| "The Arkansas River Bend 08-04" 17" x 22" Pastel on paper 2005 |
| * * * It's like pulling teeth. He says nine a.m., I say fine, he says Arkansas River, I say fine, he says "First we gotta have breakfast.." By ten thirty we're back in the Toyota, fully fed and on our way south, but NO, we must stop and see a friend in Victor. But that wasn't "first", actually, four-wheel driving along the dirt roads skirting the edge of Cripple Creek and lower canyons, that was our first priority. |
No where near the Arkansas River. By the time he switches back to two wheel drive, we're in Victor, and they're ready
for lunch. Lunch turns into a cocktail and we're back on the road by 2 p.m. - and I'm frustrated. I came to draw, this
morning sometime. He's buzzed and heading for the River. The first road to the water, "No, not good." The second
and the third and the twentieth were not good, and for one reason or another we kept bouncing around along the River.
Finally, its three o'clock, we are now heading backwards towards home, on a bridge over the River. I say, "We gotta
stop soon or there won't be time to do the artwork."
Below the bridge we go. He drives out on the river rock, backs his Toyota tail-end towards the canyon with a
postcard view of all the lovely rock formations, and the river twisting between red canyon walls, lots of trees and rocks
and white water.
Me? I get the other direction, from under the bridge, peering out into the distant flats of pinon trees, scrub oak and
dry, dry rugged turf. But I grabbed my pastels and headed under the bridge, not to be discouraged, especially
considering what I went through to get to this bend in the River. I grabbed this scene with JOY! I never earned it
more. I never enjoyed it more than under that bridge, watching the bend in the Arkansas River.
for lunch. Lunch turns into a cocktail and we're back on the road by 2 p.m. - and I'm frustrated. I came to draw, this
morning sometime. He's buzzed and heading for the River. The first road to the water, "No, not good." The second
and the third and the twentieth were not good, and for one reason or another we kept bouncing around along the River.
Finally, its three o'clock, we are now heading backwards towards home, on a bridge over the River. I say, "We gotta
stop soon or there won't be time to do the artwork."
Below the bridge we go. He drives out on the river rock, backs his Toyota tail-end towards the canyon with a
postcard view of all the lovely rock formations, and the river twisting between red canyon walls, lots of trees and rocks
and white water.
Me? I get the other direction, from under the bridge, peering out into the distant flats of pinon trees, scrub oak and
dry, dry rugged turf. But I grabbed my pastels and headed under the bridge, not to be discouraged, especially
considering what I went through to get to this bend in the River. I grabbed this scene with JOY! I never earned it
more. I never enjoyed it more than under that bridge, watching the bend in the Arkansas River.