Painting in the Pease River bed in the southern Panhandle Plains of Texas
“Watch yourself, sister! Everything in these woods’ll either bite ya, stab ya or stick ya!” That’s a quote from the movie “True Grit”, starring John Wayne. When my friend and artist, Pete Quaid, invited me along to paint on the property of one of his generous friends (many thanks to them for opening up their place to us), we were reminded of that line in the classic movie. Even though there are no “woods”, not like the woods further east, the southern end of the “Panhandle Plains” is rough and stubborn country.
Pease River bed at sunset
Red sandstone, mesquite, cactus, rocks and a lot of grit blowing in the almost constant wind. The Pease River cuts it’s way through this land, providing some scarce water to all it’s inhabitants. The fact that God’s creatures actually live here, and seem to thrive has always amazed me. Deer, raccoon, wild pigs, bobcat, various birds, rattlesnakes, spiders and about about 500 million-billion wasp…or at least it seemed that way.
We arrived a Sunday afternoon and set up “camp” on top of a sandstone cliff that overlooked the Pease River. It was a beautiful place, especially as the sun began to sink lower and lower in the western sky. That “golden hour” about sixty minutes before sunset lit up the faces of the sandstone cliffs with what seemed like electric neon lights. Since it was our first evening, we decided to shoot photos rather than setup and paint. We wondered around the clifftops with cameras in hand, and finally found ourselves in the very unique Pease river bed, far below the cliffs, shooting photos of the river and the escarpments that bordered one side of the river, as the sun fell into the west.
Looking down from the sandstone clifftops at the Pease River
The Pease River, for the most part, was no deeper than 4 to 6 inches, and the river bed is flat and ninety percent sand. The water in that sandy river bed doesn’t cover more than 25 percent of the width of the bed at any given time, unless it rains. Then the river rises over the shallow banks as it heads for the Red River. Tracks from the wildlife mentioned above were everywhere. One of the more interesting sets of tracks was that of the wild pigs… Large pig tracks, probably a sow, followed by many very little pig tracks, I’m assuming the little piglets following their moma around. The Pease River is the life source for many creatures in that dry landscape.
As the beautiful colors of the setting sun faded into the darkness of an October night sky, I was reminded of something I had forgotten having lived in the city for so long. Stars layered on many more layers of stars, accented by a steady treat of falling meditors. I can count on a couple of hands and feet the number of stars I see in the night sky in Dallas. I was blown away by the display of celestial glory from the hand of God. I’m guessing I didn’t see millions of stars, but billions. The cloud like glow of the Milky Way Galaxy stretched across the heavens, surrounded by a multitude of closer, brighter stars. Stars tinted by colors of blue and red, some clustered close together, some hanging in lonely places in comparison to the congested gathering of others. If I say it was incredible, the word falls miserably short of the awe of that night sky.
Since the moon was only a sliver that night, it added to the darkness of the sky and the brightness of the stellar lights hanging like magic in the universe overhead. Pete and I sat in the darkness on the clifftops, heads tilted back, staring up at the myriad of twinkling, luminous dots in the ever increasing darkness. I find it impossible to observe such an awesome site and my mind not be turned to the God of the Heavens. Psalm 33:6 says:
“By the word of the LORD the heavens were made, And by the breath of His mouth all their host.”
Interesting idea…God breathed out the stars. Our sun is a star. A small one in comparison to other stars out there. You can put almost one million of our earths into our sun. This makes us naturally think, “wow, our sun, our star is huge”. But, the largest star I believe known to date is Canis Majoris. You can fit at least SIX BILLION (that is billion with a “b”) of our suns into Canis Majoris. That’s crazy big. My mind can’t wrap itself around how big that is. And God, the Creator, as it says in Psalms 33 breathed out the stars, even Canis Majoris. He is an awesome God; And as Pete and I sat in the dark observing this indescribable display, we indeed felt very small, and incredibly blessed. Blessed because this star breathing God loves us. Loves us for no other reason than it is who He is. The God who created the heavens and the earth, who created the stars by the breath of His mouth, this God loves us and desires a relationship with us. This is what makes the Gospel, or Good News of Jesus Christ such a remarkable and incredible thing. The cross of Christ made a way for us to KNOW this star breathing God. Amazing…
Pete Quaid painting the cliffs on the Pease River
As we sat in the dark enjoying the sights before us, I sat a few feet from a cot I was to sleep on, “under the stars”. Something I had not done since I was a kid. The wind was still blowing hard and cool, adding to the ambiance of the visual treat in the sky. It was getting time to call it a day, so I turned my led light on that I wore around my forehead and randomly shinned it around the area, hoping it’s beam would catch a deer or other wildlife that might be passing by in the starlit night. I couldn’t believe it when I saw a visitor approaching in what had been almost complete darkness. A little mid-sized diamondback rattlesnake was about 8 feet from my cot, and he seemed intent on making that cot his destination. Or at least that’s what I thought… I’ve noticed I give animals and crawling things much more cerebral credit than they perhaps deserve. Whatever his intent was, my plans for the night was not so sleep with rattlesnakes. I don’t mind them, just don’t want them laying around under my cot. My mind had the next 7 or 8 hours played out…I get up in the middle of the night to re-leave myself and in the process step on the little native Texan, who would protest with a swift fang slashing bite, complete with a toxic cocktail, which would then alter the next few days for the worst. So, I’m sorry to say our little friend passed away. I know that as I finally slept under that stars later that night, there could have been friends and relatives of this crawling menace passing by my cot, perhaps stopping underneath it while searching for a meal, but, to quote some words of wisdom from an unknown source…”Ignorance is Bliss”
This Diamondback Rattlesnake crossed our path on our Cap Rock trip a few years ago…it wanted to try my hat on, but decided it was too big and crawled off.
(Not sure why it is, but it seems when Pete and I get together to paint in the Panhandle area, there are rattlesnakes involved. A couple of years ago we painted a few days in the Cap Rock Canyon area and saw a rattlesnake each night we were there.)
When the sun came up in the east the next morning, we gathered our gear and headed to the river bed to paint…but not before we were motivated by some caffeine-laced coffee. The next 36 hours we painted three paintings, couple in the river bed and one from the cliff tops. As is always the case with painting out in the open air, the experience was both exhausting, challenging and rewarding. Challenging because painting out side in the open air introduced many problems that provide a great opportunity to learn, and it is the learning process that is rewarding. The works below are what I painted during those couple of days on the banks of the Pease River. I worked a bit more with them back in the studio, which is a continuation of the problem solving “dance”. I’m not real happy with these small, relatively quick studies, but really enjoyed the adventure under the west Texas sky.
Pease River One
Pease River Two (below)
Pease River Three
