Busting a Gut - part IV

Laughing ––

• Part I, absurd. 
• Part II, utterly senseless. 
• Part III, slapstick silly.
• Part IV, satire.

Satire is a rather dangerous sort of comedy. Frankly, it’s intent is to shame individuals, or society itself, into improving by using constructive social criticism through wit. The weapon of wit is truly a subjective thing and sometimes it carries a wallop quite similar to the bite of dog; rather than the more noble nibble of a sheep. In that case satire more closely resembles sarcasm and that kind of humour is generally down right mean.

I do believe Americans love satire ... at least those of my generation. I never thought much about it growing up but, now that I’m older and a bit more reflective, I understand the difference between Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In and the original Saturday Night Live. For sure, good satire will offer lighthearted humour full of irony or parody, and follow that up with a serious after-taste. In simpler terms; make people laugh, and then encourage them think.

When I began creating the Wilderlife Series I intended to use satire to make fun of both the pompous art world as well as the smarter than me biologist types. That in itself was very easy to do, yet once my family and I began really exploring the imagination we sometimes went a bit farther than I ever planned. A great example is the two shrew-type critters. I believe it was Goldie who began the idea that we should create opposing cultures similar to the relationship shared between England and France. (Put this in historic context, if you will ... over the centuries those nations across the pond have been contentious neighbours who often sound like the Bickersons. What fun to play with that idea!)

Take a read and see if you get what I mean:

COMMON NAME: Great Horned Shrew

Species: Tres hornicus rodenteon. Other names include little big horn, half pint, wee body, shrewy wooy, and knuckle buster. The great horned shrew can be confused with it’s close relative, the grey horned shrew.

General facts: Great horned shrews are hyperactive omnivores that grow 1 and a half to 2 inches long from butt to nose and weigh between 5 and 7 ounces. They feed primarily on grass seeds, but also eat other things such as ear mites, noseeums, fly larvae, and rabbit. They are surprisingly successful pack hunters that can cleverly take down a 10 pound mammal. With an excellent sense of smell and hearing, the scout-rodent identifies potential prey and communicates direction to his fellow pack members using teeny squeaks and whisker wiggles. The pack will then position itself around the target and charge with a mighty lunge. In the midst of the frenzied activity, few who fall pray to a shrew-trap can escape.  Using razor sharp teeth and jaw pressure of 87 pounds, a large rabbit will be dismembered in less than 20 minutes. Contrary to popular belief, their horns are not used when hunting. Like dahl sheep, their head adorns are used when fighting for mates, communication, and back scratching.

STATISTICS: Great horned shrew live in colonies that range from 2,200 to 5,702 animals. They have a feudal social structure that is comparable to 12th century France. Basically, it is many mini-kingdoms controlled by one. The highest level of their society does not have to hunt at all. Serf hunters of the pack give most of their catch to the vassals, who give some of that catch to the lords, who in turn contributes a little bit more to the hierarchy’s cache. Generally speaking, great horned shrew have a snooty disposition, again relating to 12th century France. They have an unusual sense of family structure, appearing to be big on courtship and giving little regard to monogamy. It is difficult to tell the genders apart and statistical information on the animal count is nothing more than mere speculation. Their greatest enemy is the grey horned shrew that resides just across the river.

HABITAT: North America and parts of Canada. Resides just about anywhere it can get away with.  Most sightings have occurred in Quebec and the interior of Alaska. It is rumored that they were once abundant in Louisiana, most specifically in and around New Orleans.

** Morning Glory

    Gouache on Bristol Board

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COMMON NAME: Grey Horned Shrew

Species: Nutralous hornicus rodenteon. Other names include english shrew, quarter pint, ye body, winston, and knobby nibbler. The grey horned shrew can be confused with it’s close relative, the great horned shrew.

General facts: Grey horned shrews are lethargic omnivores that grow 2 to 1 and a half inches long from butt to nose and weigh between 7 and 5 ounces. They feed primarily on berries, oysters, and other aphrodisiacs,  but also eat other things such as fleas, wild lettuce, green m&ms, and rabbit. They are surprisingly successful scavengers that can cleverly take food from their enemies. With an excellent sense of smell and hearing, they can detect the enemy approaching and run like the wind. The pack hunts only at night, taking full advantage of slumbering neighbours’ unguarded caches. During day hours this shrew never strays far from it’s home and behaves like simple gatherers searching for berries and other pleasurable things. Grey horned shrew are never seen alone and are easily identified by their never ending attentiveness to their mate. They are very affectionate creatures, constantly petting, doting, and caring for other members of their clan.

