O1gguO_ha1KHIcp_yDIKr16jAo3N-_BTe1fCe4ZHlUMuVAGxJ-Gb3QjXULEAyb/s320/Serving+the+Beaver+080.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDIk5Yhlf-vwPHPpXcZhaD2F01lEwoP9eC3-dJy-SDe7lwQIKcjGHe27d1URhWt2XKDxG96N6ecRiBWVII-GLLiq7mEEweo8mdmGm7_644qLZlgc9On3LZZLijD4m_puxM24EiI7TJnNK/s1600/T%2521cid_82034D56-BF67-456B-B318-B7791F695A23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDIk5Yhlf-vwPHPpXcZhaD2F01lEwoP9eC3-dJy-SDe7lwQIKcjGHe27d1URhWt2XKDxG96N6ecRiBWVII-GLLiq7mEEweo8mdmGm7_644qLZlgc9On3LZZLijD4m_puxM24EiI7TJnNK/s320/T%2521cid_82034D56-BF67-456B-B318-B7791F695A23.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A second beaver painting is coming soon.</div>Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-81802552198822710972011-11-16T13:32:00.000-08:002011-11-16T17:37:02.301-08:00Lone Buck Mountain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Running up Lone Buck Mountain, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">with a nice cold wind blowing from the west.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9WigrZImem4Vnx2qASnp1gf24Pv8tV8-6bqOvTzgHrufMO4mw8Wgmtbe7rHuzZCSZljuaDTgwehd7ryl5xlpt5jx7innJT7DS7f7gAFAcjl6rBuKg7plIJYvj1CEEHVy7PQ6FqGX5WD-0/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9WigrZImem4Vnx2qASnp1gf24Pv8tV8-6bqOvTzgHrufMO4mw8Wgmtbe7rHuzZCSZljuaDTgwehd7ryl5xlpt5jx7innJT7DS7f7gAFAcjl6rBuKg7plIJYvj1CEEHVy7PQ6FqGX5WD-0/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Going up. Looking across Bear Canyon at Picacho.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCqth99-N8oKaKbct6E0tPIkhMcK6YwR7cc4GbEfnIngrCCbuxEogjbEmUxmTxnaP6ep6Pcyr3dpVsh8MdsnaZ3Eqlv9HwP-YyvqOO8efrx5pWtyFTMAlTWbvVaFhNbpcjNH760uiuU4B/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCqth99-N8oKaKbct6E0tPIkhMcK6YwR7cc4GbEfnIngrCCbuxEogjbEmUxmTxnaP6ep6Pcyr3dpVsh8MdsnaZ3Eqlv9HwP-YyvqOO8efrx5pWtyFTMAlTWbvVaFhNbpcjNH760uiuU4B/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> The top of Picacho, still above me. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAT22PY143tQstMVjKClcXkmLADFaQtY0Ijnji9WVn3HU7YOAXtSYI39uwkb5vutNjb3J0DniOxS1VXSPVuUl3qY_CF1IIuogIH6POvU0RVLQOlPorTBF32Nlu-iaHQ5ynLt1HlBJfPDX/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyAT22PY143tQstMVjKClcXkmLADFaQtY0Ijnji9WVn3HU7YOAXtSYI39uwkb5vutNjb3J0DniOxS1VXSPVuUl3qY_CF1IIuogIH6POvU0RVLQOlPorTBF32Nlu-iaHQ5ynLt1HlBJfPDX/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+005.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> One of my favorite color combinations. In oil paints, that green is ivory black + cadmium yellow light.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOOM-6pQsqOlXNIMo0lkLgE_1L2y8dltLJIAG2a5s4Gmd3vpT0tlEY_inXYBuY_f0mJE55BY1ROT8sznIy7w1YNT8Ru9VqtDRZOToHn6egK12ihKxaZO-nnlGW7XFgUuC_kOVs0NoyLGps/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOOM-6pQsqOlXNIMo0lkLgE_1L2y8dltLJIAG2a5s4Gmd3vpT0tlEY_inXYBuY_f0mJE55BY1ROT8sznIy7w1YNT8Ru9VqtDRZOToHn6egK12ihKxaZO-nnlGW7XFgUuC_kOVs0NoyLGps/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+006.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> The first false summit beckons.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioi_DIWY32T06__NkNPTeaQa-sojDf4b7X9xvxLlHe4M2k0vYwEqPV5KRQlSg2i1YsDCZID_PQSkcOcPl9WfK7Uq64Yv0PpSkyxjPjtpMnwuYSSdAHHHJgdx0a7c0e5hGrXNdaqIW8NIJc/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioi_DIWY32T06__NkNPTeaQa-sojDf4b7X9xvxLlHe4M2k0vYwEqPV5KRQlSg2i1YsDCZID_PQSkcOcPl9WfK7Uq64Yv0PpSkyxjPjtpMnwuYSSdAHHHJgdx0a7c0e5hGrXNdaqIW8NIJc/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+007.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The ski basin comes into view, north, through the ponderosas.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcNJWM9Tm2ocr0KWPns-mpTRMvf_ZXfBDmu2YPtbxc-9EZ8gEuWsrrU2n4HA-tIDzBZRwSsjlboSd2mA06Vz8CZz48JCFPTx9qXVEwV7MHVoY9Nm1AacjwPma17cBh0evS9dBAObHtT7lR/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcNJWM9Tm2ocr0KWPns-mpTRMvf_ZXfBDmu2YPtbxc-9EZ8gEuWsrrU2n4HA-tIDzBZRwSsjlboSd2mA06Vz8CZz48JCFPTx9qXVEwV7MHVoY9Nm1AacjwPma17cBh0evS9dBAObHtT7lR/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+008.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> A gap in the ponderosas.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2eGofp0v7T9ozr-eFKPKCT_c5jyzYx49SBjqjznVJb8F_KGT79mgvxb-5G79-xTvH8qqF2v4I0Sr4DCcIlqFJ_yOz56vBbAcBNa3RknHzPw7xxkW6bgOIc1j8yR5AsGSUwHxjKTW3Mqjr/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2eGofp0v7T9ozr-eFKPKCT_c5jyzYx49SBjqjznVJb8F_KGT79mgvxb-5G79-xTvH8qqF2v4I0Sr4DCcIlqFJ_yOz56vBbAcBNa3RknHzPw7xxkW6bgOIc1j8yR5AsGSUwHxjKTW3Mqjr/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+009.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Second false summit.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5qoHzWe3XhS6Q59R9cAOLSxInc6zBEKi49-3IVpqLT6oWUJDaIpzb20scvH5m1X9CyhnuCOBBmgKhP-LESuMVhjmaB0PfVzcVaZwGcdstusr6Ijh2xkeVOTU-yuj0NX60IbC5b1r3Wzv/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5qoHzWe3XhS6Q59R9cAOLSxInc6zBEKi49-3IVpqLT6oWUJDaIpzb20scvH5m1X9CyhnuCOBBmgKhP-LESuMVhjmaB0PfVzcVaZwGcdstusr6Ijh2xkeVOTU-yuj0NX60IbC5b1r3Wzv/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+010.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Looking west, across Santa Fe, to the Jemez Mountains, where the fires burned this summer.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_QXdVxoHlZHcEYoBpwKYd9-YzkEmNeFVpZgA1j7LuEvERQrMxIa8VF3Rmp44FghFGBuASG-k32E6dvdGira82piY1ti-ZDSe7ELJCyYUYZqKvssMfCRGsosxAke9vQxpUcmVOQwo-YyoF/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_QXdVxoHlZHcEYoBpwKYd9-YzkEmNeFVpZgA1j7LuEvERQrMxIa8VF3Rmp44FghFGBuASG-k32E6dvdGira82piY1ti-ZDSe7ELJCyYUYZqKvssMfCRGsosxAke9vQxpUcmVOQwo-YyoF/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+011.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> The scruffy head of my old friend Atalaya. My parents' ashes lie on top. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvhjekxc-O8dfDYJ4I-rRVlZbmcLk5_BV9V2MM8ScqLpiZ836-Sp-rQrUbNxzn44x-rvje9vcoY7XkBzJclJRFS6LSi_jzp0vB3hb4B28_hU8zVpgzUKFlXSTRT-TkkCjJ0ZbufTEJHZv/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvhjekxc-O8dfDYJ4I-rRVlZbmcLk5_BV9V2MM8ScqLpiZ836-Sp-rQrUbNxzn44x-rvje9vcoY7XkBzJclJRFS6LSi_jzp0vB3hb4B28_hU8zVpgzUKFlXSTRT-TkkCjJ0ZbufTEJHZv/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> The summit. The sun is just rising up here. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfqLVIQab-B8mS9HENDWUG2cXD3HE8w9djO3eQ-iHOsNr59s3E7T7_8EWaHlBUHumIwqn8OqMknyqCi3PDqXtTb3OK3a_mNxjTWbdrbWkyqlAPfTuFRuebqROviV7Qc17dQe_j3whNX40I/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfqLVIQab-B8mS9HENDWUG2cXD3HE8w9djO3eQ-iHOsNr59s3E7T7_8EWaHlBUHumIwqn8OqMknyqCi3PDqXtTb3OK3a_mNxjTWbdrbWkyqlAPfTuFRuebqROviV7Qc17dQe_j3whNX40I/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+014.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Picacho, below me now.