There is nothing there,

so I feel the need to explain.

Knowing that paintings ought not need explanation, I am hesitant to offer any insight into this painting. Nevertheless, because it is … different … and because the subtle parts may be lost, I will here layout what I was thinking.

I wanted to make a painting of Bear Paw Battlefield, where Chief Joseph and the other Nez Perce escaped, died, or surrendered. I had the idea but the landscape kept eluding me. Unsatisfied (actually defeated, and completely without a guide), I quit that idea and had to pick up another (second year in a row). After all, there was a hard deadline and I’d given my word.

While looking at photos from that battlefield area, I saw one containing a dark depression, and while I could see no stones that normally indicated a teepee (tipi) site, I learned that it was an old teepee ring.

The thing is, this ring was not from the time of Chief Joseph as one may think because their supplies had been lost previously in an encounter with the U.S. Army. When they arrived and camped here, they had to scrounge up whatever they could for shelter. People froze.

This ring was from 600-700 years before (estimated).

(It was revealed after a fire. Fire is revelatory many times.)

That means that there were people moving through this area hundreds of years ago in the same fields, same grasses, same hills, and same stream.

The grass was windblown, but someone had walked through the circle and into the distance, leaving the pressed-down grasses shining. No trace of a person. Just footprints.

Like a spirit guide.

It was this utter simplicity - this deeply human experience - shelter, walking, time overlapping space - and the element of memory that compelled me to translate the shapes and tones into oil paint, and perhaps to place before whoever views it

a story of one people - unknown, traveling for unknown reasons, sheltering in the fields -

to another people - running from the paradisical Walla Walla valley in Oregon over a thousand miles to this strange land, hoping to cross an invisible foreign border to remain free. (Remember that this is Bear Paw battlefield where Chief Joseph surrendered…)

Those overlaps, those memories,

those layers upon layers,

were compelling to me,

and to say it simply seemed right.

It is as if the wind wanted to speak, to tell all it knows,

but when the few who venture here and turn their face to listen,

the words soften to whispers,

and are carried away.

[PAINTING DETAILS THAT MAY INTEREST SOME]

Photography is not effective in presenting this image. Not my photography, at least.

The painting seems lighter and hazier.

Though I did not conceive the arrangement this way, it happens that the image contains a classic “S” composition that,

if one follows the arc from low middle center, around to the right, and back over to the left, they will see a small, light line representing distant pressed-down grasses that lead back over to the right and to the sharper point on the hill (easier to see in the painting, not the photo…).

From that point, there is nowhere to go.

I like that idea.

That, despite the movement through this landscape, some reach a point and there is nowhere to go.

The natives from 6oo-700 years ago moved through the area. 600-700 years later, the Nez Perce found themselves with nowhere to go.

My heart wishes to move through as well, but the winds ask me to stay a little longer. So, here for the second year in a row, I find myself thinking of natives who might see me with contempt and about the U.S. government who couldn’t care less.

Still, in my mind’s eye, I show up in these empty places filled with the weight of memory and listen.

Empty places filled.

A teepee ring,

footprints in the grass,

a distant hill.

Spirits.

We show up to listen, and empty places fill.