Today, I rode a bicycle through the woods while eating an ice cream cone in short pants.  What I mean is...it's December 25th, 2021 here in Bloomfield, Indiana, United States, North America, Earth...and I hope you're happy.

Advent Calendar: December 24th

Several Santas

oil on canvas

12" x 24"

He sees you when you're sleeping...

He knows when you are awake...

Santa is sort of a weirdo, right?

Anyway, I hope you have the opportunity to eat a lot and drink a lot and safely kiss someone you love right on the lips. 

'Tis the season or whatever.

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

1 day 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 23rd

I was going to write about another old lady in a mobility scooter, but I changed my mind.  Get over it.  Instead, I'm remembering Larry.  If you don't know who I'm talking about, shame on you.  He was the best painter I've known and the best friend I've had.  He'd make fun of me for writing all of this.  Then, he'd make fun of you for reading all of this.  Jesus Criminently! 

Tree on the Hill

oil on canvas

9" x 12"

"What're you painting a tree for?"

Morning Storms

oil on canvas

9" x 12"

I painted this while teaching a workshop with Larry.  I'm pretty sure I did the demonstration while he stood back and heckled me the entire time.  "When is it going to start looking good?"

GMC

oil on canvas

11" x 14"

This was from the Airedale farm I've spoken of a time or two.  Larry referred to it as "the sweet spot," but anyone else who knew him referred to the farm as "Larry's Favorite Spot."  He gave the owners of the farm a fabulous painting that could've gone to a museum...and they put it in a yard sale the following year...classic.

Hydroelectric

oil on canvas

12" x 16"

This was painted in the morning with the help of black coffee and apricot brandy.  Later that evening, Larry and I returned to this same spot to eat two supreme pizzas.  

Spring Green

oil on canvas

16" x 20"

On the day I painted this one, Larry took me on a tour of the lesser-known nooks and crannies of southwestern Indiana.  While walking through a swampy area in shorts and flip flops, we came across the largest Cottonmouth I've ever seen.  He waited until I leaned over it for a better look to then poke it with a stick and yell, "You better run!"

That Barn

oil on canvas

12" x 16"

We had about six "Canadian Wonders" a piece while painting here.

House of Chicken

oil on canvas

11" x 14"

We painted this chicken coop and then ate fried chicken with two monks.  Larry asked them A LOT of questions.

Fences

oil on canvas

16" x 20"

Larry stood in the doorway of this building with his pants down for a full ten minutes before I noticed him.  I didn't include him in the picture...obviously.  

Hat Rock

oil on canvas

11" x 14"

We painted this rock formation on a river in Oregon.  While we were there, we watched a group of people dressed up as Jesus and his disciples pretend to be Jesus and his disciples for a film crew.  So, there's a chance that some low-budget Christian film circa 2017 features a couple ornery plein air painters in the far distance, on the opposite bank of the river. 

Homer Spit

oil on canvas

16" x 20"

This is the painting that was being painted during the legendary Yak experience.  Thankfully, we were only scared by a goose and not murdered by the pilot of Yellow Thunder.

Patrol Car

oil on canvas

6" x 8"

We didn't get arrested that evening...just scolded a little bit.

Depot

oil on canvas

11" x 14"

Have you ever seen a sixty-seven-year-old man try to stop a train by holding his hand out and yelling, "Stop, damn it!"?  I have.

River Road Bridge

oil on canvas

16" x 20"

I come to this place once a year to paint.  I bring a case of Miller Lite with me, because Larry always said, "Water?  That stuff will kill ya!"

Viking Guard

oil on canvas

12" x 16"

We were going to get tattoos after this day of painting, but we both got too sunburnt.  Our plan was this:  1.) Drive to Spokane.  2.) Find a tattoo parlor.  3.) Convince tattoo artist person to let us handle the equipment.  4.) With no preparatory sketch or planning, tattoo one another.  5.) Reveal our tattoos to one another.