STATISTICS: Grey horned shrew live in colonies that range from 5,702 to 2,204 animals. They have a monarchy social structure that is comparable to 12th century England. Basically, it is huge kingdom controlled by one. The highest level of their society does not have to hunt at all, for it is adored by every member of the group who will gladly give all they own to the apparent lordship of them all. Generally speaking, grey horned shrew have a refined disposition, again relating to 12th century England. They have a traditional sense of family structure, appearing to be big on monogamy and giving little regard to courtship. All their nests are built near by the wildflower known as Forget Me Not. It is speculated that the scent of the blooms perform a major function during the mating season. Perhaps it is an aphrodisiac, or maybe it just looks pretty. The grey horned shrew’s major enemy is the great horned shrew, that resides just across the river.

HABITAT: North America and parts of New England. Resides, or has resided, in just about every region of the world. Most sightings have occurred in Victoria, on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, and in smattered locations throughout South Central Alaska. It is rumored that they were once abundant in Massachusetts, most specifically in and around Boston. Evidently, there still seems to be a thriving colony on the Faulken Islands.

** Procreation Congregation

    Gouache on Bristol Board

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Busting a Gut - part III

Laughing –– Part I, absurd.
                          Part II, utterly senseless.
                          Part III, slapstick silly.

Slapstick comedy is a shameless sort of humour that is considered lowbrow and better suited for children. As silly as it is, do you know what is the funniest thing about it? Answer: The pleasure of slapstick is universally shared among pretty much everybody I’ve talked with regarding humour ... which means nothing more than we all laugh at it.

The basis for this kind of joke is pain ... you know, people falling down, smacking into a brick wall, knocked in the shin with a bat, a potted plant falls on your head, a tumble down the stairs, a frying pan upside the head, or a slip on a banana peel and land on your butt kind of thing. I don’t know what it is exactly, but for some reason that sort of stuff just makes us laugh and laugh. We even laugh at ourselves when we are the victim of a smack or a whack or a trip, go figure.

Interestingly, and this is something I say in my own defense all the time, laughing IS a natural pain killer. I prefer to think that when I laugh at the bozo who fell down, I am actually expressing thoughtful support by giggling because I know laughter is also contagious and, like it or not, the boinked one will ease his own pain by laughing right along with me. I am grateful for the scientific study that gave me this excuse, and I’m sticking to it.

The term ‘slapstick’ actually describes a common stage prop used during the vaudevillian era and was, litreally, a piece of wood that had been split on the long side - like a sword with a cut all the way down the blade on the thin edge. When one guy whacked a second guy with the stick, the two pieces of wood slapped against each other and the impact sound was emphasized by the wood hitting against itself. What sounded like a wicked hit was actually rather harmless and pain free. But, the audience’s perception was audible inflicted pain and they roared at the idea of that.

Vaudeville was not the first to implement such a theatrical prop; it was just the most notable generation where that style of comedy was explored extensively and, because of technical advances during that age, the ‘golden era’ of black and white silent movies spread this style of comedy far and wide. Wacky characters flash in our minds whenever we hear their name: Charlie Chaplin, Laurel and Hardy, the Keystone Kops, and the Three Stooges. If we dug for the root of this goof-ball practice (pain via stick whacking as humour), we’d find a slapstick sort of prop at least somewhat present in Ancient Greece, Rome, even in the Middle Ages where rejuvenation of theater in church liturgical dramas had actors beating the devil right off the stage. Renaissance carried it forward with Shakespeare incorporating many chase scenes and beatings into his comedies. It seems like the halarity of pain and suffering is a primitive emotion that goes right to the bone of who we are, and it’s been with us since the beginning of recorded time. I imagine and believe, actually, that cave men whacked each other with a club just to hear the other clan members gawfaw at the pain ... I wish that were etched or painted onto a cave wall so my point would be proven without a doubt.

