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| "Finch in the Painted Desert" by Douglas Keil 24x30 on canvas 2011 |
As some of you may know, in my late teens and early twenties, I used to spend most of my nights sleeping on the ground, on one adventure or another. My tireless thirst to understand natural history had me traveling all over with not much more than a backpack, sleeping bag, cookpot, and journal.
I felt so alive waking up next to the smoldering remains of a campfire and eventually I found myself out West, doing expeditions for some wilderness outfits in central Utah. They were companies that I've heard referred to as "hoods in the woods" programs- catering to at-risk teenagers and attempting to snap them out of their unhealthy living circumstancesby by providing a life-changing experience. For those those managed to elude the grasp of litigation, they could be financially lucrative. Most tended to be grass-roots organizations full of zeal and an ardent desire to assist a floundering generation. I hoped that some of my appreciation for life and natural history could be passed on to the kids in my care. Some were pretty rough characters, most were just punk kids a few years younger than me (I was in my young twenties.) The common thread among them all was that they were disgruntled affluent kids whose folks had enough money to do amazing things- like send them on adventures for a couple months. I wish my paychecks as a guide reflected their affluence; I could hardly afford to live; which was pretty pathetic. Anyway, I enjoyed the work for the most part. I learned so much about human psychology and the natural history of the American West while getting paid a pittance to explore some of the most amazing places on earth. Our adventures took us across the painted desert and up into the mountains; camping by streams and waterholes, exploring canyons, spending the starlit nights sleeping on pine needles and listening to the breeze rustle the leaves of aspen forests.
High up in the clear mountain air life was good. Life was great! I tried to leave a good legacy with my time.
One thing is certain- the desert etched more than a few images into my mind: soaring vistas of rock, sand, juniper and sage, big skies painted in surreal blues, and greater expanses than I ever dreamed of. There is a feeling of accomplishment that is missing in modern life. The urban/suburban lifestyle has deprived people of the satisfaction of experiencing the scope of the landscape and identifying with the role we should play as caretakers of the physical foundation of society. Days spent trekking across the wilderness furnished ample opportunities to look back across rolling hills and arroyos with reflection, to say,"Wow! This morning I started walking all the way over there, and now... I'm all the way up here!" The sort of experiences that set the hustle and bustle of business and Hollywood dramas in a more appropriate place. For me that's somewhere between negligible and non-existent.
Which brings me to my painting "Finch in the painted Desert."
There is something incredibly special about sitting quietly atop a 200 ft mesa and looking down to the bottom of the canyon below, across the desert expanse, and then up at the sky. Inevitably, within the passing of a short time, some action will present itself before your eyes. Perhaps it is a raven noisily flapping it wings past, or a flock of scrub jays moving through the pinon and junipers, and sometimes...
it's something like I envision here: a finch alighting on a cluster of cactus.
When the bird realizes it's not alone, it turns its head sideways to assess the scene, looks into your eyes, pauses for a while to visit, and then flies off in its continual quest for food.
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