Well, it's official. This IS my final year on the road showing my drawings at art fairs and festivals across the country. I'm retiring from the grind of having to produce work on the deadlines that are inherent in being ready for shows. While I expect to continue with some kind of artwork, I have some wild and crazy ideas of very different things I may try just for fun. We'll see what happens! They say macramé is making a comeback! ;-)
 
I'm still feverishly working on what I believe will be my best collection of drawings to date for my 42nd (!!!) year of doing professional-level shows. While I'm participating in a very limited schedule this year (more on that below), each of the events I'm doing is special to me as marking posts along my journey.

You could probably say I'm already slipping into a state of semi-retirement with a plan for only three events*, separated by some leisure travel that has been on the radar for a while – The Netherlands in Spring and an "Under The Tuscan Sun" style few weeks in an Italian villa in October.

For the first time in more than 18 years, I will not be showing at any Oregon shows, this year. It was a tough decision, Oregon being my home, but considerations of scheduling travel, wanting to do fewer limited-time-between-shows "forced marches" across the country necessitated some cuts, and just wanting to enjoy life a little more, got me to editing down my commitments.

The first show up will be Main St Fort Worth in Texas, April 16-19. This was one of my first BIG shows among many I've been fortunate to do, but the exposure and great sales (along with some very kind recognition from the jurors), always makes me very happy to return.

The second show on my schedule is MAC Art Fest in Spokane, Washington, May 29-31. The very first major show I ever did was sponsored by the Museum of Native American Cultures in Spokane back in 1985. When that museum closed, its extensive collection eventually became a part of the Northwest Museum of Arts and Culture, the sponsors of the current show. So, in a tidy circle of life, one of my final shows will be in Spokane where it all began and it's run by a new and separately organized iteration of the old cultural institution.

My third and grand finale show will be the Saint Louis Art Fair in Missouri, September 18-20. I love this show. I adore the folks who do the extraordinary work to put it on. And, Saint Louis has been so incredibly kind to me over the years, I just can't stay away. For these reasons, I think it's fitting to finish the adventure in a place that is so deeply imbedded in my heart.

I hope you will be able to find a way to catch me at one of these three events in 2026. Stop by and say hello and, just maybe, find that one last piece of art you have to take home (or place in your office). And, of course, if you can't make it to any of them, all of my work will be available on my website, linked under "Original Art" and "Reproductions" at left.

So three cheers for the great ride I've had and that I know is going to finish BIG in 2026!

*DISCLAIMER: The jurying has not yet been completed as of this writing for the Spokane and Saint Louis shows, but I have a good feeling and I'm putting all my positive energy as well as crossing every finger and toe  that invitations to participate come through.

When I’m at a show, it’s inevitable that people visiting my booth will exclaim “they look like photographs”, referring to my drawings. It’s not rare that sometimes a person will argue with me, either facetiously or sometimes seriously, that they must be photos. I take it as a compliment, of course, but my work is much more than that.

A word that’s often thrown casually about is “photorealism”. While there are usually at least a few elements within the whole piece that might fall into that category, my work really isn’t entirely photorealistic. It’s realism, for sure. I strive to create works that take you, through much detail, right into the subject. However, there’re usually far more elements of the compositions that fall firmly outside such a designation. Much of the work is an impression of highly detailed realism without actually going there. It’s a trick of the eye and mind. By including just enough detail in the most important places, I’ve tricked your mind into believing that the entire work has photorealistic detail.

In doing this, I’m not trying to deceive you. I am giving my work a depth of interest that it would not otherwise have if every single little detail were recreated on every square inch of the drawing. THAT would be mere reproduction of reality and, in my humble opinion, a bit pointless when a camera and a bit of Photoshop™ work would be a much more efficient way to accomplish it. And while it certainly makes for a great display of technical ability, it doesn’t necessarily make for a piece of art that is interesting beyond the initial “wow” of technical prowess.

My drawings pull you in with that initial impact, but then they let you explore the forms – the light and shadow – as well as the soul of the subject that goes past that initial smack in the face. You, as the viewer, actually complete the work in your own mind, filling in the details I’ve left out. I’m involving you much deeper with my work by asking you to do part of the work. I allow you to venture into the drawing rather than tell you everything there is to know at the outset. The effect is that each person has their own reaction and each “finishes” the drawing in their own way by pulling from and applying their own life experiences.

My approach of having some extreme detail alongside more impressionistic areas, allows my work to have an impact both up close and from a distance. So often I hear people talk about the idea that while a drawing is compelling from across a room, it looks just as interesting, in a different way, up close. At close range, you see the details – the technical aspects of the work. From a distance, it is the compositional impact – the emotion of the work – that draws the attention.