It has always been a big hit for children, too. Animated cartoons such as Tom and Jerry and Looney Tunes taught us all about how funny it was to trip a friend, then point and laugh as they lay on the ground crying. I got in trouble for doing that a lot as a kid. It took me a while to comprehend that the fun of the joke was the illusion of the thing and not the real hitting, and encouraging a friend to learn a stunt roll or a hollywood smack saved at least one of us from a trip to the principal’s office ... because his stick was not a slapstick and that bona fide butt-whacker hurt like hell. The point here is, no matter how lowbrow or simpleton one makes this sort of humour out to be, truth is it kept us kids playing hard while honing our minds to be sharp as a tack.

And with that, here is the wilderlife critter that honours the slapstick. Sit back on your whoopie cushion and enjoy:

COMMON NAME: Chipundale

Species: Jesterian smartassicus rodentian. Other names include tree clown, lil’ buger, chuck monk, Ivan and the punk. The chipundale  can be confused with it’s less humorous cousin, the chipmunk.

General facts: Chipundales are daylight omnivores that grow 4 to 7 inches long, including the bushy tail, and weigh between 2 and 15 pounds. They feed primarily on bird legs and nuts, but also eat other creatures such as bunnies, crickets, ants, locus, and butterflies. Highly developed senses of humour and irony allow this excellent tree climbing nut to annoy other members of its clan. It’s greatest advantage is keeping its predators amused long enough for the chipundale to get away. A forest prankster, it is not unusual to see one sneak up behind another and push him off a limb, or simply say ‘boo’  and then laugh as the unsuspecting butt-of-the-joke jumps with a start.  Apparently, the greatest prize of all is to actually force a competitor to fall to the forest floor.  The echoing cackle of their laugher can be heard on any given day. It sounds like ‘yuck, yuck, yuck’ (swallow your tongue when you try this).

STATISTICS: Chipundales live in dens called funhouses. Their homes are full of booby-traps that keep competing critters from stealing stored grub. Traps include, but are not limited to: false floors, stairs that turn into slides, doors that lead nowhere, and trick mirrors. It is unknown where the mirrors come from, however, they do say ‘objects are closer than they appear’ along the bottom edge. They have dribble glasses, flowers that squirt water, and whoopie cushions. Palm buzzers stopped being used weeks ago, and these forest rodents do seem to be fond of fake lottery tickets. Migrating along with the circus, these critters love using discarded clown wigs as bedding and furniture stuffing.  Their natural enemy is the paper cup. They often get their head stuck inside and the other chipundales laugh and laugh, seemingly too amused to help the critter out of his bind. Their mating habits are unknown ... we assume they are humorous.  For some unexplainable reason, our view of them always fades to black before the big finale. We do know they have litters, or clutches, of up to 89 off-spring, often including siamese twins.

HABITAT: North America and surrounding regions.  Resides along the normal migratory trails of reputable, or not so reputable circus troops. When over populated, they occasionally frequent county fairs and political rallies. As strange as it may sound, most sightings are witnessed by fishermen from Alabama.  Go figure.

Busting a Gut - part II

Laughing –– Part I was absurd. Part II is utterly senseless.


When you really think about what makes a person laugh you may come to realize that it’s not just a ‘joke’ that does it. Many things play a roll and I am one who has come to believe that the laugh should be associated with far more than simple merriment. There is no doubt that laughing feels good (unless you do it so much that your side feels like it’s splitting and your cheeks are about to burst), but is that all there is to it? Sigmund Freud wrote a general explanation regarding laughter that he called the Relief Theory, in which he summarized that laughter releases tension and psychic energy. Considering this, the theory explains why busting a gut can be a coping mechanism for any person who is upset, angry, or even sad. But, I’ll not delve too deeply into that part of the psychology of the laugh right now .... today we need to remain utterly senseless - or, in plainer words, insane. We’ll focus on the idea that when confronted with an inconsistency with reality any person can bring a successful solution by solving a cognitive riddle in a satisfactory way, and most of the time solving the riddle is what brings laughter and a sense of understanding.

There is a point that I understand well and attempt to conform my silly creations to, and that is a basic law of comedy which is called exactness. Exactness will never allow the audience to be confused because, if they are, they will never laugh nor even begin to understand the joke. Before I introduce you to the second Wilderlife critter, I will first illustrate a complete humour-communication-failure with one of my insane painted jokes. I call this cartoon Joe and the Artist, and it was created after I read a small newspaper article about a copyright lawsuit involving Philip Morris and Billy Coulton, the artist who created Joe Camel.