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkH6xqGfjy0z4BzyQ_JBI4ojdi_hfjfKELNUu5fW_PUud_iXCqy4ebgnP8WRUcFWE_16kqrK6wTUqb-vCZvLchDX42WkZtCtE07y71KFujZ1uE5Wt9uUS0pf27M1I8TiKLNPXps08fOQZ6/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkH6xqGfjy0z4BzyQ_JBI4ojdi_hfjfKELNUu5fW_PUud_iXCqy4ebgnP8WRUcFWE_16kqrK6wTUqb-vCZvLchDX42WkZtCtE07y71KFujZ1uE5Wt9uUS0pf27M1I8TiKLNPXps08fOQZ6/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Looking south, across the slope of Atalaya, to the Cerrillos Hills, and Albuquerque's Sandia Mountains.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7WS76iaF_JP34xbFrhwEAYtUqtZwTrYYD-jmqqAmRxftvS75lM7QpHRQVxGqZAycfLtZ233WnUFUHqwKzSsrd3oAG2dLgJiyfvTZhwrOwYDXn0RqMAXSPDEmrSKoKgdFXY5BYSCjSOLF/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE7WS76iaF_JP34xbFrhwEAYtUqtZwTrYYD-jmqqAmRxftvS75lM7QpHRQVxGqZAycfLtZ233WnUFUHqwKzSsrd3oAG2dLgJiyfvTZhwrOwYDXn0RqMAXSPDEmrSKoKgdFXY5BYSCjSOLF/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+016.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> OK, no more photos of pink rocks with green lichen.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQ2zRMHlM6GCT-j3OJkDvL4TUtcnnhI_180mp19b7ZWOiE4kotnmg1HFfniD6YYG_hGbOjRvzt0VMDBvtNJ0dxjrHpLNEH7EGYBV2bpD-4XLEAId2l0h5fqQoxfyaQpYsdHe1BaSjVKGY/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilQ2zRMHlM6GCT-j3OJkDvL4TUtcnnhI_180mp19b7ZWOiE4kotnmg1HFfniD6YYG_hGbOjRvzt0VMDBvtNJ0dxjrHpLNEH7EGYBV2bpD-4XLEAId2l0h5fqQoxfyaQpYsdHe1BaSjVKGY/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+017.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Ready to head back down. Sort of. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEt4r4ONlPaRdmT3JJu87qJRNba7FAXcYQYDJaQfDduGK36rGik1oBD_dgBEG7Sz73r7bUg7J4lPsZBhilr4VByXN7nk3BFmwwG_7HdFMXsslJPgCyz0fzM9XWldkWcy4guxzegGvuQALn/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEt4r4ONlPaRdmT3JJu87qJRNba7FAXcYQYDJaQfDduGK36rGik1oBD_dgBEG7Sz73r7bUg7J4lPsZBhilr4VByXN7nk3BFmwwG_7HdFMXsslJPgCyz0fzM9XWldkWcy4guxzegGvuQALn/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+018.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> McLure Reservoir, at drought level.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3oihrkK9GRuj3Hoq1uxst_gLBt5KjKJ_qpXPbY9ycc-svd1HZmXb1fM4E6vKkrJNuebQ8LsulPzGHrANaCgwNsxDhXpdxSp0v2ND8c-4Tk5BEUY3RqppoTD6bD4GesF-Cpj7ECLG8PGgx/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3oihrkK9GRuj3Hoq1uxst_gLBt5KjKJ_qpXPbY9ycc-svd1HZmXb1fM4E6vKkrJNuebQ8LsulPzGHrANaCgwNsxDhXpdxSp0v2ND8c-4Tk5BEUY3RqppoTD6bD4GesF-Cpj7ECLG8PGgx/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+021.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">One small step for man . . . Dang! I thought I was the only human ever to set foot in this pristine wilderness. I'm certainly not the only being. Just passed a pile of bear scat. My kids say no more scat photos.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9lwYfRUkJhD0-81S1dIV4f9JjFOxHH0DM3abFUXtIjAhNVvoE5x3o9WFbrircrARwfls-zbMOaoN6foKMjaQKMO_ysOrrR1BjstMuEV70J6FNA-wKV0upz51FqAEuF5pE6jsekbu1dWf5/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9lwYfRUkJhD0-81S1dIV4f9JjFOxHH0DM3abFUXtIjAhNVvoE5x3o9WFbrircrARwfls-zbMOaoN6foKMjaQKMO_ysOrrR1BjstMuEV70J6FNA-wKV0upz51FqAEuF5pE6jsekbu1dWf5/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+022.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Looking down on Santa Fe, St. John's College in the foreground.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwgpfmcTuNZYVKU_1KDAAozPyPRErcnRUnWgfhSLeRonGkoLxBc5FpErS05qs3X13JiM_Unm9Q9cZXijs7F-M2GGTgHC0YAjmtJmT5692gZcs0cb4y8SNAE4fhJVhNfwwfYKuWcP0FN15g/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwgpfmcTuNZYVKU_1KDAAozPyPRErcnRUnWgfhSLeRonGkoLxBc5FpErS05qs3X13JiM_Unm9Q9cZXijs7F-M2GGTgHC0YAjmtJmT5692gZcs0cb4y8SNAE4fhJVhNfwwfYKuWcP0FN15g/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Picacho, looming large again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3gaEV1KZa415mvhaqRM0aIPChvhBI-10uYjGf_Ut8Ky5cosaKQ4rN3bme2uRU1l_tALBKW2KFtvZuQ9GBDPcNxxSFbuWrfulnJ1r99CT3gnNlVH7cKuc9KSsduFm6ap_jnoV7MbNxHFx/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3gaEV1KZa415mvhaqRM0aIPChvhBI-10uYjGf_Ut8Ky5cosaKQ4rN3bme2uRU1l_tALBKW2KFtvZuQ9GBDPcNxxSFbuWrfulnJ1r99CT3gnNlVH7cKuc9KSsduFm6ap_jnoV7MbNxHFx/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+024.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Noodling around with hand-held camera. I prefer going up to going down.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBI58juqoE_s2pMQnJHKUeWM6YWJ1SvGmTU31NSuw3PRQhEWmNVi3ZYtHqYjHJaJZAzZxJUnEPOUxDbZgNliKTGu03S6t9MKS6HbiRs3GBDrfY7UC4rEE2WTrfzbxdz_1pCCCr2NBDAWB/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXBI58juqoE_s2pMQnJHKUeWM6YWJ1SvGmTU31NSuw3PRQhEWmNVi3ZYtHqYjHJaJZAzZxJUnEPOUxDbZgNliKTGu03S6t9MKS6HbiRs3GBDrfY7UC4rEE2WTrfzbxdz_1pCCCr2NBDAWB/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+025.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> But it's down I must go.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjUdBlBNAvCdkszOhzrHtXLM6Qa5JlycMfpCNHI5KDkQdTspfzZydDpAi65snOinP8EzmVvsOFbQUktGtQvCdRgtBIbvj5JfwpA_dr2puDMQZ_GWub-_d6rNMrGxubuHjjaB1lm4oeD4C/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjUdBlBNAvCdkszOhzrHtXLM6Qa5JlycMfpCNHI5KDkQdTspfzZydDpAi65snOinP8EzmVvsOFbQUktGtQvCdRgtBIbvj5JfwpA_dr2puDMQZ_GWub-_d6rNMrGxubuHjjaB1lm4oeD4C/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+026.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Looking west one last time before it all disappears in trees.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoBTUtOuDo6qOmJwxxSXL5ehhFJnOw7wJLcdco-RuQGD1l9r7bTXAYiIL_cBlflrMwRFUeefrXf-V9bRbqdNdobGmCr2OBL1zYUMJhGLHWHrbnmzKTYMiyod0yzi0OqseRPTwPgaN-hAFc/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoBTUtOuDo6qOmJwxxSXL5ehhFJnOw7wJLcdco-RuQGD1l9r7bTXAYiIL_cBlflrMwRFUeefrXf-V9bRbqdNdobGmCr2OBL1zYUMJhGLHWHrbnmzKTYMiyod0yzi0OqseRPTwPgaN-hAFc/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+027.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> The ridge between Picacho and Atalaya.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32J7UWNP9ky7HWP83Mxdc0vIxjJP0ng90wMrWK-PxWOrS-TFyl511R4lU5k7Bf6xPrJHdk1kVmVWoC7Y48Szxlypo-5R5-y4ow5mr-CWAhiL-CkhzUeqleUUQFYnRD6UyFqA7D6ukYIrg/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32J7UWNP9ky7HWP83Mxdc0vIxjJP0ng90wMrWK-PxWOrS-TFyl511R4lU5k7Bf6xPrJHdk1kVmVWoC7Y48Szxlypo-5R5-y4ow5mr-CWAhiL-CkhzUeqleUUQFYnRD6UyFqA7D6ukYIrg/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+028.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Last view of the ski basin. Into the trees. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62ItcCk9ooLoz0QiefC_ulY6S58nGxLqTBGXJWHcq1-cEeEtrb8OwlCCOe3kzRj1zehD_aiyn4Esxctuc43ZSTtsJit64-m5byKSPSaRwcc8LqmdooFCrVAnBqUS7z2_iRLu_cES-v7Hc/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi62ItcCk9ooLoz0QiefC_ulY6S58nGxLqTBGXJWHcq1-cEeEtrb8OwlCCOe3kzRj1zehD_aiyn4Esxctuc43ZSTtsJit64-m5byKSPSaRwcc8LqmdooFCrVAnBqUS7z2_iRLu_cES-v7Hc/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+029.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> I wandered too far south on the way down, apparently to photograph this dead tree. . . </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9E4PLcf82E6eiFrNEztn06v5bU29FdzlfNnSl_deXp6QsVatROaGafyuYOGsa2KCNvIpVITxx6Gp19-1Ahw2FXhWdAzZ4ONAaBkTwISgWtsmrW6BXXj2-1PqZfIEIAJr6Rywuwtp0tii4/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9E4PLcf82E6eiFrNEztn06v5bU29FdzlfNnSl_deXp6QsVatROaGafyuYOGsa2KCNvIpVITxx6Gp19-1Ahw2FXhWdAzZ4ONAaBkTwISgWtsmrW6BXXj2-1PqZfIEIAJr6Rywuwtp0tii4/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+032.