I planned on inking him with a dead bird on a slice of pizza.  I never told him this because I figured we'd get around to doing it eventually.  I'm too embarrassed to say what I think he was planning on putting on my shoulder...I'm certain he would've tried for something that would keep me wearing a shirt in the swimming pool. 

Raise a glass to Larry.

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

2 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 22nd

Crime Scene

oil on canvas

16" x 20"

Do you ever try to be "cool?"  I do.  I try to be cool all the time.  It's just my nature...it's embarrassing...I can't help it.  I usually try to tone it down by walking in a funny way or jumbling up my words on purpose, but it never really works.  No matter how hard I try to be an awkward imposter, it's impossible for me to hide my constant desire to be a cool fella.  Heck, I think purposefully acting like an uncool goofball is now outcooling all of my hipster antics and outfits.  The only way to be less cool at this point would involve me trying to be even cooler than I already am in a very deliberate and aggressive way that ultimately comes across as pathetic and sad.  I'd give it a go, but let me tell ya, I'm trying as hard as I can as is...I don't think I can top this performance.  As much as I'd like to be uncool, I don't think I have it in me.  Again, I can't help it.  Sorry or whatever.  See how I wrote "whatever?"  That's me trying to be cool.

Sometimes, like yesterday, I try to embrace my "coolness."  This means I focus all of my energy and attention into being the coolest person wherever I go, consciously outcooling every other person at every location I visit throughout the day.  It's fun.  It's indulgent.  It's ridiculous, I know, but I'm convinced that giving in to the caricature you've created of yourself is a healthy and rewarding endeavor from time to time.  And boy oh boy, what a caricature I have created!

So yesterday, I woke up with my cat lying on my chest.  She was making imaginary biscuits with my belly fat.  I'm cooler than she is.  She can't drink coffee like I can and she looks like a dumb dumb kneading fake dough from my fat rolls...I win.  That was easy.

Next up, the bank.  I inadvertently wore my sunglasses inside for a full five minutes before being scolded.  This is a big bank no-no, you know?  It's spelled out clearly on the doorway of most financial institutions, just in case you're an accidental rule breaker like me.  I mean, it's hard to see through those pitch black shades, am I right?  Anyway, paired with my facemask à la an early 1900's western bandit, I looked like a straight-up bank robber.  I was cool.  And when the teller asked me to remove my glasses, rather than getting embarrassed, which I was, I simply moved them to the top of my head...one smooth motion...I might've winked as I did it?  Then, I told the teller my account number.  I had to repeat it because my voice is deep and hard to hear.  Cool.

And on the highway, I'm the coolest.  You should've seen me driving yesterday!  I have a dorky little car that nobody aside from a plumber could want, but I drive it with absolute confidence.  Arm out the window when it's 40 degrees singing Prince's "Little Red Corvette" at the top of my lungs while giving "finger-guns" as you pass me sort of confidence...you know...cool!  Do you notice how often I use ellipsis in my writing?  You probably didn't, but if you did, let me tell you...I think ellipses are cool.

And at the grocery store I was the king of cool.  You see, I only use a cart when I don't really need one, and conversely, I always choose to carry my groceries sans basket or bag when I've got a long grocery list.  This action creates two different scenarios for all spectators:  1.) "This man with a single can of soup in his cart hasn't a care in the world...he's really enjoying the ride, isn't he?"  2.) "This man with thirty-five items tucked in his armpits must be in a hurry...he's probably got a cool social function to get to...maybe a concert or a bowling tournament?"  I like both of these anecdotes.

And it doesn't hurt when I'm dressed like a combination of an old man and an adolescent.  As it turns out, that mashup will always be cutting-edge fashion, regardless of the represented generations.  It could be the same type of "ironic cool" that makes my two left feet and panic-induced dyslexia hip, but there's no doubt about it...a thirty-year-spread of clothing trends is a guarantee of coolness when you're in your thirties as I might be.  Example:

Some ordinary guy says, "Is that cool guy over there wearing Off-White Dunks?"