I’m often told my drawings are “quiet”. Last September at the Saint Louis Art Fair, I was fortunate enough to win one of the Juror's Choice awards. There are three, given by each juror to the body of work they found to be their personal favorite. Jennifer Perlow, a gallerist, curator and the juror who honored me, talked about my work in presenting the award and why she selected it. For her, it was about the quiet nature of my work – "technically proficient", she observed, yet far deeper and, quite simply, "quiet". She got it. She got it to the core! My subjects are many, from big, impressive African animals, to trees and to skies that may be calm and clear or roiling with storms. Still, in each piece there is a quiet feel. A calmness. A place of escape either to a memory or even a fantasy.

When I think of “the quiet”, it is the idea that regardless of the subject, the commonality of all my work is the overall quiet I hope a viewer will feel. The regal lion staring off into the distance, lost in his thoughts; the forest of aspen in the snow waiting for warmer temperatures and the thaw of Springtime; or even the boiling thunderheads amassing in the sky above, all have a quietness, despite what might at first seem like action, that draws you in. A peacefulness that allows you to pause and reflect. You might have a recollection of a place or time or even a story you’ve read. I want you to connect to the soul of my work. Get yourself lost in it. Forget about the technical aspects. Enjoy the work for all that it is. The whole, not its parts. Let yourself go. Be calmed. It’s about “the quiet”.

Much has been written lately, in artists’ circles, about how the “public” should learn to talk to artists. It’s a hot topic, actually, with passionate feelings on both sides of the issue.

As “Art Fair Artists”–how we collectively tend to refer to ourselves–we have come to expect the same fifteen questions or comments or humorous references over and over and over.  We try hard to keep that smile on our faces, that spring in our step and that “snarky” attitude in check while approaching each question & comment for the umpteenth time. It’s not always so easy, especially after three or four 10-12 hour days on our feet in our little 10x10 cells…er…booths.

It’s not easy to answer the same questions a hundred or more times in a single weekend and make the person who asked it feel like they are the first to have inquired. No. It’s actually quite a challenge. In fact, it’s exhausting. I will admit to reaching the latter part of a less-than-stellar show feeling like if I hear “that” question (no…I’m not going to tell you what question) again, I’m gonna have a nervous breakdown. And, I’m sure my responses have sometimes sounded more than a bit on edge. I try to avoid that but I am human, after all. Some days my big bottle of “chill pills” is empty.

Some in our Art Fair Artist circle believe we should be instructing the public in the ways of our business and how they should talk to us. I am not one of those folks.

You see, art in all its various forms is a creative enterprise. We who make it are “oddities”. We don’t go to the office or warehouse or store every day like “normal” people, punch a time card and then go home at the end of the day. Most of us DO put in some very long hours in our studios every day, not to mention the time, effort and expense of going to distant art fairs many times a year. Because we are different, there is an understandable fascination about how we tick and I don’t think it is the duty of the “public” to learn how to approach and talk to us. I think it is OUR duty as artists to give you a window into our lives and our thinking. If that means answering the same questions or laughing at the same “funny” comments every single time or responding to the “what’s your best price?” question (the one on the price tag) over and over, so be it. All of this beats so many other really terrible jobs that exist out there in the world, many of which I have done and have absolutely no desire to go back to.

In the end, we are in business. We are businesspeople and how we handle ourselves reflects on our businesses–our artwork–regardless of how good it may be. At the base of it all and beyond all the “glamour” of being an artist, it’s really just retail. It’s dealing with the public–ALL of the public. The ones who are art-savvy and know exactly what they like and want as well as those who’ve never been to an art show nor even spoken to an artist before.

I love what I do. I feel incredibly fortunate to be doing a job (yes, it IS a job) that I love and am able to make a comfortable living at it. There are times I feel like running, screaming into the sunset to get away from it all, but then I remember just how lucky I really am.

As the “public”, don’t ever feel it is your responsibility to learn how to talk to me! Ask me questions. Learn how I do my work and what inspires me. Find out about what it’s like for we artists to do 10 or 20 or 40 shows a year on the road while trying to find time to make the work about which we are so passionate. DO NOT be afraid you are asking questions that have been asked a thousand times before, because they HAVE. Just do it! All I ask is that you DO remember I’m there to work–to sell and make a living. I don’t always have as much time as I would like to simply chat about the weather or give an impromptu workshop…but if I DO, I will! Count on it!

YOU, Mr. and Mrs. Public, don’t need to be taught how to talk to me. Nope. Just come right on in and let’s have a conversation. Who knows? You might even realize you can’t live without one of my drawings or one of my neighbor’s photographs or sculptures or jewels or weavings!