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> . . . and ended up, as usual, overcorrecting to the north and landing between two sets of gnarly cliffs. I call it the Bermuda Triangle. Once, I was here in a big wind and I thought there was someone above, throwing rocks at me. After tearing a tendon in a wild attempt to elude my tormentor, and contemplating it in the ER, I concluded it must have been the west wind throwing rocks at me.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5_pcym11Nj8GhRLM7VOpukQt1NUrVclIREW9_E43a8kpxiYjTBWMmITR_NTXinDt2e6WkyKv4tSTo-3Qd41xiV7DIO6XgDKm2giqJ9_VfzneOJxl0Vl9tLfjoQ09f4HSm17OghqSoy9y/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5_pcym11Nj8GhRLM7VOpukQt1NUrVclIREW9_E43a8kpxiYjTBWMmITR_NTXinDt2e6WkyKv4tSTo-3Qd41xiV7DIO6XgDKm2giqJ9_VfzneOJxl0Vl9tLfjoQ09f4HSm17OghqSoy9y/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+033.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> There's only one way out of the Bermuda Triangle.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaYcHJsO-ilQ53X_Bz55SUD8VHTG3ncR9av1Z8dYQHoxaRo6CkwL2wRem3oiTWIRGjCyYsZDuMiiGjx1I1vvmKCuGp7RluDMPFHC74lgqS1ZncUT6NGAnV5chykcq3NQ5rbl6Dijh3CmB9/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaYcHJsO-ilQ53X_Bz55SUD8VHTG3ncR9av1Z8dYQHoxaRo6CkwL2wRem3oiTWIRGjCyYsZDuMiiGjx1I1vvmKCuGp7RluDMPFHC74lgqS1ZncUT6NGAnV5chykcq3NQ5rbl6Dijh3CmB9/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+034.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Follow the tracks of a rabbit. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMfW8f-PMbzXJrpTXvw66M9RyI-RvPtOi9uFATZaQuyrWOtNhPag1UaZ2V-sjVfbM38JaULPi9nyFkRynPMIqLROxK2ga_C8NFny_13HzAVNVpn76sRr_QmNxFZy7Ua68biCA2QWHFSKXr/s1600/Lone+Buck+Mountain+035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMfW8f-PMbzXJrpTXvw66M9RyI-RvPtOi9uFATZaQuyrWOtNhPag1UaZ2V-sjVfbM38JaULPi9nyFkRynPMIqLROxK2ga_C8NFny_13HzAVNVpn76sRr_QmNxFZy7Ua68biCA2QWHFSKXr/s320/Lone+Buck+Mountain+035.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">They always know the best way.</div>Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-30784337599208080142011-10-04T11:06:00.000-07:002011-10-04T11:11:32.921-07:00The best time of the year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtrq9ZbGxku-MY10YzCw4AfpDDxfOauEl9L3OiHfttLY1lJWr5zX-uIidmF56Dfmqix9jGfaoiLCwTB2doIrbLBe4tvbWXNNNzu7YnI87FkjyfKiLWvwc0NNf92qwSiUJFeZJwCBJWNNk/s1600/Big_Red_10x10_oil_on_panel_Lrg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtrq9ZbGxku-MY10YzCw4AfpDDxfOauEl9L3OiHfttLY1lJWr5zX-uIidmF56Dfmqix9jGfaoiLCwTB2doIrbLBe4tvbWXNNNzu7YnI87FkjyfKiLWvwc0NNf92qwSiUJFeZJwCBJWNNk/s320/Big_Red_10x10_oil_on_panel_Lrg.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <em>Big Red</em>, oil on panel, 10 x 10 x 2 inches</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I've been drawn to baby animals of late. Perhaps I should title the series "Don't Hate Me Because I'm Cute." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_eioMvkxc2r0ER1p4vmgB60lJ-BBeay-QRPnmg7qbFylVFYuJMBSX0CpRfxKimP6yx_Ot88RBPraQXoK9ihJVRea4YSZ0UxLOt7QQxGz9OHJ5X342w0ufZkWKhiHTmITJjZ8h766pGtX/s1600/Big+T+Fall+Colors+019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_eioMvkxc2r0ER1p4vmgB60lJ-BBeay-QRPnmg7qbFylVFYuJMBSX0CpRfxKimP6yx_Ot88RBPraQXoK9ihJVRea4YSZ0UxLOt7QQxGz9OHJ5X342w0ufZkWKhiHTmITJjZ8h766pGtX/s320/Big+T+Fall+Colors+019.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>The best time of year is here, and I am getting out in the wilderness as much as I can. Land art resonates with me the clearest when I stumble upon it and it is not created by humans. This tree is a "scrape," used by a small mule deer buck to rub the velvet off of his new antlers. Once deer find a scrape, they return to it. This tree is girdled and its fate sealed (or peeled). It will be a standing home to many for a time and then it will fall and slowly become one with the forest floor, new life springing up in its form. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcmA0yHtHs3FQwyF2g7I2yid0N-BQqA_03mr453vxXBkFnDq0_FU0DZvkzvKF88egf85gr7by1DzgroEABlNPDl9nIeAOIwMwdxVWEba5gmHpDwgiNlGuxR5PpRlTs22UVtPXoXn3ih4_F/s1600/Big+T+Fall+Colors+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcmA0yHtHs3FQwyF2g7I2yid0N-BQqA_03mr453vxXBkFnDq0_FU0DZvkzvKF88egf85gr7by1DzgroEABlNPDl9nIeAOIwMwdxVWEba5gmHpDwgiNlGuxR5PpRlTs22UVtPXoXn3ih4_F/s320/Big+T+Fall+Colors+002.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>What painter could come up with so balanced a composition? The aspen leaves flow in an unbroken line out of the red striations in the rock. The streams in the mountains and foothills are waning as the harvest moon waxes. When I'm out running, I'm never far from a brook, always mindful of the munificence of water dakinis in a desert.Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-63797509319267951792011-08-26T11:44:00.000-07:002011-08-30T20:20:37.491-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMl60gIu6mOhLWHAzCqfBQKvHl8vNiud9s4haRWml8OI3piMDYWBuUmnzKc8oJQvp5armYW6Ffz3mcVZZiRRqqfzvnfdAMAJWpu_sNVfz2pjfPnclHociNmgm9JSxcP-6P5pR_drWaP5EN/s1600/631_24x18Lrg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qaa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMl60gIu6mOhLWHAzCqfBQKvHl8vNiud9s4haRWml8OI3piMDYWBuUmnzKc8oJQvp5armYW6Ffz3mcVZZiRRqqfzvnfdAMAJWpu_sNVfz2pjfPnclHociNmgm9JSxcP-6P5pR_drWaP5EN/s320/631_24x18Lrg.jpg" width="242" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><em>631</em>, oil and original acrylic gel transfer photograph on back-framed panel, 24 x 18 x 2.25 inches.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Two months ago, I wrote about the wildfires consuming the forests. The Las Conchas fire became the largest wildfire in New Mexico history, burning more than 150,000 acres, a third of them the first night, fueled by 60 mph winds. I watched it from my front porch, wishing I could do something for the animals made homeless or worse by the inferno. From my back yard, I watched smoke from the Pacheco fire, burning ten miles up the watershed. I started this painting when the fires were new. They continued, and I continued, for weeks. </div><br />
I began by photographing an abandoned gas station at 631 Cerrillos Road. It had been a street art magnet for fifteen years. When I photographed it, I did not know it would be cordoned off and demolished within a few days. The disappearance of the gas station coincided with the erasure by the forest fires of human-built structures in the forest and of other, less tangible constructs that a fire of this order brings into question. <br />
