Indelible

Light in the Forest

2016-05-28T22:50:00.000-06:00

The conceptualization for Light in the Forest began with a desire to experiment with metallic colours. Adding blue to my palate helped the silver and gold pop. As I developed a theme that would complement the golds and silvers on my palate, I felt that a mythology based theme would work well. In this painting the viewer is peering into a forest clearing, where nymphs are dancing. As they dance they bring life and light to the night forest around them, which baths the forest in hues of gold and silver.

I started this painting expecting that I would finish it before medical school, but as it was I started school a semester earlier than I originally planned, and didn't finish the painting. When I began clinical rotations, I thought that I would have more time to paint, so I took the painting with me from city to city, as I traveled to each rotations. I quickly learned that I would not have as much time as I had anticipated, and it took me the whole remainder of my medical education to finish the piece. I sketched the piece and painted the background in Salt Lake City, UT, my home. Then I made background adjustments in New York City and Detroit. The forest was painted at my parents home in Saint George, UT, at my brother's home in Salt Lake City, and in Shreveport Louisiana. I painted nymphs in New York City, Cleveland, and finally finishing the painting at my brother's home in Salt Lake City.

From my sketchbook to the canvas.

Staining the canvas.

Painting the night sky.

Painting the forest floor, which I repainted three times in three cities.

Sketching in oil tree branches.

I painted the foreground trees with a palate knife. Here the foliage is done in silver and pewter mixed with ivory black.

Painting the tree trunks with a combination of gold, Renaissance gold, and burnt umber.

My beautiful wife is painting a miniature version of my painting, although she says her nymphs will be clothed.

Mixing skin tones was an uncharted territory for me, and I spent many hours sitting at my palate mixing paints. In the end, I felt I did reasonably well for my first attempt at painting the human form. Upon completion, I gave this painting to my brother, Steven King.

"Light in the Forest" 2016
Oil on Canvas

Crux Invicta 2015

2015-01-21T15:27:00.000-07:00

A painting for my mother-in-law to be.

Stage I: Prep

Stage II: Laying down a foundation of colour.

Stage III: Blending

I wasn't really happy the results so I decided to start afresh.

I wanted more of a glowing feel.

But ended up with more of a sunburst.

"Please, Hunny Bunny, can I paint too?"

"Ladies and Gentleman, I present to you..."

"Crux Invicta"

"Ta da."

"Look at me! I'm an arteest."

"A little dab of paint here, a little there."

"Hmmm, I think it is missing something, ahh yes, the cross.."

Phase IV: Palate knifing in the cross.

I do contortionist work on the side.

Behind me, that is Assyrian for: "You are in trouble Mister.", because I'm taking a selfie while standing on a chair. (Really, I was using the phone camera, like a mirror, to view the top edge of the painting better, but shot a selfie while I was at it.)

Crux Invicta 2015

Rum Shrimp and Butternut Squash Ravioli Alfredo

2014-01-03T17:43:00.001-07:00

Mom and dad invited the missionaries over for dinner tonight, so I offered to quickly throw something together for mom. It would be best if we don't tell the missionaries that the dishes was cooked with rum.

I present to you butternut squash ravioli drizzled lightly with Alfredo sauce and topped with rum sautéed shrimp seasoned with garlic, nutmeg, cinnamon, and allspice, accompanied by butter herb asparagus, crisp snow peas, and fresh tomatoes finishing off the dish.

Romanticism of Death

2013-09-30T17:23:00.001-06:00

I had a friend once say there is “something romantic about Death”, yet very wisely understood that it is only one's own death that is romantisied -for the remainer of us the bitterness of the one's death is cruel. My parents have long romanticised over their own death, as many people do who come to that stage in their aged life. To the uncomfort of his children, dad has for years been discussing the inheritance that each child will receive. Ironically, I realize that the paintings I have given my parents will one day return to me. Although mom doesn't often bring up the subject, she too has recently broached her own burial. My parents long ago purchased burial plots in St. George, the place that I identify as home, but now mom has recently expressed the desire to be buried in a small farming town with the roots of my family, in Goshen Idaho. I realize that I do not have many years remaining with my parent and what little is left must be cherished.

Today I have been studying human development across the life span. As I read, I cannot help but to romantise upon my own death -when and how it might take place, and what will come of my memory. In my romaticised view, in the day that I die, I would like the vestage left behind to be burned to ashes. I would not have those ashes reside in an urn on a dusty book shelf, but rather mixed into the earth of my secrete garden with a young seedling planted above. As the colourful maple's roots penatrate deep into the soil, the reminants of my existance will give life and beauty to the world around.

Image taken from lightcapturephoto.com

Work of My Hands

2012-11-24T15:07:00.002-07:00

Dancing upon the taste buds, a chef's work delights the most refined of palates. Yet a less refined palate would have no less of an appreciation for the delicacy of a French pastry.