His ordinary friend responds, "You mean that cool guy in lane eight holding two boxes of Rice Chex Cereal, four packages of corn tortillas, a bag of arugula, a brick of paper towels, and birthday cake-flavored ChapStick?"

"Yes!  The cool guy with the arugula who is also wearing pleated corduroy pants and a nylon pullover jacket with a sailboat embroidered on the back!" exclaimed the first ordinary man.

"For sure," says uncool friend, "Those are Dunks and that man be drippin' straight fire." (drippin' straight fire=cool)

It was the coolest day ever. 

And then, as I was loading my arugula in my car, an elderly lady pulled up next to me.  She was driving a Rascal scooter...aggressively, if you can imagine such.  There were bumper stickers covering both fenders.  One said, "Proud Honor Roll Mom"...it must've been twenty-five years old.  A little line had been drawn next to the "o" in "Mom," creating the word "Mam".  Generations of honor roll students this lady has reared!  Another sticker said, "Ass, Gas, or Grass."  And where there were no stickers, there were scrapes, scuffs, and dents decorating her mobility machine.  In the handlebar basket was a frozen ham and a six-pack of Budweiser.  In the basket behind her seat was a brick of paper towels...the same brand I had purchased, incidentally.  And between her legs was an oversized purse with a small dog inside.  It might've been a chihuahua. 

When I turned my attention to the driver, I noticed she was wearing the exact same faux-tortoiseshell sunglasses I had on.  She was also sporting a pair of Doc Marten's "Combat Boots"...a trendy choice I know about from their recent resurgence with my high school students.  She obstructed the pathway to my driver's seat.  "You think I can make it through there?" she screamed at me.  I responded, "Um?"

Before I had a chance to reply entirely, she zoomed between my car and another.  I thought she had cleared the gap...and then...WHAM!  She whacked my driver's side mirror with her frozen ham.  She stopped briefly to evaluate the damage, decided she couldn't squeeze between the bumpers and cart corral in front of her, and threw the Rascal in reverse.  WHAM!  She put my mirror back in place with her frozen ham as she blindly sped towards me backwards at a rate I hadn't thought possible with such a contraption.  "Um..." I said again.

"UMBRELLA!"  She said it twice.  "UM...BRELLA!"  She might've popped a wheelie as she changed direction in front of me and then zoomed away.  I could hear her singing "Paint It, Black" over her chihuahua's barking as she disappeared across the parking lot.

The rest of my day felt different.

*  Oh, and if you like stories about little old ladies in scooters, I've got another one for you tomorrow.  Oh, and the painting above is a picture of a murder scene.  Oh, and happy winter solstice...or day after winter solstice...or whatever!  Oh!

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

3 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 21st

Over Under

oil on canvas

16" x 20"

End Sixty-Six

oil on canvas

32" x 48" (framed)

Flood Reactor

oil on canvas

16" x 20"

Skeleton

oil on canvas

16" x 20"

(A Twenty-Four Hour History of the Harmony Way Bridge, 4/15/2021)

You know, in case you like bridges and whatnot...

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

4 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 20th

Grain Bin

oil on canvas

9" x 12"

Rumor has it, an A&W/KFC combo might be coming to Bloomfield.  Christmas miracle?  I think so.

Wishing you the extra crispiest holiday season!

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

5 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 19th

Hoop Dreams

oil on canvas

6" x 8"

Billy is a basketball player.  He practices everyday.  Billy works on his layups and his ball-handling and his jump shot and his conditioning each time he takes to the court.  He's become a great player.  To finish each of his practices, Billy shoots free throws.  He promises himself that he'll hit ten in a row before going home.  Billy is a great free throw shooter too, of course, and has a 90% free throw average.  Nobody shoots free throws as well as Billy does.  He almost never misses when he steps up to that line.  