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As I lay awake at night listening to the whir of water-bearing helicopters, the howling of coyotes, and the drone of planes dropping chemical goo on the fires, the painting began to take shape. I applied a mirror image of the gas station photo to a panel, using the acrylic gel transfer process, and then several layers of PVA ground. The gas station became a place of uneasy refuge for the forest animals I painted over it in oils. Meanwhile, bears and deer roamed the night streets of Los Alamos, driven into the strange urban landscape by the destruction of their habitat and nourishment. When I completed the painting, our summer rains finally arrived, and the fires were out, leaving 160,000 acres of charred wilderness. <br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"></div>Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-49906779386533935372011-08-13T11:27:00.000-07:002011-08-19T10:49:01.333-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4k5RyluU5CfdpUXZNAIPgHT3VNp50fl2yQqLXgtvA-hz91q6p0qgBcw82kw1lPECowwPZna_xjweIJNfwAKXY55Xuau8fi8_YRB2xUex27r7a2JVfMFf5FB0ZwV7GS6SU0HsSmnw3kVnC/s1600/Apple_Blossoms_for_Amelia_Earhart_8x8_oil_Lrg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4k5RyluU5CfdpUXZNAIPgHT3VNp50fl2yQqLXgtvA-hz91q6p0qgBcw82kw1lPECowwPZna_xjweIJNfwAKXY55Xuau8fi8_YRB2xUex27r7a2JVfMFf5FB0ZwV7GS6SU0HsSmnw3kVnC/s320/Apple_Blossoms_for_Amelia_Earhart_8x8_oil_Lrg.jpg" width="313" /></a></div>I found a beautiful pigeon with a badly fractured wing on a ridgetop in the wilderness. I've never seen a pigeon in the backcountry before. I ran for about a mile with her carefully wrapped in my shirt, and then drove her 20 miles to the wildlife hospital. The fracture was recent but gnarly; I fear they euthanized her. <br />
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She was so calm and sweet, and dare I say trusting. She had such presence. What an adventurous bird! <br />
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I do not usually name wildlife, but if there was a name for this bird, it would be Amelia Earhart. I often make a sort of offering to the animal in the painting; a symbol, some flowers, corn, snow; whatever comes to mind. Hence the painting's title, <em>Apple Blossoms for Ameila Earhart</em> (oil on canvas, 8 x 8 inches). May she live long and well. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZL2AmQ5H_124YF26X0nj9AGFxVi9t8j2sy1FQyWmlkFl_-yd6tCWgrz-xwnyoGaIg9zo6LF4cXYroUr9Bs0hKEBPhTqaIeeCTwekXxTkuVBG4HllYnNBAA-GSAn9VdjaMRMvL1G30icE/s1600/AmeliaEarhartPigeon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZL2AmQ5H_124YF26X0nj9AGFxVi9t8j2sy1FQyWmlkFl_-yd6tCWgrz-xwnyoGaIg9zo6LF4cXYroUr9Bs0hKEBPhTqaIeeCTwekXxTkuVBG4HllYnNBAA-GSAn9VdjaMRMvL1G30icE/s320/AmeliaEarhartPigeon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-80579290136264656982011-07-29T12:39:00.000-07:002011-07-29T12:41:15.950-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqLmWOBHrY_mM9sNZSOQnZI9-Db6O4zcc5AnDltvyK820NtZQZeybkc4vz0_j6z24p3rpF0IhwGX6FtLIMtGaYVRc-BCffsy9imxoPX6vHQWtyIEN7SYNxqw5u0aAvJ8sWREUSgLZqgmZL/s320/Baby_Javelina_Thriving_at_Wildlife_Center_oil_8x8inches_Lrg.jpg" t$="true" width="317" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My newest painting, Baby Javelina Thriving at Wildlife Center (oil on canvas, 8 x 8 inches) has been written up on <a href="http://www.sfreporter.com/santafe/blog-2925-espantildeola-javelina-inspires-art_.html">Santa Fe Reporter staff writer Wren Abbott's blog</a>. Thanks, Wren.</div>Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-61050534377592371172011-07-11T11:30:00.000-07:002011-07-11T11:32:10.763-07:00News flash: it rained!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLygkXymj0ndP-qhtzLM4yJxzEOvRyNU93mYrsswgfLK7h-k6tFdOY0OWiWyGOyKVTv2DyQMVqbRcRRPDgEb4X-FBarmj0Jc5PlUHM0bDCh1JquoLzhlrWmbzX-U-mK4qOptd-3CnQv2u/s1600/LasConchasFire0611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLygkXymj0ndP-qhtzLM4yJxzEOvRyNU93mYrsswgfLK7h-k6tFdOY0OWiWyGOyKVTv2DyQMVqbRcRRPDgEb4X-FBarmj0Jc5PlUHM0bDCh1JquoLzhlrWmbzX-U-mK4qOptd-3CnQv2u/s320/LasConchasFire0611.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Las Conchas Fire, Day 1, from my porch, 60mph winds</div><br />
Up until a couple of nights ago, I could see the flames of the Las Conchas Fire running along the ridgetop and down into canyons 20 miles to the west, and shooting 300-500 feet or more up into the sky. About 1/5 of the western horizon is still glowing like the huge ember that it now is. There is another fire closer, in deep wilderness about 10-15 miles to the north, near our ski basin. If it comes running down the watershed, it will be at my house in no time, if the winds blow from the north. If the fire gets into the watershed, though, they will fight it aggressively. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My home is in no danger at present. Wish I could say the same for the animals in the forest. And the residents of Santa Clara Pueblo. After all of the prayers for rain, they now have to worry about flash floods and erosion, since the fire took their watershed last week.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The air has been smoke-filled for a more than a month. We have lost hundreds of thousands of acres, within a 25-mile radius, to 2 fires. Not to mention the massive Wallow fire still burning after a month, in Arizona and now western central New Mexico, the biggest fire either state has ever seen. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>I feel pretty helpless. Animals talk to me in my dreams, asking for succor. I am working on a painting of ravens, a coyote, a fawn, a rabbit, and fire. <br />
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This is the worst drought in NM recorded history. The forests are still a tinderbox, but we finally had a brief rain yesterday. May it be a harbinger of things to come, and may it come gently to Santa Clara.Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-73582323854192129382011-07-08T12:25:00.000-07:002011-07-08T12:28:11.091-07:00Tassel Eared Squirrel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6idhyXxdbtglPUHK2Qj8zPH40Km9GuaXfqMEfTd1lC1sfqpnKDwbDINBcOMwKI29-43bvyGKr2COwcD9esOeYWHMalZ94_QWWgTSyYYJPSYZQ1cFr1kj8DPpWn0H4mNyIb_xZM5uckrw/s1600/TheConversationalist_in_a_ContemplativeMoment_oil_10x8_Lrg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6idhyXxdbtglPUHK2Qj8zPH40Km9GuaXfqMEfTd1lC1sfqpnKDwbDINBcOMwKI29-43bvyGKr2COwcD9esOeYWHMalZ94_QWWgTSyYYJPSYZQ1cFr1kj8DPpWn0H4mNyIb_xZM5uckrw/s320/TheConversationalist_in_a_ContemplativeMoment_oil_10x8_Lrg.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>The Conversationalist in a Contemplative Moment</em>, <br />