I put a lot of thought into this gag of a painting ... drug an old firewood chunk and some dried-up field grass into our living room; then bribed my husband to dress in a tank top, tuck his blue jeans into his motor-biking boots, then hold still as he knelt before and stretched his neck across the stump as though he were laid out for a chop. The insane joke here is that an artist, which (in a sense) is god-like, intends to violently snuff the life out of his own creation. The joke today does not work because the average viewer does not possess a full accounting of the real-life courtroom drama that happened nearly 20 years ago; and, since the time of my cartoon’s creation smoking has become public enemy number one. What was a play about copyrights and monetary gain from a creator’s tangible form of expression has turned into a nasty public statement about the dangers of smoking. That is an unfortunate turn of events for my cartoon and these days more people turn away in disgust rather than try to unravel the cognitive puzzle that is my image of Joe and the Artist ... the very European artist who felt quite cheated by the giant American company named Philip Morris (Joe was born in Europe in 1974 and was originally created to be a mascot for a French Advertising company. The artist sold him, and all his copyrights, for fifty bucks ... the fool).

What was re-confirmed most from this cartoon is that not every amusing thought has a long shelf-life. Social condition and controversy shift on a whim and what is funny one day may be offensive the next. Although, I have to say Joe and the Artist does bring me sick pleasure these days and I often chuckle in my own sadistic way ... when I’m watching someone uncomfortably spying this thing while they try to find a polite way to say it really sucks. We’ll talk about that sort of humour in a later post.

For now, my Wilderlife Series has proven to be resolved inconsistency for most people viewing it - even an image as insane as the creature we call the Lurky. This painting proves how the theory works in the case of visual humor. The joke is the insanity of a turkey and lizard combined and viewers will automatically try to understand what this picture is supposed to say, or doesn’t say, or implies. Thanks to movies like Jurassic Park and the vicious critter called velociraptor, the Lurky is not too far removed for comfort. I can not tell you how many times I’ve heard people explain the painting to me that way. Surprisingly, I’ve never heard the words, “that’s just wrong” associated with this piece.

COMMON NAME: Emerald Lurky

Species: Voloptar turkilearian rapteus.  Other names include glen, bob, o’brian green socks, and mayflower. The lurky can be confused with descendants of the velociraptor.

General facts: Lurkys are diurnal omnivorish creatures that grow 1 and a half to 3 feet tall and weigh between 40 and 60 pounds. With a wing span of just three inches short of five feet, they are capable of hitting 60 mph, or a tree, provided they can get off the ground. They feed exclusively on pansies and rabbits, but have been rumored to eat dandelions and slugs during lean seasons. Highly developed senses of touch and go allow excellent ariel dynamics that confuses and stuns its prey. Hunting only during the hours between 1pm and 3pm, Lurkys are seldom seen due to the siesta rituals of the Oasis regions in New Mexico and limited areas in Nevada. The main enemies of the Lurky are humans because they discovered the beast tastes a lot like chicken, and their feathers are highly coveted by show girls in Las Vegas and ritualistic Miatec priests.

STATISTICS: As ground nesters, the Lurky commands much space to spread their wings and protect their young. Wings are used as umbrellas, blankets, cozies, and sunscreen. Occasionally, young chicks can be seen atop the parent’s unfolded wings practicing their touch and go proficiencies. The average clutch is 2.3 eggs that are about 6 inches in diameter. They are highly prized in logging camps and back-woods resorts. The birds reach maturity at pubirdy, which is 6 weeks after they discharge their shells, and will quickly find a mate and remain monogamous throughout their very long lives. In the wild, Lurkys live an average of 27 and half years. They have never been domesticated because when they are separated from their mate they will die of a broken heart. Or some such.

HABITAT: North America and surrounding regions. Resides mainly in forest glens along the edge of botanical gardens. Most sightings have occurred in nooks and crannies in the Oasis regions, or in a drunken state, though a few have been seen partially sober. It is strongly advised you never look up during the hours of 1pm to 3pm for reasons good taste will not allow us explain. Also, avoid the fields beside the glens during those same hours. A 60 pound bird hitting 60 mph hour can command overwhelming damage should it hit you.

