Author: Ralph Sellers

Growing up in Appalachia was quite the experience. Even though I lived in what would now be classified as extreme poverty, at the time I assumed that is how everyone lived. Unlike the children of today, I would often get up and head to the green hills, usually alone, unsupervised, and without a care in the world. There were creeks with brightly colored salamanders and crawfish to be found; long abandoned apple orchards for lunch, and occasionally a cherry tree for dessert. When darkness approached it was time to head home.

Life was so simple then; so full of innocence. Now you would be arrested for child endangerment for letting your children do such a thing.

Needless to say, those green forested hills full of adventure were nothing like the Sonoran Desert. Well, except for the adventure part.

Anyhow, I occasionally run across a plant or flower that reminds me of those days. Several years ago I came across a Nasturtium (Tropaeolum majus).    

No, it was not in the desert. It was in a park, but I thought the photograph would lend itself well to a watercolor painting.

As I was traversing the ridge of Montana Mountain I couldn’t help but notice the smooth brilliant red brown bark of the Manzanita. (Arctostaphylos pungens)

This spectacular tree/shrub grows at higher elevations here in Arizona and its gnarled and twisted trunk and branches appearing like the knotted muscles of a superhero are truly art in its finest form.  Seeing them alone makes the journey worthwhile.

A watercolor based on one of my photographs.

For the past several days it has been unseasonably hot here in the valley of the sun. The highs have been around 115 degrees.  Needless to say, it does not make you motivated to leave the house. Thank goodness for air conditioning.

It does however make me think back to several years ago when I went to the Oregon Coast.

I suppose the weather is never perfect anywhere year round, but I do have to say, other than the three or four months of summer, it really is lovely here, but today I would rather be at the beach.

Like anywhere, I suppose, it is easy to stop seeing what is most common all around us, and here in Arizona, it is no different. Even though the Saguaro grows nowhere else in the world, people soon stop seeing the uniqueness and distinct character in every pose of these iconic sentinels of the Sonoran Desert.

If you look with an open and creative mind they can represent any myriad of people and objects. Fortunately, unlike many of the great forests of America, the humble Saguaro has been deemed of no commercial value, and most of their original population remains today. Other than those that stood in the path of development, that is.

Here is a watercolor of two fine specimens conversing about the chances of rain.

As I was making my way up Hewitt Canyon, I could see off in the distance several Harris Hawk’s perched in a large Saguaro Cactus. Harris Hawk’s are one of the few species that seem to have a loose camaraderie with others of their kind. While most hawks lead a relatively solitary existence, other than with their mate, Harris Hawk’s often congregate. I am not sure if this is a hunting tactic or if they are simply being social.

Anyhow, as I continued my approach, all but one flew off. The remaining hawk sat, seeming undisturbed as the distance between us shrank.  Deciding  I had better not push my luck, I retrieved my camera and quickly switched lenses to the largest zoom I had. The hawk continued his stoic pose, appearing as if he could care less what I was doing.

I managed to get several great photos, one of which I made into the acrylic painting posted below.

One day I was out in Telegraph Canyon, near the long abandoned Ajax mine, when I spotted something a curious bright green that didn’t seem to fit the surrounding gravelly terrain. At first I thought someone had lost something as it did not move. Grabbing my binoculars, as it was still quite a distance from myself, I took a closer look. Needless to say, I was quite surprised to discover it was a Collared Lizard (Crotaphytus collaris).  

This fairly large lizard can be up to a foot in length and as I had never seen one in the wild, I didn’t want to scare it off before I could get a photograph or two. I stealthily made my way closer, camera at the ready, until I felt it was now or never. Fortunately, I always carry a large zoom lens for exactly these circumstances.

He still hadn’t moved an inch, allowing me to get several photos, one of which I used to create this watercolor.

I thought I would depart momentarily from the series of flora and fauna that I have been working on to something no less equally interesting.

I have heard it said that people enter into, and depart our lives for a reason, some good, some bad; but all with a lesson to be learned if we pay attention.  But in truth, varying  in significance, of course, I think everyone that was a part of our lives stays with us forever in our thoughts and memories.  Despite our efforts to banish the unpleasant ones.

I never understood people that end up hating someone they once loved; of course that is just me, and I readily admit to not being able to comprehend hating anyone.

Anyhow, today I am showing some portraits of someone I will always know.

These are in watercolor. If anyone would like to have a portrait done, send me an inquiry.

Time is a funny thing.  Whether or not it truly exists, I don’t know.  The debate is still ongoing, but I have my doubts.  Like so many things in life, it may only be an illusion.

Either way, I think most of us would agree; we seem to have too much of it, or too little.  Rarely does it seem just right.

Anyhow, speaking of time, today’s watercolor is the Desert Four O’clock (Mirabilis Multiflora)

This beautiful wildflower grows at higher elevations throughout the state. This particular one was photographed on Montana Mountain, high above the town of Superior.

Yes, I agree, there are some pretty horrible things going on in the world today. With everyone arguing over politics, territories, and what bathroom to use, it is pretty hard to remember that there are still some very beautiful people, places, and things in the world.

It is important…Don’t let them slip away.

This one is an acrylic.

Even though I do believe there was more to life than what could be explained by science, I nevertheless considered myself a very rational person. To think I had somehow been guided here by unseen forces was a concept I would consider with a large dose of skepticism.

Growing tired from the long hike and a full belly, I decided to call it a day, crawling into my sleeping bag. After adjusting my body into a comfortable position, I lay still, noticing how truly silent it was here. The fire had ceased its crackling; no other sound could be heard. The many nocturnal creatures normally awakened at sunset to announce their presence were strangely absent. Not a single chirp from either cricket or bird. Forcing myself to ignore the earlier strange feelings and the odd silence, I decided to get some sleep, thinking things would appear normal again with the rising sun.

The fading fire had been replaced by an inky darkness full of innumerable points of light, varying in brightness due to the type, size, and distance of their origin. I noted a few recognizable constellations as I lay in the utter silence, the barely visible silhouette of the high canyon walls giving me a sense of comfort and protection, but blocking a full view of the heavens.

I eventually drifted off to the slowly wheeling sky, tossing and turning, being jerked awake several times by a dream that seemed to contain a message. I fell asleep each time to the same vivid images, over and over, finally awakening to the sound of a single raven, cawing as it flew up the canyon. I watched its progress as it came into view, flying low until it reached my little encampment. It circled me a few times in the early morning light, its wings whistling as they worked to overcome gravity and gain the elevation required to clear the formidable walls of the canyon. With a final rattling staccato cawing, he disappeared over the ridge.

After having spent most of the last twenty four hours in a place devoid of any sound, the raven’s intrusion seemed an assault on the senses. As silence resumed, my dream surfaced into my conscious mind; a dream that had ended with a raven.

I thought this small excerpt from a novel I am currently working on would be a great lead in to my next watercolor. The raven has long been a bird of otherworldly and mysterious significance to cultures all over the world, and one of my favorites to observe.

Raven on a mesquite branch.