There's just one problem.  It's a sad psychological ritual of sorts—a between the ears type of blunder that sends Billy home beaten each day, no matter his prowess and practice.  You see, Billy can hit nine free throws in a row, no problem.  But when he gets to the tenth, he always misses.  Swish, Swish, Swish, Swish, Swish, Swish, Swish, Swish, Swish, Clang!  

If he needed to hit eleven in a row, the tenth would be all net.  But that's not what Billy promises himself each day after all of his layups and dribbling and jump shots...his conscience and work ethic says he must hit ten free throws in a row before he can go home.  And each practice gets longer and longer.  And each day Billy keeps shooting more and more free throws.  And each day Billy hits more free throws than he's ever hit.  And each day Billy misses more free throws than he's ever missed.  Nine for 10...90 for 100...900 for 1,000.  

Billy wondered what it would be like to miss 100 free throws in a row before sinking the next 900.  Would his long-standing average obligate him to another 890 attempts, or would he call it a day at 110?  He wondered if that sort of 90% would feel the same as the type he knew so well.  And what would happen if he could ever shoot 10/10?  Would he be satisfied?  Would ten become eleven?  No matter, because Billy always missed the tenth free throw.  He could only miss the one that mattered.  The better Billy became, the more defeated he would be.

So Billy goes home everyday, but Billy never leaves the free throw line.  Billy is a basketball player.

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

6 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 18th

Red, White, and Bloomfield

oil on canvas

12" x 24"

I'll be home for Christmas...or whatever.

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

7 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 17th

Sprung

oil on canvas

12" x 16"

Here are a few things you probably didn't know about me:

1.  I don't know how to play any card games.

2.  My favorite foods are shellfish and chips.

3.  I once had a half-hour conversation about lawnmowers with Quiet Riot, immediately before they took the stage.

4.  I own over one hundred yo-yo's.

5.  I've never brushed my hair.

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

8 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 16th

Spring

oil on canvas

22" x 28

I can dip a carnation in dye, to make your day more beautiful.  

And you could trim the hair on my chin, to make my face less long. 

 
But instead I will write these words you are reading in a rhythm my toe has been tapping.  

So when you speak them aloud, you sing, and together we are a song. 

Someone fetch me a bubble bath.

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

9 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 15th

Kirkwood

oil on canvas

12" x 12"

Today, one of my students looked me straight in the eye and said, "LeGrand, you're literally an idiot."  Shortly thereafter, a different student said, "LeGrand, you're sort of like Aquaman, except probably a better 'draw-er.'"  

The universe has a way of balancing things out, I guess.  Here's to breaking even...

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

10 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 14th

Shade

oil on canvas

12" x 12"

Hey folks, it's finals week...you'd better study up.  Remember, a blue whale's tongue weighs more than an Asian elephant, strawberries aren't berries, and it's impossible to hum while holding your tongue.

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

11 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 13th

Bare

oil on canvas

12" x 16"

So it goes...

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

12 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 12th

Sisters' Wagon

oil on canvas

12" x 16"

While painting the picture above, I had an insightful conversation with a nun.  Our chat ended in a continuation of the long-standing Jerry/George debate...

Is it "off the wagon?"  Or is it "on the wagon?"

I learned a lot that afternoon from Sister Judy, even if we couldn't come to agree about everything.  I mean, after all, "What about the Cumberland Gap?"

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

13 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 11th

Another Harvest

oil on canvas

18" x 24"

Leviathans creep through waves of grain,

Dreadnoughts of midwestern seas.

Behemoths grown from earth and from rain,

Titans of kernels and beans.

“King Harvest” by The Band

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

14 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 10th

Woodpile

oil on canvas

12" x 16"

"Well the spark was gone but you carried on

Well you did just the best that you could

You sent for us one time but everything fell through

But you still kept on choppin' wood"

Choppin' Wood by Van Morrison

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

15 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 9th

 

Covered Bridge

oil on canvas

11" x 14"

Let's keep that Bloomfield ball rolling...speaking of which, there's a b-ball game tonight I need to get to.  Let's take that Keg!