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** Forest Glen
    Gouache on Bristol Board

When I recall the pleasure of making images and words for this series, Forest Glen holds one of the fondest moments for me. Me, Chris, and Goldie sat around late night at our print shop and simply laughed until we cried, each of us adding another outrageous trait or action to give our imaginary raptor bird. My family is so very funny and once we get started the concept of contagious laughter holds true. For me, that is one of the best things in life.

I chose to combine a turkey and lizard simply because I wanted to make the most outrageous combination of animals possible, and discover if I could make it even somewhat believable. Apparently I pulled it off.

Busting a Gut - part I

Laughing –– What a funny little thing that is. It’s a special, primitive, and universal language that can transcend all other barriers between human beings. Every culture laughs. Even some animals laugh. A good laugh is equivalent to a ten minute workout on a rowing machine. Some people laugh really loud and hard, others are rather quiet, while a few will only snort now and again. One thing is certain ... I love a good laugh.

I am on a mission for the next month or so to try to deeply understand the laugh. I want to know what makes us do it ... and whether or not I can learn to somewhat control it (either my own laughter, or others’). There are many reasons for the gawfaw and I’m going to begin with a thing I understand well.

The absurd.

Most of the time I am a wildlife painter and I’ve found over the years that most artists, patrons, and supporters take their jobs far too seriously. Granted, using the skill to help animals in rehabilitation centers, or educate city dwellers about life in the wild, is all a good thing. But, once in a while, we really need to let go of the seriousness. I had somebody tell me one time, when looking at my drawing of a duck, that I had the incorrect number of feathers at the base of the neck and I really ought to make gunk like that correct. Well, damn it man! I’m not generally a feather counter. I don’t ever want to be a feather counter. I just want to paint my pictures.

So, that’s what I did for years until, some time ago, I was one of those ‘fortunate’ painters who was ‘discovered’ by an international fine art print publisher. It was, I was told, every wildlife painter’s dream so I signed the contract with high hopes of building a reputation as one of the chosen best of the best. Funny thing (and not funny in a way that makes one laugh, funny, as in – ironic), my new publisher wanted me to be something I was not.  Robert Bateman. Carl Brenders. John Seerey-Lester. He sent tear-sheets and instructed me to copy subject and style. I didn’t take that sort of direction well and my five year contract was in jeopardy before this horse ever shot out of the gate.

What did I do? Since every wildlife painting I created during the life of the contract was to be first considered by the publisher, I opted to find a new sort of creation – and I went all out. My family and I busted our guts while we made up the most absurd critters, including scientific data, as well as a new public image for myself. I began with an anonyomous bio, which accompanied a ridiculous photo where I tried to sport a mullet-like hair-do with style.  I will not bore you with the long, full version but will, instead, just pull a couple of paragraphs to illustrate my pompous point:

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Livvy - A Different Treasure of Another Kind

Like many wildlife painters in America, Livvy has come to her craft through an emotional and intimate familiarity with our natural surroundings. She was raised in the nearly uninhabited surroundings of Nikiski, Alaska and responded more directly than the average person to the fundamental appeal of the wild.  Unlike most sourdoughs, however, she expressed a natural aptitude for drawing and her relentless wanderings on paper weaved the larger story of her vicarious journeys. Though she continues to paint mainly wildlife subjects, the collection of paintings gathered for this volume reflect an extravaganza of sorts; a focus that is a little less on the typical, and a little more on nature as seen through the lens of the mind. Primary emphasis is placed on Livvy’s rich messages relating to her youthful foreground of local habitat that may be, perhaps, closer to her heart than the heritage of any other part of the world.

Today Livvy, who now lives in the sort of southern part of the Pacific Northwest, is a semi-public figure and the recipient of many compliments and accolades. She is regarded by many as a premier nature artist and fervent conservationist.  For others, she remains an enigma. However she is observed, her prime directive for her aesthetic compositions shall possibly serve as an inspiration to provide opportunity to explore more fully the complex beauty and sublimity of our own natural world. It is a mission she accepts with pleasure, vowing to always stay true to her brush above all else, for the beauty, peace, and truth found there have no equal.

Livvy says that her art has very much to do with perceptibility, which forms the basis for many beautiful wildlife paintings.  “It is hard to see an animal in the wild,” she explains, “Cuz they always run away.” Often, the only chance to get close is to postulate the harmonies of colour and texture, and then paint that and share the experience of being within the intimate world of the animals. As an artist, it’s important to take advantage of the creator’s biggest advantage and render the scene with such reality that the impossible becomes possible.

