On a recent trip to Austin, we took our morning walk around Towne Lake. Eagle-Eye Ron first spotted the "snake in the grass" that lay next to the trail. It was so big that I missed it. Hundreds of feet long, its head lies near the trail; its body stretches through the building; its tail ends in the parking lot. The Mexican American Cultural Center is a lovely new addition to the scenery around the lake and merits a visit not only for its architecture and landscape but also for its exhibitions. It is, of course, a friendly scarlet king snake. Red on black, friend of Jack.
Why is It He Never Looks at Me?
by Gay Pogue
8" x 10"
Acrylic on canvas
In a recent conversation with Carol Barnwell, she asked me point blank, "Why do you paint snakes?"
I referred her to this blog, but I did not have a good 10-second answer to that question. Hmmm.
Needless to say, I have been pondering that moment with some consternation. Here is my first attempt.
"I paint snakes because I can make them what I want them to be--serious, whimsical, religious, spiritual, sentient, or iconic."
Here they represent the human condition. Two beings lie in the grass tete-a-tete, neither able to acknowledge the other.
How often do I pass people by without looking at them?
The Heart of the Matter
by Gay Pogue
24" x 30"
Acrylic on Canvas
The finished painting.
Lately, the Apple has been bothering me. It was there. God made it and put it there. Did God say, "Don't eat the Apple," so that accepting the responsibility for the Knowledge of Good and Evil is our choice?
And I am thinking the Apple is still in the Garden waiting for us to eat again. I, for one, want more knowledge about Good and Evil. The older I get; the less clear it all is.
Just to update you on the progress of the new snake and tree. . . .
She is looking at the apple, thinking about it. The tree is heavily pruned to the point of looking almost cut down. Eden is not what it once was--a lush verdant oasis in a hostile world. The trees, however, refuse to die. They still have a few leaves and fruit waiting to be plucked, and Snake is still considering what to do with it.
What shall we title this view of Eden?
For "New Snake and Tree," I chose a 24" x 30" canvas that was waiting in the basement. It's plastic wrapper coated with dust, that canvas had been around a while.
Looking at the more recently purchased smaller canvasses sitting there, I suddenly had this feeling of claustrophobia. This is a larger painting.
Two years ago, when I had to put a few things into my Explorer, say good-bye to my house and home, and head north, I suffered some sort of artistic trauma. I became obsessed with "small." Everything had to fit into a plastic box that I could quickly grab, throw into the back of the car, and take elsewhere.
I obsessively check the National Hurricane Center website to indications of any tropical cyclones. This year we learned that not all hurricanes give us days of warning. Humberto went from depression to hurricane in 16 hours before slamming into Beaumont, just a few miles away.
But it is now October 14 with nothing on the horizon but cooler weather and water. Two seasons have passed and I am relaxing about things. Something has told my psyche that it is again okay to paint big.
A few days back, I was tired from teaching and everything else, so I put my sketchbook in my lap, took a pencil in my hand and began to idly draw a familiar motiv. The colored pencils were sitting there and soon added their spark.
Here it is. We'll see how the drawing translates to canvas.
Stay tuned.
My nephew, nine years old, had to do a project for his fourth grade science class. From somewhere he got the idea to do his project on snakes. His parents are both foresters, so I don't know exactly where the thought of snakes came from.
His mom assures me that the tail extending off the board was his idea. He meticulously drew in the details on the snake's body. When folded over the board, the back of the tail bears the title and so forth.
Okay, I am bragging, but his art fits on this blog.
On 4th Street near I-40 in Albuquerque within an otherwise bleak-looking neighborhood, Avanyu and friends brighten and bless this architecturally plain building. Avanyu, the feathered snake, is a common motif in New Mexico. Maria Martinez used the snake extensively on her pottery.
