Who I am, and who cares...
I teach in the Horticulture Department, at Brigham Young University Idaho. The campus is located in Rexburg, IDaho, about an hour drift west of the Tetons, and Yellowstone National Park. One of my favorite views is seen at sunrise looking east to the laser-cut edges of the Teton mountains cast against the blazing colours of light and clouds. The evenings bring a similar view to the west as I watch the glowing orange light contrast with the deep blue above, the contrast of the Sawtooth and Lost River Ranges cuts a dark edge against the sky. It is surrealistic to the extent that it seems more like an image of torn paper pasted at the bottom of the sky. It is magnificent and captivating.
I have always loved plants, and working outside. I also love to visit the earth. I have been blessed with ample opportunity. In my early years I grew up in a fairly large city in Utah, in a conservative and loving home. Art filled our lives. My Mom, known in art as "Mary Lou" by many of her admirers and patrons is a fine artist. She is known for her botanical illustrations, her landscapes, her portraits, paper cuttings, even a few abstract paintings. She mastered the blending of Eastern and Western art influences. She could create the most beautiful sketches of wildflowers with a bic fine point accountant pen, or sketch bamboo and orchids with a happy dot brush with ink she ground herself for sumi-e. She was well known for oil and watercolor landscapes and situation portraits of both people and plants. I could elaborate more, but realize that my life was filled with the love of this fine woman, and the creative flow of her energy. I stayed close by her side as she hunted for plants to paint, in later years bringing them to her as her ability to wander diminished. We shared a love for plants. I learned to grow them and arrange them in beautiful combinations. She painted them, documenting her interpretation of botanical adventures, as if she were on her own fantastic voyage through the inner workings of the blossoms.
My Dad built homes, loved music and basic math, loved to teach young people both subjects, and spent most of his life supporting the development of a family full of artistic people while engrossed in the fulfillment of his desire to explore the notes in his head. He could figure out how to structure a building, and he could inspire a young mind to grasp multiplication when no one else could. I loved going with Dad in the old '49 Chev purple pickup. We would go to the Salt Lake Dump, way out west in the Salt Lake Valley, passing the Airport, coming very close to the lake it seemed. There was the smell of smoke (in those days they burned much of the trash--either on purpose, or by accident) and the sound of gulls. The beloved gulls that had once saved the pioneers from the crickets were now mostly fed by the leftovers of their descendants' much more abundant living. We would drive into the mountains sometimes in the summer to deliver goods to the scouts in the Uintahs, or to the Bennion boys ranch in Vicor, Idaho. It was always fun to spend those youthful days bouncing along in the old truck singing and eating "goober peas." (goodness how delicious, eating goober peas (aka: peanuts))
By watching Dad put things together to build something, and Mom put things together in two dimensions that looked like something, I seem to have absorbed a bit of both of them. I love to build things, fix things, make things look good together, and also picked up somewhere a curiosity about living things, to the extent that I find the scientific process to be essential in building and creating, which at times can be very time consuming and costly, or perhaps doesn't turn out the way I expected it to. But as I get a little more practice over the years, I can picture in my head what something should turn out like, and make it happen. That comes in handy when you put together a large floral display for a wedding. Often I pray when perplexed with a design issue, or when I am trying to sort something about a building or remodel project. The Lord gives me a picture in my mind; sometimes my memory is so short I have to stop praying and draw a diagram, then go back and thank him, or ask for more clarification. That seems to work in the creative process.
I have always loved plants, and working outside. I also love to visit the earth. I have been blessed with ample opportunity. In my early years I grew up in a fairly large city in Utah, in a conservative and loving home. Art filled our lives. My Mom, known in art as "Mary Lou" by many of her admirers and patrons is a fine artist. She is known for her botanical illustrations, her landscapes, her portraits, paper cuttings, even a few abstract paintings. She mastered the blending of Eastern and Western art influences. She could create the most beautiful sketches of wildflowers with a bic fine point accountant pen, or sketch bamboo and orchids with a happy dot brush with ink she ground herself for sumi-e. She was well known for oil and watercolor landscapes and situation portraits of both people and plants. I could elaborate more, but realize that my life was filled with the love of this fine woman, and the creative flow of her energy. I stayed close by her side as she hunted for plants to paint, in later years bringing them to her as her ability to wander diminished. We shared a love for plants. I learned to grow them and arrange them in beautiful combinations. She painted them, documenting her interpretation of botanical adventures, as if she were on her own fantastic voyage through the inner workings of the blossoms.
My Dad built homes, loved music and basic math, loved to teach young people both subjects, and spent most of his life supporting the development of a family full of artistic people while engrossed in the fulfillment of his desire to explore the notes in his head. He could figure out how to structure a building, and he could inspire a young mind to grasp multiplication when no one else could. I loved going with Dad in the old '49 Chev purple pickup. We would go to the Salt Lake Dump, way out west in the Salt Lake Valley, passing the Airport, coming very close to the lake it seemed. There was the smell of smoke (in those days they burned much of the trash--either on purpose, or by accident) and the sound of gulls. The beloved gulls that had once saved the pioneers from the crickets were now mostly fed by the leftovers of their descendants' much more abundant living. We would drive into the mountains sometimes in the summer to deliver goods to the scouts in the Uintahs, or to the Bennion boys ranch in Vicor, Idaho. It was always fun to spend those youthful days bouncing along in the old truck singing and eating "goober peas." (goodness how delicious, eating goober peas (aka: peanuts))
By watching Dad put things together to build something, and Mom put things together in two dimensions that looked like something, I seem to have absorbed a bit of both of them. I love to build things, fix things, make things look good together, and also picked up somewhere a curiosity about living things, to the extent that I find the scientific process to be essential in building and creating, which at times can be very time consuming and costly, or perhaps doesn't turn out the way I expected it to. But as I get a little more practice over the years, I can picture in my head what something should turn out like, and make it happen. That comes in handy when you put together a large floral display for a wedding. Often I pray when perplexed with a design issue, or when I am trying to sort something about a building or remodel project. The Lord gives me a picture in my mind; sometimes my memory is so short I have to stop praying and draw a diagram, then go back and thank him, or ask for more clarification. That seems to work in the creative process.