oil on panel, 10 x 8 inches. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Here's the latest piece in my <em>Horizontal Brothers</em> series. Can you tell that I am slowly wending my way through John Muir's collected works? This little guy is an Albert's Squirrel or Tassel-Eared Squirrel. They shed their ear tassels in the summer. The painting is a portrait of a being I see frequently in Bear Canyon, near the Randall Davey Audubon Center. He lives pretty far back in the canyon, in a huge ponderosa pine. When I run by, he makes a loud noise, usually by pushing something out of the tree, which always gets my attention. Then he comes down and poses for me, often with hands on hips, giving me hell in squirrelspeak. I placed him in a snowy setting to protect him from the forest fires that are still burning to the North and West. I have begun work on another squirrel I see frequently at the Audubon Center, a ground squirrel who is much more shy. </div>Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-52664422012451583342011-04-18T12:49:00.000-07:002011-07-29T12:34:59.341-07:00Polaroid of My Mother<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3M7iwatypR6eZEG14ZO-Gc491rZud3jR5MB9eLx7EBh_pJq5JKpAf1Zu4JoDvgvgtHfAEMM7Xc9O7WITRFvbH6wLEAZluhVf-ES8nOY4eGoIvYSBWgvUybmdokiaEgLQ7v-2EJTAN52aU/s1600/Polaroid_of_My_Mother_12x12_oil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3M7iwatypR6eZEG14ZO-Gc491rZud3jR5MB9eLx7EBh_pJq5JKpAf1Zu4JoDvgvgtHfAEMM7Xc9O7WITRFvbH6wLEAZluhVf-ES8nOY4eGoIvYSBWgvUybmdokiaEgLQ7v-2EJTAN52aU/s320/Polaroid_of_My_Mother_12x12_oil.jpg" width="318" /></a></div>New work: Polaroid of My Mother, oil and photographs on back-framed panel, 12 x 12 x 2 inches. <br />
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This piece is from the series I am working on called Horizontal Brothers--John Muir's term for non-human animals. It is new and different for me to be working the vein of realism, albeit expressive, abstracted realism. Wildlife paintings are coming fast and furious. I am now working on ravens and a mountain goat. <br />
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This painting began when I went to K-Mart to buy plastic magnetic picture frames for my fridge. The photo in the frames recalled a polaroid I snapped of my mother when I was 10. While I was looking at those nine identical photos, the painting formed in my mind.<br />
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I've met eight mountain lions in the wild, the most recent on the last winter solstice, in a nearby forest--the first one I have seen in its truest element--the night. I've seen more mountain lions than I have bobcats or foxes. I feel like a lion magnet. All of the lions were fairly disinterested in me. <br />
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My most recent lion acquaintance had been marking all of the human trails in an area where I run, where national forest meets city. Leaving scat strategically at the beginning and dead center of every human trail in an area is unusual behavior for these cats. I avoided the area for awhile, but I knew it was a matter of time before we met. I don't usually run at night, but there I was, under a full moon, on the solstice, in the snow. <br />
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There he was (an adolescent male, I believe), 25 yards ahead of me, planted across the trailhead as I finished up my run, in the exact spot he had marked earlier, his eyes fixed on me. As I met his gaze, all of his molecules soundlessly rearranged, 180 degrees, into a mirror image of the position I first saw him in, without his taking his eyes off me. Then, just as soundlessly, he dissolved into the forest--gone. <br />
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I went back the next morning to track him in the snow. Had I not seen the tracks, I might have doubted the whole experience. He had taken off up a steep pine-covered slope in 10-15 foot bounds. After that night, I saw his markings less frequently, and then not at all. Most likely he followed the deer to higher altitudes with the warmer weather. May he live long and well.Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-56050992230831521062011-03-04T12:16:00.000-08:002011-10-04T10:42:17.502-07:00Horizontal Brothers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUHpwGk314uDtguTiqpEyQKEAwHMxMErWDpbcqMLthWIzuAFWxKt49x9c4mm_OeMfyhwKL-3La-uhQFE9-DoDNXxs57OLL9o1L5vB2rP5BHnmjjR_0iJ3XXSfXG6awg-7Sr4cjgTBIaibA/s1600/UnderOrion_OnCoyotesWatch48x36Lrg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" l6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUHpwGk314uDtguTiqpEyQKEAwHMxMErWDpbcqMLthWIzuAFWxKt49x9c4mm_OeMfyhwKL-3La-uhQFE9-DoDNXxs57OLL9o1L5vB2rP5BHnmjjR_0iJ3XXSfXG6awg-7Sr4cjgTBIaibA/s320/UnderOrion_OnCoyotesWatch48x36Lrg.jpg" width="244" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em>Under Orion, On Coyote's Watch</em>, oil and mixed media on canvas, 48 x 36 inches</div><br />
This winter, I took an unexpected five weeks off of painting--the longest hiatus in my life. Now I am back in the studio with renewed energy and a new direction. <br />
<br />
I am calling my new series of paintings <em>Horizontal Brothers</em>. That’s what John Muir called animals. Though the phrase is dated in terms of gender, I like it. It implies equality — that we are all animals. Which of course we are, but many of us spend a good deal of energy denying it. Encounters with wildlife have always been my most magical moments. It is in these brief encounters that we are the most sure—and the most unsure—of who we are. <br />
<br />
I grew up with wildlife. My mother had a talent for healing animals. People brought wounded and orphaned wildlife to our door, and, under her care, many got better. She never refused an animal in need. She grew up in the backwoods and had no veterinary training or college. She did not speak of her gift, but she practiced it diligently and with considerable humor.<br />
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A rehabilitated fighting cock lived in our kitchen, a recovering raccoon on the back porch. A starling rode on her shoulder. Rabbits were everywhere, including my bedroom. A red-tailed hawk found floating in a barrel of dirty motor oil stayed for a year before he was rehabiltated and released. He returned each year with a mate, lighting on my mother’s arm with a melodious keen when she whistled. <br />
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A new crop of fledgling birds and kit rabbits were either healed or buried ceremoniously in our backyard cemetery each spring. It was just a matter of time before wildlife became the primary subject of my paintings. <br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Coming soon: mountain goats, rabbits, deer, and, of course, a red-tailed hawk. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div align="left"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div></div>Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-10785939715586806362010-10-22T12:52:00.000-07:002010-10-22T12:53:53.147-07:00All I have to do is complain All I have to do is complain about the lack of rain and it rains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's raining now and it rained a good deal last night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> There is a dusting of snow on the high peaks. The skies are my favorite shade of gray and the colors are heightened and saturated.