Art and Soul

I admire the painters, potters, poets, musicians, singers, dancers – all of the artists with skills I don’t have.

What happens in a person’s brain to direct a line of charcoal to become a horse’s gentle eye?

How does a palate of colors eventually denote a grizzly glistening in the autumn sun?

Does the rhythm or do the notes of a song flow from a guitar first?

I found a few answers as my daughter, Abby, my mom and I strolled through the booths at Western Art Week in Great Falls last week.

All of my conversations with the artists were about the story.

One woman from Alberta displayed a Scottish Highlander with a cotton-candy pink background.

Normally, neither cotton-candy pink nor Scottish Highlanders attract my attention, but the expression on the steer's face compared to the cotton-candy pink was such a dichotomy. Each of her other paintings offered a juxtaposition, too – a black steer facing a white steer, another of solemn Holsteins with colorful balloons floating behind them.

She used cattle and color to symbolize the different ways each of us experiences life.

A bronze artist talked to me about how he developed his idea of a Native American standing on a rock outcrop, hoisting a spear at a sow grizzly. Her two cubs were tucked under the outcrop. Somehow, hesitation emanated from both the person and the bear, even as both were about to attack.

The artist said this idea came from always fighting with his girlfriend. Neither wanted to fight, but both felt threatened. If they could find a way to back down from the fight, they might find a way to coexist.

The essence of the scene asked whether they could navigate a path to avoid conflict.

I bought hats for Abby and myself because of the dynamic Little Shell vendor.

She goes to thrift and antique stores to find used-up throw-aways, then puts them all together in funky, whimsical ways.

My new Stetson has a velvet belt with rhinestones around the brim and matches tucked into the belt.

The combination of impractical elegance on an understated portable shade-maker with just-in-case preparations makes me giggle.

Even better, I imagine the stories that hat and velvet belt could tell.

Strolling through Western Art Week is humbling.

Stories beg to come out, but I wonder how to share them.

I use words, but so often I struggle to find the right ones.

It takes so much effort to express the central meaning, core and connections with inadequate words.

I thought about this next morning as I walked the sheep to a new pasture.

As the sheep flowed through the gate, I noticed one of my livestock guardian dogs scouting ahead down in the coulee.

Suddenly, ears went up on all four of my dogs.

They all dashed across the prairie with a coyote in the lead.

The dogs coordinated their chase on the fly. One followed the coyote’s path while others shortcutted as the coyote angled toward various escape routes. One dog stayed back, always between the coyote and the flock of sheep.

The geometry, the teamwork, the dichotomy of predator and prey, and survival for the sheep, the coyote and me – all of it came together in that chase.

I left the sheep to graze for the day and walked back across new green grass poking up from under last season’s growth.

I realized that the land tells a story, too, sharing how all of the forms of life that depend on it thrive and die as the cycle continues.

My role in creating those stories and sharing them is worth the effort.

Just don’t ask me to sing, dance or draw them.