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

16 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 8th

Gazebo

oil on canvas

11" x 14"

Every once in a while, I have a dream about the gazebo.  It's a pretty big deal if you grew up in little Bloomfield...the gazebo, that is...not my dream.  Anyway, it goes something like this...

I'm in a hurry to get somewhere but I'm not sure where I'm going.  I hop in my car, drive to the town park, go through security (looks like a line queue for the tilt-a-whirl during the Apple Festival), and board the gazebo.  I sit down at the end of a row of lawn chairs next to Red Oliphant and all of the school bus drivers I remember from my childhood.  Then, the roof of the gazebo unfurls into some sort of multi-faceted geometric balloon and we lift-off through the trees.  As I wave to people below, I lose my balance and fall over the brick railing.  And just before I land somewhere between the south shelter house and the Glover Gymnasium, I wake up.

I also have a recurring dream about pulling out all of my teeth while waiting in line for a roller coaster...but that's another story for another day.

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

17 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 7th

Dock

oil on canvas

12" x 12"

Once upon a time, when I was a leaner and meaner version of myself, I took to wowing small crowds with my outrageous skinny-dipping skills.  Now, before you cancel me for being spontaneously naked in front of people when I was a teenager, understand this...these crowds were usually contained to my close guy friends, all of whom seemed to sincerely enjoy my nude prowess from a safe distance.  I'm fairly certain no person was ever harmed by my fondness of water to bare skin.  In fact, I'm em-bare-assed to admit that my reputation for swimming in the buff may have allowed me to navigate the social hierarchy in a way that a clothed bather couldn't.  "Hey, where's Wyatt?"  Splash!  Naked cannonball from a roof.  "It's pretty chilly out tonight, eh?"  Zoom!  Flesh-colored flash into the half-frozen pond.  "Is that a dead body floating in the lake?"  Bazinga!  Wyatt took up snorkeling.  It was a good run, but with one breaststroke of bad luck, my not-afraid-to-be-naked days came to an abrupt end.

It all occurred at a party of sorts.  Like most teenagers of my generation and likely every other one before and after, I tried to be at a party every weekend.  And at this particular shindig, we decided to "camp out" instead of stay inside a house, as it allowed for more shenanigans with less repercussions, all in the name of "love for the great outdoors," as far as our parents were concerned.  It was mid-autumn and reasonably cold outside.  Cold in a way that kept us all huddled around a bonfire, anyway.  “Us” was a group of squirrely boys who spent the majority of our Friday's and Saturday's telling our parents we were staying the night at one another's houses before convening someplace in the woods where we wouldn't be easily bothered by anyone.  Typically, on nights like this one, we'd do the usual...see how many hotdogs we could eat in an hour, sharpen sticks with pocketknives to roast our many hotdogs on, cut down large trees with rusty axes and saws so that we could...well...I don't know?  But we cut down a lot of trees that we probably shouldn't have in a manner that could've resulted in Greene County's most gruesome logging accident on record.  We were wild and it's a wonder I survived it all.  But this party was different.  Girls were coming over...

They'd been staying at a neighboring house, less than half-a-mile down the road from our wooded hideout, by our design, of course.  They'd likely concocted a similar "non-coed campout" scenario for their parents before sneaking through a field and over two fences to our company by a roaring fire next to a little pond.  We must've all been pretty nervous about this sans-chaperone rendezvous, as neither group said much of anything for the first ten minutes after the girls' arrival...we just stood around the fire and ate hotdogs while giggling at one another.  Clearly, I had to break the tension.

