We had no intention of including \u201cthe cowgirl\u201d in our schedule to critique each other\u2019s work. That was back in the early 60s when we were students at the Chicago Institute of Art. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Our delusion was pierced by a voice that said, \u201cI\u2019d like to be on the list.\u201d We were stuck with Leona. At least she was at the bottom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We moved like we were walking through mud when Leona\u2019s Sunday came around. We sat on the floor of her sculpture studio, dressed in capri pants and crisp blouses, mouths slammed shut, hoping to get this over with as soon as possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cJust what does your content of horses and cows communicate?\u201d someone finally asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Leona jumped up, planted her legs in a V, pushed her fists into her hips. \u201cI\u2019m tired of you hee-hawing about my Western art and cowboy clothes. I don\u2019t stick out like a cowlick in Idaho when I wear Levis and checkered shirts. The boots and hat, they\u2019re all part of who I am. You\u2019re lookin\u2019 at country \u2013 thank you, Loretta Lynn.\u201d She shifted her head slightly,lost in a sunset over the Caribou Range, before bringing her focus back on us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWe romanticize The Cowboy,\u201d she said, sounding like she was speaking in capital letters. \u201cWe don\u2019t romanticize his life. We know why we drive a shiny new Land Rover and he settles for a beat up Ford pickup that he tinkers with on Sunday afternoons, hoping he can spend the next Saturday night in town. We know why we live in the \u2018big house\u2019 and ranch hands live in the bunkhouse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ve been on roundups with the boys, caked with dirt and sweat, days feeling as long as the Snake River, clothes crusted to our shivering bodies at night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLet me tell you something else: I know a Russel from a Remington. My daddy owns a Remington \u2013 the real thing, not a reproduction. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know what gives me privilege to make \u2018cowboy\u2019 art. I\u2019ll never be as good as Russel or Remington, but I intend to spend my life paying homage to the sinew of horse and rider. Like Remington, I want you to \u2018take away something to think about \u2013 to imagine\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Silence hung over us like dust stirred up by a herd of rampaging cattle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAre you done, Leona?\u201d someone asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFor now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We had no intention of including \u201cthe cowgirl\u201d in our schedule to critique each other\u2019s work. That was back in the early 60s when we were students at the Chicago Institute of Art. Our delusion was pierced by a voice that said, \u201cI\u2019d like to be on the list.\u201d We were stuck with Leona. … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":911,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-868","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/07\/barbara-krysztofiak-LqRYNPnzt4Q-unsplash.jpg?fit=640%2C427&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/868","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=868"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/868\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":912,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/868\/revisions\/912"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/911"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=868"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=868"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=868"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
Fay L. Loomis was a nemophilist (haunter of the woods) until her hikes in upstate New York were abruptly ended by a stroke three years ago. With an additional nudge from the pandemic, she now lives a particularly quiet life. Fay is a member of the Stone Ridge Library Writers.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"