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8YLSq1H7VlZcYH6Wu1TBRDwDD-acy5g4U7l2Ou6fwRycdhKsY9FBj3LW2qC-d0Kxrh7dJNygXBv76esl8-gRhEcUA-vZas3dTHuLfcw7YZ10cWQnsEp5YlFGFVZZd6YRLEKExZUOr1rCx/s1600/Autumn2010Fountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8YLSq1H7VlZcYH6Wu1TBRDwDD-acy5g4U7l2Ou6fwRycdhKsY9FBj3LW2qC-d0Kxrh7dJNygXBv76esl8-gRhEcUA-vZas3dTHuLfcw7YZ10cWQnsEp5YlFGFVZZd6YRLEKExZUOr1rCx/s320/Autumn2010Fountain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Early this morning I got out into the mountains in the mist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUsZAat4vE4TUfud1uWidh-X2j9Dy7IHQKB6WRNm0DOTtk04Kf2CEb4FcokFHkTE1SUvZ8gdV0pt0qg4TnlGoZ7XPL8C2DW4aXs8mMCUoli6x5GGflVawFe1kSurSERUFTeFpf7L4EL6za/s1600/Autumn2010_005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUsZAat4vE4TUfud1uWidh-X2j9Dy7IHQKB6WRNm0DOTtk04Kf2CEb4FcokFHkTE1SUvZ8gdV0pt0qg4TnlGoZ7XPL8C2DW4aXs8mMCUoli6x5GGflVawFe1kSurSERUFTeFpf7L4EL6za/s320/Autumn2010_005.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">So much can change in a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My foot is now well enough that I can run again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a delight!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Hobbling around for five months had the affect of making my world--and my paintings</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">--smaller. It led to increased introspection, or neurosis, depending upon your point of view (just ask the people who live with me), and an idea for a new series of paintings based on life's transitions and inspired by those yellow signs that mark changes in the road. More about that when the paintings are further along. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8rG7UydJw41sqqMd8Q_U0ysaaH7hUUZXcRUQOYlZQOA2CxM4pE717pGEA3c3M4rLmhm1fKzqz3Sy1RNEPkKzpIpI9SziVY4sR_SqygPH8Pa6l-Dp7LuoWeAGJqS_12PhA0Ve9XEhcl8I/s1600/CurveSignsMultiple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt8rG7UydJw41sqqMd8Q_U0ysaaH7hUUZXcRUQOYlZQOA2CxM4pE717pGEA3c3M4rLmhm1fKzqz3Sy1RNEPkKzpIpI9SziVY4sR_SqygPH8Pa6l-Dp7LuoWeAGJqS_12PhA0Ve9XEhcl8I/s320/CurveSignsMultiple.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-61323636594627508362010-10-15T16:45:00.000-07:002011-02-14T13:06:53.597-08:00A Different Autumn<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I've been lame in the foot for five months now, and it has changed my painting. Rather than running in the mountains, I am hobbling around the neighborhood and foothills and finding beauty where it lies, which is everywhere. My painting is becoming more focused on unexpected beauty. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtGAe4LKqATMU5hK06FVx3nwmnE0Rp09Uy0Suca9gTAz4w5WAV8ABmtRtTBxUZJxajvX2gylYUnowi3bXsslEynpvQSXBHOBSfDNeI0_6M0zBn5yGUM8H1AjBTB1bd9W5uplFpN1sdvii/s1600/BearCanyonSquirrel0142010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhacC2fUmL5exaA6STYWcYlZc12xnwtkVHhY6ofOvxo8YBDNVXCD6EpPT-inesoHgWL_orA9g4EDtRy5Uiv5F9l6pgPMumB1og__G6SytyVEBVSjpbbzFkZ6QVT94NMtM8UBnWkpjmTz75Y/s1600/AroundtheHood_2_102010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhacC2fUmL5exaA6STYWcYlZc12xnwtkVHhY6ofOvxo8YBDNVXCD6EpPT-inesoHgWL_orA9g4EDtRy5Uiv5F9l6pgPMumB1og__G6SytyVEBVSjpbbzFkZ6QVT94NMtM8UBnWkpjmTz75Y/s320/AroundtheHood_2_102010.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtGAe4LKqATMU5hK06FVx3nwmnE0Rp09Uy0Suca9gTAz4w5WAV8ABmtRtTBxUZJxajvX2gylYUnowi3bXsslEynpvQSXBHOBSfDNeI0_6M0zBn5yGUM8H1AjBTB1bd9W5uplFpN1sdvii/s1600/BearCanyonSquirrel0142010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtGAe4LKqATMU5hK06FVx3nwmnE0Rp09Uy0Suca9gTAz4w5WAV8ABmtRtTBxUZJxajvX2gylYUnowi3bXsslEynpvQSXBHOBSfDNeI0_6M0zBn5yGUM8H1AjBTB1bd9W5uplFpN1sdvii/s320/BearCanyonSquirrel0142010.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Looking North, toward the upper Santa Fe watershed, at dusk:</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixHGZbgsJY9gsaVfshiaQq4PP4HVp4K0_2f3qeBwzth5y2sgLhKoo_Z1uOujaTVEaULenaaYHw7XbxW_3KQL0S68J3R6cyhiv-yGMizupivNfL6eyIIjav036bNlvX48msO-r594OzifgA/s1600/015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixHGZbgsJY9gsaVfshiaQq4PP4HVp4K0_2f3qeBwzth5y2sgLhKoo_Z1uOujaTVEaULenaaYHw7XbxW_3KQL0S68J3R6cyhiv-yGMizupivNfL6eyIIjav036bNlvX48msO-r594OzifgA/s320/015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">As the sun slipped into the West, this doe showed herself to me. My camera recorded an eery silver light. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisgasQ6oqiaMo6gFaP9Ll6RoMhi3yeUsTFNSAlx1a2ljt0fmUcVro_z8kZ8o_DH-nrDRLolbEZXxIHbqEtSB57OTb6dehLNNY7FfQ9qgyKwiZUpSSCnOrDDZnsjp412ulPrhpU8BTD0NF0/s1600/BearCanyonDoe_1_0810.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisgasQ6oqiaMo6gFaP9Ll6RoMhi3yeUsTFNSAlx1a2ljt0fmUcVro_z8kZ8o_DH-nrDRLolbEZXxIHbqEtSB57OTb6dehLNNY7FfQ9qgyKwiZUpSSCnOrDDZnsjp412ulPrhpU8BTD0NF0/s320/BearCanyonDoe_1_0810.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">A little further upriver, a couple of days later, I joined my daughter's class on a field trip to Nichols Reservior, where we recorded insect populations in the Santa Fe River, learned that the water is still pretty clean here, tracked a bear, and discovered an abandoned beaver lodge, high and dry. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUgvhSAwznydRUZwcSi2OyofD8e-tXF9W3U16PsUk1MF9_3slDaxJdxtyhgJ04QX0x8-UVLLD-KSW8VtWQl923I-DA_uaYGmn4Y_OmLMptnZoHkd2dGVs5-Gs_Jljb_-zp5NjDSUjlKjEu/s1600/Nichols.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUgvhSAwznydRUZwcSi2OyofD8e-tXF9W3U16PsUk1MF9_3slDaxJdxtyhgJ04QX0x8-UVLLD-KSW8VtWQl923I-DA_uaYGmn4Y_OmLMptnZoHkd2dGVs5-Gs_Jljb_-zp5NjDSUjlKjEu/s320/Nichols.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The boom and bust cycles of water in this desert affect me and my art more than any other single factor. Last fall the skies were cloud-hidden, brooding, and wet. The colors of the landscape were saturated with autumn rains, a rare treat here in the high desert Southern Rockies. The winter brought above average snowfall, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg15l2yrHF8hlAII-0S-LEuKx502sqTdItq1FVRIKHVRUhijpzZyDsgHLxbmzAjlc48rs5OrTdXJfc9IF5OOc9GbdlaVBVLp8N34xrN5Y-7EyfAkBd9MjskO8xgm03X9xZP3M3E9Gmf-b5b/s1600/SnowyBackyard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg15l2yrHF8hlAII-0S-LEuKx502sqTdItq1FVRIKHVRUhijpzZyDsgHLxbmzAjlc48rs5OrTdXJfc9IF5OOc9GbdlaVBVLp8N34xrN5Y-7EyfAkBd9MjskO8xgm03X9xZP3M3E9Gmf-b5b/s320/SnowyBackyard.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyJtwP2EHVG1sFlc1UmB8Q7rOf_W6U6-wvWjfLiZGtTOsBGflElIL8TRE2OOtJ_7OKnn0RehHR0Csm4rhv_AKNkEODlidn17tyiSgl0-xkdl8u94_gnpDeJc81q49xxrd19qsJZMl_YVG/s1600/SnowySangres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="78" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyJtwP2EHVG1sFlc1UmB8Q7rOf_W6U6-wvWjfLiZGtTOsBGflElIL8TRE2OOtJ_7OKnn0RehHR0Csm4rhv_AKNkEODlidn17tyiSgl0-xkdl8u94_gnpDeJc81q49xxrd19qsJZMl_YVG/s320/SnowySangres.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">and our luck held until late spring, when the runoff was raging and every cliff became a waterfall. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilr01PGBTaaIymlLQoWizyBVPO_gWq_2OFOQl-cUp8i7zSCC3dYccFLigAketHAqyn3FiXxtZ28HcPxfVwH9mVZq-_xHvEg2QKoKN_Ejrn42adspHKRKWtgFCtOFfK-y3zCO9CYJQ2sqR2/s1600/Runoff4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilr01PGBTaaIymlLQoWizyBVPO_gWq_2OFOQl-cUp8i7zSCC3dYccFLigAketHAqyn3FiXxtZ28HcPxfVwH9mVZq-_xHvEg2QKoKN_Ejrn42adspHKRKWtgFCtOFfK-y3zCO9CYJQ2sqR2/s320/Runoff4.