How does a young fella woo a group of young lady's?  By running as fast as he can toward a dock in near total darkness while violently shucking off his clothes, of course.  It always seemed to entertain the guys, why wouldn't it work this time?  But given my timid nature around the opposite sex at this particular juncture of my adolescence, I would need to get naked in a manner that was both hilarious and considerate of the body parts I wasn't keen on sharing in this new type of social interaction.  My solution?  To sprint away from the fire for a full fifty feet or so before beginning to disrobe, as the blackness of the evening would surely disguise anything I didn't want seen.  I figured, at most, they'd see an orange flame flicker off of two pale cheeks as I darted to the dock and out of sight...and then...they'd hear the splash.  I had a plan.  I waited for the perfect moment and…ZOOM!  I was off like a rocket.  But wouldn't you know it, fifty feet from the fire, I got tripped up on my pants and fell face first into the dirt.  Nobody came to help me up, thank God, but as I sprang back to my feet I discovered I was now totally illuminated by flashlights.  Funny how nobody has a flashlight until you're naked.  Anyway, I took off again, faster than ever, powered by embarrassment-fueled adrenaline.  Within ten seconds the woods was filled with laughter and I was running like an "OG" Olympian towards a rickety wooden dock, contemplating what type of maneuver was most appropriate for possibly the most embarrassing moment of my life up until that moment.  I decided on a front flip.  Splash!

I surfaced through a thick, slimy layer.  For a moment, I was relieved.  I had created all sorts of fun-lovin' excitement, as was evident by the commotion I heard on the other side of the bank.  I was also properly shielded from my new found fear of being naked in front of people by the chest deep water I was now wading in.  "Wow, why did I do that?" I wondered.  "I guess it was worth it?" I hoped.  "Where are my clothes?" I asked myself.  About this time, a new panic set in as I watched my best good friend run towards me.  I could tell by the smile on his face he wasn't planning on taking the semi-polar plunge as I did.  Instead, he was scooping up my sweatshirt and my t-shirt and my pants and my socks, in the order they came off, of course.  I was familiar with this counter-prank.  It wasn't the first time I'd been robbed of my clothing in front of an audience...but this was the first time the audience included girls.  Some sort of animal instinct told me to start running towards him.  I did the math in my head as I high-stepped through the mud and algae.  I was still only a silhouette to those standing ‘round the fire but I needed to outrun my friend before I was once again within flashlight range.  I charged out of the pond like an angry water buffalo.  I lost my footing on the bank, slid through the mud, and fumbled through some tall grass before laying it all out there...literally.  My boxer shorts were the sole item of clothing between I, the thief, and every other fully-clothed person standing ever closer to me. I lunged up the bank again and dove head first for my underpants, just as my best good friend snagged them from my grasp.  He ran towards the fire and I ran back for cover, now coated in enough mud and grass to create a ghillie suit-effect, camouflaging me well enough to devise my next plan of attack.  "I'll circle around," I thought, "and catch them by surprise from the other direction."  It was a better plan than waiting in a frigid pond for my friends to return my pants to me.  I figured I could snatch my clothes while they're eating more hot dogs and then make a bee-line to the nearest bush, where I could undo all of this naked calamity.  But as I started my stealthy mission, looking like some type of primitive Navy SEAL, I heard a new cackle of laughter.  The fire had grown twice its size in rapid fashion, in a way not possible with log or limb.  There I was, like Bigfoot, covered in nothing but earth and hair, frozen in the hazy light produced by my own burning outfit.  My first thought was, "I wonder how long it'll take for me to walk home through the woods?"  Bigfoot indeed.  I was doomed.  My attention-seeking behavior had garnered me too much attention.  Oh, if I could've taken it all back!  I would've traded every giggle I'd gotten from every bare-skinned antic for a bathrobe and one of those Men in Black doodads Will Smith used to erase people’s memories.  I was ready to hang up my birthday suit for good.

