Impression Evergreen

Snowstorm at Stagecoach Park After months of record breaking snowfall during March and April, the cold streak continues into the middle of May. The frigid beauty revealed in the aftermath of a freak snowstorm betrays the dreary weather experienced this spring. As usual dawn is shrouded in mist and you can see your own breath as glassy, white ice encases the shocked landscape. The trees are particularly hard hit but they display a defiant resolve to defeat the unexpected elements. Stagecoach Park is barely recognizable because of the low-lying clouds that cause reduced visibility. The field’s sturdy fence line seems to extend from an impressive pine all the way into absolute nothingness. After about a day of such nonsense the blue sky opened back up and an impatient sun went to work releasing winter’s almost unclench-able grip. Even the park’s iconic landmark, Bob the Dinosaur, has grown weary of this eternal, glacial event as it feels like we’re still in the last Ice Age. Freak sno

"Red Mountain Range" Colored Pencil The Red Mountain Range sweeps southward across desolate ranch land where a barren tree sets the scale. It’s sunrise and the blue light has been scattered so crimson is the only color permeating the all-powerful peaks. The snow-covered summits are still mostly in shade but the first highlights melt into a sun-bleached sky.  The rugged chain is architectural in form as the violet shadows delineate the exciting shapes. The remarkable geometry is drawn into the bottom lands where the snowy pastures are divided by horizontal bands of ochre agriculture. The dark foreground is a rough-hewn hedge of tall grass and sagebrush. Visiting this site has inspired an artistic experiment about how best to express the transcendent nature of these mystical mountains. The series has come to an end but I’m not sure a satisfying conclusion has been achieved so further investigation may be required in the future.

"Red Alpenglow" Colored Pencil Down in southern Colorado a string of snow-covered mountains looms over a broad, ranchland valley. It’s just before dawn and the sun’s rays are streaming into the atmosphere where the light is reflected onto the peaks, creating a red alpenglow. The drawing’s obscure foreground is still frozen in a state of mystic shadow. A stand of dark trees stretches across the page as the strange silhouette is outlined in blue, emphasizing the scene’s surreal essence. The snowy pasture gradually gives way to the rosy cordillera where the shapes are defined by passages of delicate shading. Devoid of all detail, the white summits melt into a bleached sky, confirming the mountains’ sacred connection with heaven. Rather than race to faithfully record the fleeting nature of a transitory sunrise, it seems like there must be something much deeper. An expressionistic approach releases the artist to pursue a more personal interpretation that depends on a certain

Sangre de Cristo sunrise Winter nights in the high country are obscure, eternal and inclement and the inkwell of black firmament is glittered with a profusion of silver pinpoints that contradict the startling silence. It’s a beautifully eerie combination of contentment and discomfort. Down in southern Colorado, there’s a mountain range that’s as rugged as it is remote. Rising out of a desert situation, the chain of needle-sharp peaks extends all the way into New Mexico, transporting its picturesque allure across state lines. The mountains are called Blood of Christ and if you ever witness a Sangre de Cristo sunrise, you’ll understand why. Just before dawn, the first solar rays are reflected off of snowy summits, creating a rosy alpenglow that astonishes the retina. The steady transformation unfolds even more dramatically when a setting, full moon shines brightly in a purple sky. The crimson sierras come into full relief as the forceful contrast between light and shadow defines th

"Ghost Horse" Colored Pencil Floating out of an eerie windbreak, a white apparition confronts the viewer face-to-face. It’s a piercing dawn in the Sandhills as the ghost horse haunts a prairie hacienda. The pale wraith is peaceful and harmless as it drifts through a moat of tall grass. Trying to bridle him in, a rough-hewn stockade is suggested by an irregular grid of interlocking, geometric shapes. Defined by a steel-blue shadow, the phantom’s head is the portrait of simplicity. His shaggy, winter robe is conveyed by the purest of white with touches of cool gray smudged into the shape. With the rapid rise of technology, automation and manufacturing, we creep ever closer to becoming the ultimate, urban civilization. It’s heartening to come home to western Nebraska where vast tracts of ranch land scenery can still be found, summoning the resilient spirit of the Old West.

Somber light March has been a dreary month distinguished by somber light, ill weather and a deadly virus. During this muddy stretch, we usually get most of our sleet and snow but this year it has been all rain and drizzle. The clocks were struck ahead so twilight is later but the dawn is diffused by a morning mist that cloaks the landscape in a depressing aura. The individual shapes are broken into receding planes that gradually disappear into a blank slate of firmament. The sun strains desperately to filter its first light into an eerie woodland shrouded by dense fog. Some of the rays are funneled through narrow passages between the trees creating surreal beams that flood the forest floor. The desaturated colors are dull, the black mountains are buttressed by a tawny meadow and slags of gray snow slide across the scene. The interior is filled with a thick atmosphere of soupy moisture that softens every sharp edge. Citizens have been asked to disperse, interact socially fr

Morning in the mountains On a frigid morning in the mountains, the dark landscape is coated with a thin layer of sparkling ice. Tired and cold, it's difficult to get going on such a dreary, winter dawn. By late January, the Front Range foothills are quiet and colorless. On this day things are different as a large herd of elk have gathered in the monochrome meadow. Strung out along the crest of a wide ridge, cows, yearlings and bulls forage together in the ochre grass. Patches of broken snowpack slide into the narrow draw below. After such an unusual weather event, the pure-white Evergreens look like crystallized Christmas Trees. In the low light, their grey shadows stretch across the watery gulch. It's a melancholy Monday but the morning march is a therapeutic necessity. It looks like it's going to be another hectic few days, working for the weekend. A frigid morning The dark landscape is covered with ice A dreary, winter dawn The foothills a