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Eagles and Reality TV

Late last month, a subscriber sent me a link to a live cam of a bald eagle nest on Big Bear Lake, California. She has a cabin on this lake.

These cams exist all over the place; there’s one of an osprey nest just down the road from me. I took to this one because of the story of the breeding pair, Jackie and Shadow, and the beautiful scenery in which they live. The image quality and camera placement is fantastic; it switches to infrared at night, providing a clear image without disturbing the eagles. Their nest is 145 feet high in a Jeffrey Pine Tree.
I’ve been checking in on them every day, sometimes more than once, as it lets me scan backward several hours to see if I missed anything good. I only end up watching a few minutes each time, and I’ll admit to preferring the scenes where both eagles are in the nest, which is usually only a minute or two.
Jackie laid her eggs in January, and ‘pip watch’ begins next week. Jackie and Shadow haven’t had a successful clutch the last couple of seasons, so hopefully, they will this year. But, unfortunately, nature can be pretty brutal, and life isn’t as rosy and fairy tale as we’d like to imagine. There’s no guarantee that these eggs will produce healthy offspring that survive to leave the nest, between predators, the elements, and all that can go wrong. That makes those that do even more of a wonder.

The information shared on this camera space by Friends of Big Bear Valley is extensive, as is the commentary in the sidebar chat. While I’ve not participated in that conversation, I’ve learned a lot from reading through it.

I’ve enjoyed watching the two eagles switch off incubating the eggs so the other can go eat, fending off marauding ravens, and interacting with each other. The chatter between them when one flies in is amusing and fascinating. That tree also gets rocking when the Santa Ana winds blow over the lake. A snowstorm blew in fast and heavy last week, and while the eagles certainly didn’t look like they were enjoying themselves, they handled it well.

I didn’t see them complaining about it on their phones, at least.

 


© Patrick LaMontagne

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Business and Pleasure

While driving to Calgary the other day, I realized that I hadn’t left the mountains since October. Between avoiding the holidays, COVID restrictions, and a cold snap, there wasn’t any reason to leave the Bow Valley.

After placing our Costco orders online the past couple of years, I actually set foot in one. Although I had a small list, it was quiet, so I enjoyed browsing the aisles for stuff I didn’t need. But I stuck to the list, so that’s impressive.

After leaving Costco on Stoney Trail, I drove down Beddington Trail and was surprised to see a Bald Eagle perched on a lamp post. As that’s a rarity for me around here, I parked in a residential area and walked back to take some pictures.
It was a scraggly-looking thing with uneven plumage—likely a juvenile, younger than five years old as the head feathers hadn’t yet turned white. Unfortunately, the pics aren’t anything I can use for reference, but it was still fun to see.

The real reason for the drive into Calgary was to drop off an order of prints at The Calgary Zoo. I’m pleased to announce that a selection of my vinyl stickers is now available in the Gift Shop, where I couldn’t help but be aware of many of my funny-looking animals staring back at me.
From my own prints on several shelves, plus coffee mugs, art cards, and calendars from Pacific Music and Art to T-shirts and hoodies from Harlequin Nature Graphics. Two of the staff excitedly gushed over the stickers, and a couple of prints neither had seen. That never gets old.

Of course, any visit to the zoo would be incomplete without a couple of hours taking reference photos. It was a cool, quiet day, above zero, not too windy, and overcast, making for great light. I’ve already given the photos the first pass, pleased that I got some excellent reference for another giraffe painting and a chameleon. As the gorillas were outside when I arrived at their enclosure, I took several photos I can paint from.

The best score of the  visit was a very accommodating snow leopard. I couldn’t have posed her (I think) better, as she sat in perfect light, looking right at me several times. Even her expression was already leaning toward cool and whimsical. But, of course, that could just be how I see animal faces, which is a good thing in my line of work.

I’ve already painted a snow leopard, and it’s a popular print, currently on re-order in fact. But I’m happy to paint another. After all, I’ve painted more than a dozen bears and you can’t stop me from painting more, especially a particular favorite.
It was a pleasant excursion away from my desk and office, but I also realized how much more of a hermit I’ve become the past couple of years. Even though the roads were good, traffic was light, and I wasn’t around that many people, I’m happy to be back at my Wacom display alone this morning, continuing a painting of a happy, playful dog.

Cheers,
Patrick

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Flight or Fancy

When you create art for a hobby, it doesn’t matter how you spend your time. It’s an escape, a leisurely pursuit. You can read about art, sketch, watch videos, take courses, visit galleries, or attend workshops or clubs devoted to the same goals. You can doodle for an hour, then throw it in the recycling.

But when art is your work, how you spend your time and energy is directly related to your income. If you’re not making art that sells, you’re risking your financial security. Bill collectors don’t take good intentions as payment, nor do they accept the absence of a creative spark as an excuse.

Anyone who has ever held any job knows what it’s like to have a horrible night’s sleep and wake up feeling unmotivated to do anything. But you haul your ass out of bed and go to work anyway. Because your boss is unlikely to accept “I’m just not feeling inspired today” as a valid reason for not showing up.

Talk to anyone in a creative field who does it for a living, and they’ll tell you that waiting for inspiration is for amateurs. Professionals get to work, even when they don’t feel like it. Art for a living is no different. You stick to a schedule, show up every day, and you do the work, even when you don’t want to.

But just as people in many fields go away for conferences, take additional training in the latest techniques, or keep up to date on industry literature to remain competitive, artists also need to make time for the unquantifiable.

The only way to improve on skills is to invest in them, even when it feels like you’re not getting any work done.

Whenever I start a new painting, my intent is most often to create a production piece. If it’s a painting of an animal, I want the result to be a print or an image for licensing, something that goes into the inventory to generate future income.

On occasion, I’ll make room for a character portrait for my own enjoyment (I’m working on one right now), but when it comes to the whimsical wildlife, I don’t often make time for sketching, or experiments, or ‘let’s try something and see what happens.’

But I should.

Even though I never went to art school, I know enough from talking to artists who have, that sketching and playing around is essential. It’s where you find your happy accidents, those unexpected gems that pop up simply from drawing for fun or practice.

My Grizzly, the very first whimsical wildlife painting in 2009, was an experiment. I was trying something new to see what might happen, and it eventually changed my entire career, leading me to the work I enjoy most.

It’s an easy bad habit to get into, judging the art I create to be only as valuable as its revenue. But, unfortunately, that’s a short-sighted view of what has been a long career and will hopefully continue to be.This eagle-in-flight could have become a production piece, but I got to a point where I realized that even though I enjoyed it, I didn’t feel like taking it any further. It was good practice; I recorded it, so I get to show another time-lapse, but this is as far as I’m taking it. It’s more than a sketch but less than my usual hyper-detailed renderings. Click here or on the image to see the full sized piece and the 2-minute video.

I’m going to accept that it was a practice piece and creative time well spent.

Sometimes, that’s enough.

Cheers,
Patrick