And then I spotted my savior...my life-preserver, in fact.  The inflatable tube, an air-filled plastic donut, presented itself from my particular prone point of view on the bank.  It was wedged under the dock I'd jumped from moments earlier.  I spotted it by way of the distant fire reflecting off of the wet plastic...wetness likely created by my front flip flop.  I understood the tube to be a pool toy converted to pond float...some sort of miraculous leftover from summertime fun, shielded from the elements by the deteriorating wooden planks above for me to use in this very situation.  I gave it a squeeze.  It was by no means fully inflated, but there was plenty of air inside to maintain its shape.  And as luck would have it, it appeared to be just my size.  Not an appropriate size for me to float on in a body of water, but just right to wear as a big and bubbly belt.  I couldn't tell what color it was in the dark, for all I knew it had purple unicorns printed all over it, but I managed to squeeze into the donut hole with slight resistance.  It was snug.  In fact, my waistline was enough to stretch my new plastic skirt into near complete inflation.  It wiggled as I walked, like a tutu on a ballerina.  A big, hairy, mud-covered ballerina. 

For whatever reason, they didn't burn my boots.  As I prepared to reenter my first major unsupervised coed event, I slipped the clumsy things back onto my bare feet and tramped towards the loose ring of teenagers.  They were within earshot now.  "What is he wearing?" they smirked.  "Boots and some type of bubble!" my best good friend exclaimed.  I walked confidently, as any kid wearing a pool toy would, and eased myself back into the circle with a chuckle and little else.  I was thankful they made room for me next to the fire, as I was pretty well frozen at this point.  I leaned into the heat while taking a healthy razzing from everyone, including the girls I was so desperate to impress.  "Does that pool float come in a smaller size?" they asked.  I replied, "What size is your shirt?  'Cause you all owe me a new one!"  I was pretty content with myself, all things considered.  From my perspective, I'd won.  My unmentionables were covered and I had gotten a good laugh out of everyone.  "Pretty cold tonight, eh guys?" someone chimed in.  "Hotdog anyone?" I heard from across the circle.  Everyone was having a good time.  The ice was broken.  Normal interactions could now ensue...relatively normally, that is...I was wearing something made for a water slide, after all.  I really didn't know how much longer I could stand there wearing my inflatable makeshift pants, but I was content milking every last bit of humor out of the predicament.  And then, I looked down at my feet.

I could see my feet!  My boot laces were undone.  Do you understand the problem with this statement?  Do you hear what I'm telling you?  I was wearing a faux-life preserver that surely increased my 30 inch waist size to 130, but I could still somehow see directly underneath of me.  How is this possible?  I wasn't leaning forward...my knees were locked and my back was straight.  "Oh no...there's no way...oh my God!"

So, my skinny-dipping streak of the late 90's ended abruptly thanks to the irreversible damage done to my reputation...the inconceivable harm to my ego...the absolute destruction of my self-confidence...all caused by that damn inner tube on that chilly autumn evening—that transparent plastic magnifier of all things thought concealed.  I guess I was accustomed to the black variety of novelty inner tube with tire tread print around the outer edge?  I had never before seen the clear plastic version that I had been so proudly flaunting as an improvised loin cloth.  Remember how funny it was when you learned how to press your face up against a window for passersby on the other side?  This was sort of like that, but gross.  It wasn’t funny either…at least not to me in that moment.  It was certainly funny for everyone standing around that fire, though.  In fact, I don’t know that they ever stopped laughing at me.  It’s hard to take a man seriously if you can remember seeing him in such a state. I can laugh with them now. 

It took me several years to cope with the trauma I'd caused to myself.  Not serious trauma of course, solely the type that makes you awkward around people who watched you eat s’mores while wearing something akin to vacuum-sealed plastic on deli meat.  Word to the wise, all you wild and freewheelin’ friends: don't be a skinny-dipshit!  The sting of embarrassment will last far longer than the sting of that full moon belly flop.  Take it from me...I was once a confident skinny-dipper, but now I can't even jump into an pool without checking my drawstring eight times.  Splash!

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

18 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 6th

River Bend

oil on canvas

20" x 24"

This is a painting.  Blah blah...some sort of clever story about me painting the painting...blah.  