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Then came a summer of little rain and a now a warm dry autumn. I seek out water and find beauty in what there is left. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-7IQrjkfkGWFNGqjCeKiTXhqOheREGgWa-H6XluCPpTUbw-KgEI8BV_DaGdwdx0OqEp-7nwjZI9UDgvlRxOSklBY0MbyPEgTXWjsw3k_1dk7MupB6gFlskXVkH1kPfB1SeAnn181pNtTP/s1600/BearCanyonWater10142010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-7IQrjkfkGWFNGqjCeKiTXhqOheREGgWa-H6XluCPpTUbw-KgEI8BV_DaGdwdx0OqEp-7nwjZI9UDgvlRxOSklBY0MbyPEgTXWjsw3k_1dk7MupB6gFlskXVkH1kPfB1SeAnn181pNtTP/s320/BearCanyonWater10142010.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My paintings of late are small focused moments, maps of a dry season, in which memories of mobility and rain comingle with artifacts gathered last year on long runs in the backcountry. Click on the painting (<em>The River Is Moving . . .</em>)<em> </em>at the top right of the blog see what I've been up to. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-69143429419275042022010-06-25T14:36:00.000-07:002010-06-26T09:08:42.680-07:00The Rabbit Diaries, continued<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I enjoyed a small foray into Bear Canyon yesterday just after dawn. Rabbits are still very much on my radar. This one patiently agreed to pose for a couple of photos. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQ4mJru-2PJGtCwCUn-Oov8BnjsUzC-XH0Tt5nvpdO5a1MzWPezDsEtUDa2Kz2dz9oZZ43t7cee8tPvb7pOE63yvLbEuJM_3SL73NIF16Kl_t44qkSbVC2KPTLnFc0odPm-CulxJYaa-Z/s1600/Bunny3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBQ4mJru-2PJGtCwCUn-Oov8BnjsUzC-XH0Tt5nvpdO5a1MzWPezDsEtUDa2Kz2dz9oZZ43t7cee8tPvb7pOE63yvLbEuJM_3SL73NIF16Kl_t44qkSbVC2KPTLnFc0odPm-CulxJYaa-Z/s320/Bunny3.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I know that a rabbit wants to be in one of my paintings soon. To that end, I'm doing a little research, </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtaPijlCDM17m9rYOjXkZh40DG3vk7tjpl5xlaHXfTGq_RJV377yFDK2YJ9ChoNI8HmJtloyF1mtdxcXXRypMTMcZboyQIo8wrcd4NfIsb4Dn3TFKzxUgTdHwBCnCekGQWnYbo1p8GVknI/s1600/BunnysEyeView.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtaPijlCDM17m9rYOjXkZh40DG3vk7tjpl5xlaHXfTGq_RJV377yFDK2YJ9ChoNI8HmJtloyF1mtdxcXXRypMTMcZboyQIo8wrcd4NfIsb4Dn3TFKzxUgTdHwBCnCekGQWnYbo1p8GVknI/s320/BunnysEyeView.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">including contemplating things from a bunny's eye view</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCc5Kx__OmKaNTODpntqzs2OaViunMfi-QHBUfRm3jGrC0IPIZNRIc3cIVg5_Wdv2MPodFwx-JU-8WDpDwwYk7fGu12kYxJTf0RwHvUwhJkz2bZyUjXoQgdPHvlO5W7p__H-IVO1DZWS1x/s1600/Bunnyfood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCc5Kx__OmKaNTODpntqzs2OaViunMfi-QHBUfRm3jGrC0IPIZNRIc3cIVg5_Wdv2MPodFwx-JU-8WDpDwwYk7fGu12kYxJTf0RwHvUwhJkz2bZyUjXoQgdPHvlO5W7p__H-IVO1DZWS1x/s320/Bunnyfood.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">No wonder this spot is bunny central in Bear Canyon. There is a stream just to the right. To the left is a housing project-sized rabbit warren. When passing by, I can never resist spending time here. It attracts like the field of opium poppies in the Wizard of Oz. The residents seem to be growing accustomed to me. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgPOZk6pd-v4LTP65vs-1jzWho4sNI4IrzVwX4HGFFThDtrPNV5tLhyphenhyphenNSaBHNvLhyphenhyphen8tYBEjIYPlJLdaQZ_1G3DGN6vQCvsc9mU3auYIvnwPGfkgcgfPjy5hsjg2A8tz_HYsv6RbDmA0AX/s1600/human_land_art1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHgPOZk6pd-v4LTP65vs-1jzWho4sNI4IrzVwX4HGFFThDtrPNV5tLhyphenhyphenNSaBHNvLhyphenhyphen8tYBEjIYPlJLdaQZ_1G3DGN6vQCvsc9mU3auYIvnwPGfkgcgfPjy5hsjg2A8tz_HYsv6RbDmA0AX/s320/human_land_art1.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">No, this is not a rabbit warren. That would look more like holes. This is human land art. Wherever I go, if I am within 1/4 mile of a trail, there is human land art. The compulsion to make art is strong. Most of what I see takes two forms: phallic rock towers or stick-shelters like this one. The latter seem to be a manifestation of the fantasy of living in the wild. These creations are everywhere. The more we trash the planet and its non-human inhabitants, the stronger our fantasies of retreating into their habitat. The former . . . well, sometimes a phallus is just a phallus, and sometimes it's a pile of rocks. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Something about leaving traces of my passing in the wilderness goes against my grain. I'm of the old school "take nothing but photographs, leave nothing but footprints" vein of thought. Like a bear, I do my best not to leave footprints. It's a good challenge. The bears are a lot better at it than I am. <br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Like every other mammal, I'm drawn to water. As summer progresses, it is getting harder to find water. Below is what's left of the raging run-off that enlivened Bear Canyon a few short weeks ago. What we laughably call the summer monsoons have started, so I take heart. Thunder heads are again forming over the mountains as I write this. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDcwscrIrsvFW5YeAaWUxIqh-RAxYFTk1pnysSqCH3JSzX5BMv5ufbUJWx20WJB1RMM_hH8ATAjjTJC34s2OK_lKTyPr0Duc_T2URtPm8HiyvQhfXnXt9iUMxeNQTPcxXh76qtL3nafdB/s1600/water1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDcwscrIrsvFW5YeAaWUxIqh-RAxYFTk1pnysSqCH3JSzX5BMv5ufbUJWx20WJB1RMM_hH8ATAjjTJC34s2OK_lKTyPr0Duc_T2URtPm8HiyvQhfXnXt9iUMxeNQTPcxXh76qtL3nafdB/s320/water1.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Leaving Bear Canyon, I walked through the Randall Davey Audubon Center and Wildlife Sanctuary, where I still have a painting hanging in a group show. The gallery is part of the original building and has a lovely Old New Mexico feeling. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicjXqH05UPRl520elnbW6uNHvr_F_K-DPGXealzf1fCe52Fdm3IPjerCef53uKQA1EqQyCjLDExpGxuiaJGotVoKWSOgIevCNIvt0cPO7zXVVs_CnL_t6dZmV0L4ylTz32UGPvGYZ8Db54/s1600/AfterARain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicjXqH05UPRl520elnbW6uNHvr_F_K-DPGXealzf1fCe52Fdm3IPjerCef53uKQA1EqQyCjLDExpGxuiaJGotVoKWSOgIevCNIvt0cPO7zXVVs_CnL_t6dZmV0L4ylTz32UGPvGYZ8Db54/s320/AfterARain.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I appreciate the access to wilderness that the Center provides, the birdseed they put out that the mule deer come down to feed on, the fact they understand and buy more birdseed, and the work they do educating kids about nature. If you are looking for a good nonprofit to support, look no further. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif7HW7hhGbQS_W5zNTgq9R1G7IHdoLfBS3SvjHlfgo8-5UhYI1T1YEosUT3Fw8H2XtEficM5yrwAOvogHaNRZbTQHakeqEdL8wonAPwUOF4THjOAd9-n7Wj2ZxOu94ELPa6ojYGx8jKDFK/s1600/Paintbrush1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif7HW7hhGbQS_W5zNTgq9R1G7IHdoLfBS3SvjHlfgo8-5UhYI1T1YEosUT3Fw8H2XtEficM5yrwAOvogHaNRZbTQHakeqEdL8wonAPwUOF4THjOAd9-n7Wj2ZxOu94ELPa6ojYGx8jKDFK/s320/Paintbrush1.jpg" /></a></div>Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-15361518710582981432010-06-17T15:41:00.000-07:002010-06-17T20:17:04.451-07:00Appreciating Summer<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">I'm a winter person. I've been working on appreciating summer. This work is easier at the crepuscular times of the day, and at night, under the stars. I went out this morning just after sunrise and made my way up Two-Doe Mountain, one of my regular summer early-morning haunts. I tracked a doe and fawn for half an hour and lost them at this stream crossing.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhNdlT4GHQC7gupjvhMAiVGoOmjT7WKp7GkhUIQeZZ2jOflAoAYwnH3GaWCvGIDbsHE-pC3l1yEkX2Aukl6GeuCG-n2FNUrOCWzAGVyeOGueM4GYc9zdDBapO0mG1ed6LTI6782cj7eqF/s1600/Stream2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhNdlT4GHQC7gupjvhMAiVGoOmjT7WKp7GkhUIQeZZ2jOflAoAYwnH3GaWCvGIDbsHE-pC3l1yEkX2Aukl6GeuCG-n2FNUrOCWzAGVyeOGueM4GYc9zdDBapO0mG1ed6LTI6782cj7eqF/s320/Stream2.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">It was a pleasant place to be led to. It had everything a doe and fawn require: water, food, and dense cover. That last item can be hard to find in the Southwest. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">In order to better appreciate summer, I took my camera along to record what inspires me. Deer, of course. I follow them even when I am not trying to, or trying not to. But deer are for all seasons. I find magic in snow, but there is inspiration in summer. Here's a shortlist, all shot this morning. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiERTfeCmFKxzCHzwOFG021iaGcCH6IwxH7_DDw-GTFyxqRyFE9qJDkPNVRBL1ulVPN1i6fgFc9QMS0LQJL2OADu1XBphqEB8BB3C5zkXGpmaK_v0_FoG99wOwoj1DkhRtVHrRBL1BSygig/s1600/Stream3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiERTfeCmFKxzCHzwOFG021iaGcCH6IwxH7_DDw-GTFyxqRyFE9qJDkPNVRBL1ulVPN1i6fgFc9QMS0LQJL2OADu1XBphqEB8BB3C5zkXGpmaK_v0_FoG99wOwoj1DkhRtVHrRBL1BSygig/s320/Stream3.jpg" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">Water<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiKZReFTIklg1qBY-ZfMSGYoXt57Jdvk6NwV7Jx2uSLTYp9fH9uUF7DxLjvxnWPhi5bnLdlec5js69XvVVCCC1tLkxkCKVVoV8Dp97Rl-PLvUCo8DFHpvZTaTfkjDMQB0BQ83KQEUAZyUd/s1600/LookingSouth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiKZReFTIklg1qBY-ZfMSGYoXt57Jdvk6NwV7Jx2uSLTYp9fH9uUF7DxLjvxnWPhi5bnLdlec5js69XvVVCCC1tLkxkCKVVoV8Dp97Rl-PLvUCo8DFHpvZTaTfkjDMQB0BQ83KQEUAZyUd/s320/LookingSouth.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Mountains, and a certain summer color of sky. Sam Scott, whose artwork and writing you should know if you don't, taught me that the eye sees the three primary colors, and, when one is absent, adds it. He talks of seasonal color palettes. On late spring/almost summer mornings like today, the eye adds a hint of red/magenta along the ridgetops.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5yWyTMa0_bWxb_rKX6zU117gxM-e45JTzGx8BzNDSAiw8Gc-cNwvh_YtNq9X7DYlQ8-vwMJ4hkyyu891fODe3GJnCG5GuQbCMywKg40lk070LNtY8Ep1d4pT1dtGOot4ZwLNKEfgaGiF/s1600/PricklyPear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5yWyTMa0_bWxb_rKX6zU117gxM-e45JTzGx8BzNDSAiw8Gc-cNwvh_YtNq9X7DYlQ8-vwMJ4hkyyu891fODe3GJnCG5GuQbCMywKg40lk070LNtY8Ep1d4pT1dtGOot4ZwLNKEfgaGiF/s320/PricklyPear.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCtSOd4aX1ryF1k0BMt2Y_x7_Bw5L7M-NX-yEYjt3RsTGeETmjPwuyM7El5fBrDwLa0dMU2b9O9nYqIaxOcPXQyQWeGJw1wzCH-a-UmrkgzNWL0EgdVnf6mPR6i8t-80ad3H8JINwbTZMd/s1600/ThistleInBloom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCtSOd4aX1ryF1k0BMt2Y_x7_Bw5L7M-NX-yEYjt3RsTGeETmjPwuyM7El5fBrDwLa0dMU2b9O9nYqIaxOcPXQyQWeGJw1wzCH-a-UmrkgzNWL0EgdVnf6mPR6i8t-80ad3H8JINwbTZMd/s320/ThistleInBloom.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Flora.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK2xXmns1WMmQeazK5JKlGHOiQaJwWtSfynRgFHDLcuSr8T3Hu3AQXpQhOgNEJTCJkIBM7w_VJg7g_vMXu6Z_nxaexvlkFUCMeeZDmFGqt5Xbvo6i9KeYuPTxbITCYoaoUxaBuUKIGmYpL/s1600/WhoLivesHereJune2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK2xXmns1WMmQeazK5JKlGHOiQaJwWtSfynRgFHDLcuSr8T3Hu3AQXpQhOgNEJTCJkIBM7w_VJg7g_vMXu6Z_nxaexvlkFUCMeeZDmFGqt5Xbvo6i9KeYuPTxbITCYoaoUxaBuUKIGmYpL/s320/WhoLivesHereJune2.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Animal homes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeafeySSpZhSpE1UFfK85V6icgIwW6cCr9RcobZoZCOIN-FOTXnf_HGz_c9Fj__ov3H6bgZ4teD2OF25n5zxedUlPH8WBsbk_FK1KP1XEYrZFYOSs2th8KZzBdmDRshmuDBUO3RgfSBdXi/s1600/LightningKilledTree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeafeySSpZhSpE1UFfK85V6icgIwW6cCr9RcobZoZCOIN-FOTXnf_HGz_c9Fj__ov3H6bgZ4teD2OF25n5zxedUlPH8WBsbk_FK1KP1XEYrZFYOSs2th8KZzBdmDRshmuDBUO3RgfSBdXi/s320/LightningKilledTree.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Land art created by the elements. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This lightning-killed tree is a painting waiting to happen. It's also a home to more living beings than it was when it was alive. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was thinking yesterday about monumental land art like <em>Spiral Jetty</em>, corn mazes, etc. While there is something there to appreciate, they are monuments to ego, as is, perhaps, all art that is not temporary. When land art is created by the elements, it is without ego. Perhaps that's the definition of magical. But then my eye sees it, and I want to recreate it as a painting, a monument to my ego. Ha! </div>Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2875432105402963452.post-3039703549432457112010-06-11T12:11:00.000-07:002010-06-17T20:17:35.841-07:00RabbitsAfter a 5-week hiatus from running and walking, due to a strange little injury, I went out early this morning for a hike. It was glorious (before the 95 degree heat). I revisited one of the waterfalls pictured in my last post, now dry. <br />
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There is still a trickle of water in Bear Canyon. As I walked through tall grasses next to a stream, a baby rabbit stopped in its tracks. I did the same, and sat down. There we were for 20 minutes, joined by a horned lizard and a white butterfly. At first, the rabbit demonstrated its skill at appearing less and less visible without moving a muscle. It appeared to melt into the earth. Then it relaxed and started eating grass. <br />
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The last rabbit I saw stood beside a road, dazed, with a huge bloody eye, likely slashed by a raptor. I picked it up and drove for an hour to the wildlife hospital, where, the last I heard, it was recovering. Raptors occasionally blind their prey before the kill. That rabbit's eye has been in my dreams and waking mind ever since. It was invigorating to see a young, healthy, two-eyed rabbit, and lovely to spend twenty minutes with it. <br />
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Sooner or later, a one-eyed rabbit will appear in one of my paintings, perhaps only in a form recognizable to me, and perhaps in the company of a rabbit kit, a horned lizard, and a white butterfly.Cate Moseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13591937958322405067noreply@blogger.com0