No truer words are spoken for Livvy, for her infinite patience and delight in caressing her brushes against the Bristol, or just caressing her brushes, give us all a glimpse into her moments in paradise. Most surely, if she thought more detail would make her work more beautiful, she would strive to visually articulate more detail.  In a sense, perfectionism is her disease and the consummate venue to allegorize her reverence for the wild and infinite beauty of nature and fantastical things within her.

                                                                                  –– Anonymous

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My publisher blanched when he read my pompusly verbose new bio ... and I’m saving you an abundance of annoyance by only posting half of it here today. Still, as with him, I’m sharing with the bio a collection of twelve paintings which brought my point home. I will post them over the coming weeks, one by one, along with the 'scientific' data and story behind how it came to be.  Back in 1997 I was pained by the thought that for five long years I’d have to leave my natural inclinations behind and avoid painting straight up wildlife. Fortunately, I found a way to use humour to lighten my load. The beautiful thing about humour is ... laughter is a natural pain killer, and that’s especially true when one is dealing with a pain in your butt.

COMMON NAME: Polarcam

Species: Arcto humpteus camealious.  Other names include spitter, double do, snot rocket, magnum, and polar rover.  The polarcam can be confused with the middle eastern desert dog.

General facts: Polarcams are arctic carnivores that grow 8 to 12 feet tall (including the humps) and can weigh up to 1380 pounds. They feed primarily on arctic hare, but also eat other creatures such as ice worms, arctic fox, seal, and the mighty beluga whale. Their greatest and most feared weapon is their projectiling spit-balls. Whether hunting or defending themselves, they can quickly work up a mouth full of saliva and spit with remarkable accuracy. The subzero temperatures of the arctic region almost instantly freezes the warm mouth fluids and the resulting flying balls can range from 1 to 4 inches in diameter, weighing up to 3 pounds each. With an amazing target accuracy of 98.7 percent at 25 yards, the polarcam fears very little and never tolerates anything found near his home range. The distinctive double humps act as a food cache that holds devoured meats and allows the beast to live up to three months between meals. It is speculated that arctic penguins once shared the range of the polarcam, but found themselves defenseless against this large and aggressive animal. They can run nearly 53 mph hour and may swim up to 4 miles in ice laden waters.

STATISTICS: Polarcams sleep standing and have no recorded social order at all.  Always solitary, it is unknown how they reproduce or develop. No female has ever been seen and it is speculated that they live in a harem type situation in some sort of ice cave, perhaps being tended to by a dominant male, or servant of the dominant male. In one reporting, a secret  mission brought a researcher within 25 yards of a large male that was frolicking in apparent play on a field of drifts. The 8.3 minutes of satellite feed showed a delightful animal at ease. Unfortunately, the beast detected the human and much desired analyzation of the spit ball phenomenon ensued. The scientist has not been heard from since.

HABITAT: North American Arctic and surrounding regions. Resides mainly on the arctic coastal plain and most sightings have occurred around and about the Point Barrow area. It is strongly advised to never approach this animal. It is orally recorded that 13 humans have been killed by the polarcam and wounds inflected on survivors appear quite similar to a gunshot wound from a 357 magnum pistol.

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** Sunrise on the Arctic Coastal Plain
     Gouache on Bristol Board

In 1977, at age 16, I was allowed to visit the Arctic Coastal Plain at Point Barrow. One of my fondest possessions is the certificate that proves I crossed the Arctic Circle during a time when non-oil-industry citizens were not permitted. What impressed me most was the frigid cold in July and the truth of the midnight sun. The place was absolutely desolate. I felt so tall in a land without mountains or trees, standing on frozen ground and spying the curvature of the earth from my five foot five viewpoint. No plant grows over six inches tall there. It is a frozen desert, really. I wasn’t allowed to explore and did not find any animal life  at all. I could not get over the idea of a frozen desert, though, and imagined the perfect animal had I only been permitted to go find it. When creating the crazy wilderlife in 1997, I dug up the memory of that place and included a Polarcam for fun. It is true. I don’t like to paint what I have not seen, yet sometimes my mind supplies pictures far  too fantastic for my own good. I can’t help it.  I am Alaskan.