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

19 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 5th

 

Drinking Buddies

oil on canvas

11" x 14"

This would be a cool painting for a "man cave"...are those still allowed?  Hey, did you know I take down payment on paintings in the form of fine wine, whiskey, and cigars?  Just in case you're looking to replace those dusty bottles and boxes on your top shelf with the ultimate in manly status symbols, I have a framed oil painting of plastic Adirondack chairs with your name on it.

I'd also like pair of Shawn Kemp's Kamikaze 1's in size twelve, a small but very loud motorcycle, and one of those wacky waving inflatable tube men...I'm a simple man.  Let's make a deal.

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

20 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 4th

 

Airedale Farm

oil on canvas

24" x 24"

I painted this picture because of the glaciers, they carved the hills and the valleys.  

Those hills and valleys created a river that made for most fertile ground. 

That ground was cleared to pasture for cows and those pastures were fenced by a family.  

They built a small house and eleven small sheds, right next to their cattle-filled fences.  

Fam-i-ly found a dog for the farm and for fun and that dog soon made another.  

That dog made another and... 

That dog made another and dogs need houses their own.  

I needed to paint a dog house picture with two lawn chairs beside it, on a farm made from ice now for my own device, just for fun but because of the glaciers.

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

21 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 3rd

Red, White, and Blue and Green

oil on canvas

8" x 16"

When I was a youngin', I piloted a Radio Flyer wagon down a steep hill.  I wasn't dared to do it and nobody was there to see me scrape both knees into bloody knobs.  It was just me against the world, one dumb trick after another, one Ninja Turtle Band-Aid at a time.

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

22 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 2nd

 

For the Birds

oil on canvas

9" x 12"

I've painted many a birdfeeder in my day.  Birdfeeder pictures, that is...I'm not a crazy person.  This one (that one, up there) happens to hang a hop, skip, and a jump from my back door...twenty feet or so, as the crow flies.  I'm pretty sure it was my grandmother's birdfeeder.  She took care of those winged-beasts better than I.  Proof of this can be found in my lawn from time to time with a bare foot and a screech.  Those damned thistles pop up ever year, always in the softest patches of grass where I like to nap, as a result of the multiple feeders my grandmother would fill with thistle seed and place randomly throughout the yard.  She loved the goldfinches, you know?  Now, each time I impale my foot and frighten every full-bellied bird to rapid flight with ensuing f-word-filled fits, I think of my grandmother, the bird-loving kindergarten teacher who drove an enormous Lincoln and burned most things she cooked.  And when I soak those spiny little bastards with "Killzall" weed killer, I think of my grandfather, the bird-indifferent lawncare enthusiast who drove an enormous pickup truck and preferred his meals "well-done."

Sorry about the cursing, Nana.  Sorry about the yard, Papu.  For better or worse, I'll keep filling the feeders...but I think it might be for the birds.

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

23 days 'til Christmas...

Advent Calendar: December 1st

Sunset from the Creek

oil on canvas

12" x 12"

I bet all four of you have been clicking like crazy, refreshing this page again and again, anxiously awaiting today's offering...jay kay elle oh elle.  Sorry for the delay.

Here's a funny one...

I painted the picture above from a favorite creek of mine outside of Oldenburg, Indiana.  There's a fabulous stone bridge that a car occasionally crosses just a few feet from where I like to place my easel.  On this particular afternoon, I could hear passersby talking from rolled-down windows as they sped overhead.  "Hey, there's a painter down there," they'd say.  And "Look at that!  An artist"  Even, "Hey Picasso!"  I must've had a dozen remarks during the twenty minutes I spent painting the scene.  When I was finished, I took a step back to appreciate what I'd just created while the sun disappeared through the woods.  I can remember myself focusing hard on the moment and how beautiful it all was.  It could've been the closing scene to a dramatic movie about nature and art and all of that hippie-dippie stuff.  It was magic.  And then...I heard the sound of tires slowly rolling above me...

"What's that hobo doing?" 

If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE

24 days 'til Christmas...