Meticulously ground into cold pressed linseed oil the purest of pigments shimmer vibrantly along the corridors of an architectural wonder. It is a work of art contained within a work of art. A child's crayon scribbles are of no less value than Monet's oils.

Metaphorically written pros have been known to move the nations. Wars have been fought and nations have been born under the allspice of a feather quill. Did not God himself write upon the stone with his finger? The world moves by words.

What then, I ask, is the work of my hands? I like to think of myself as an artist and a poet, and I certainly enjoy food, but the works of my hands in these has yet to prove itself. I put paint on a canvas and call it art, but a child's crayon probably would sell for more. And how I wish I could write to move people, but I misplace the words. I certainly can't write upon stone.

I ask again, what is the work of my hands?

Paix Bouche = Peace Mouth

Fighting crime at nigh, fighting micro-organisms by day.

It will probably be the only time in our careers that we are allowed to practice medicine in flip flops and tee-shirts. We take full advantage of it.

My health education activity went well.

My co-clinic coordinator and myself after a successful clinic.

Returning from the clinic with the afternoon shift. (I wasn't able to get a group photo of the morning shift.)

This is the work of my hands. My work is that of the children. They are the stone tablet that I write upon, the canvas of crayon, the delicacy of life. My work may not be visible to the world, but the future of the world is held in my hands.

The Freeway Effect

2012-11-18T21:00:00.000-07:00

In order to improve my scores I've been trying something different this past month. I stopped attending lecture and have rather been watching the recorded lectures online. There are advantages and disadvantages to each system. 'Mediasiting' a lecture allows me to go at my own pace. I can stop and pause to take notes, or I can speed it up. Many students choose to watch the lectures at double speed. I don't do it often, but I have been guilty of double-speeding lectures when I'm behind. It's interesting to note that after a few minutes have passed you forget that you are watching the lecture at an accelerated rate. Once in awhile the webpage has need to reset itself, and when that happens the lecture restarts from the cue where it left off but at normal speed. It takes a moment to realize what has happened, but before realization hits you ask your self "Why are they speaking so s-l-o-w-l-y?" I call it the Freeway Effect. Inertia is propelling forward at a pace that has not equilibrated with present.

I've always walked a little slower than most, yet my life is racing by at an uncomfortably dangerous pace. I try to take moments to enjoy the sunset, but I'm on a freeway without rest stops or lookouts. Am I to become accustom to the day disappearing into the night, or will I forever long for the slower paced life?

5K

2012-11-16T17:02:00.002-07:00

One of the clubs that I'm involved with held a fundraising event today -a 5k race. I volunteered to help with the race and was delighted to be given the task of photographing the race at a certain location. Many of my shots of the runners were pitted against this lovely rainbow.

Where I Stand

2012-11-08T19:11:00.001-07:00

"Why fit in when you were born to stand out?" -Dr. Seuss

Caring Hand

2012-10-28T22:38:00.003-06:00

A random thought that I had during lecture today.

Doctors of old were part of the family -they came when called upon, often being able to do very little but offer sympathy, and wait while their patient died under their caring hand. The physician was valued. Today medicine is industrialized. By yesterday's standards doctors perform miraculous on a daily basis. Despite their greater ability in healing, physicians are valued less than they once were. Is it because the physicians of today no longer heal the soul in treating the aliments of the flesh? or is there something else at work?

Witty Remarks

2012-10-13T12:35:00.000-06:00

I have a English literature friend who I have occasion to banter with (it is the same friend whom I took under my wing to teach her the finer aspects of "The Anti-Secret"). She recently posted this quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson on her facebook page. "Society is a joint-stock company, in which the members agree, for the better securing of his bread to each shareholder, to surrender the liberty and culture of the eater. The virtue in most request is conformity. Self-reliance is its aversion. It loves not realities and creators, but names and customs." My witty remark to her was "And what of the tragedy of the commons?" It is, of course, the dichotomy of the human spirit -doing what is better for humanity versus doing what is best for me. Both exist to some degree in every person -the balance of which will determine the degree of success of that member within the whole. We are a social species. You cannot remove a man from society and expect him to be successful anymore than you can remove a bee from the hive and expect it to survive. Self reliance is a fanciful escape from being a member of the hive. Yet we are not bees. We are born within the society but we are beautiful individuals, with individual dreams and fears. We live our own lives. We give to society, we take from it as well, but in the end we determine our own fate. As such our society cannot survive under a purely communist creed. Self reliance, therefore, is not a taboo, but a virtue -when well balanced.

To my wit she replied, "I always think of self-reliance in terms of thought. Finding your own path in terms of thoughts and beliefs is essential to strengthening the commons. Everyone can't be a shepherd, but the world currently has far too many sheep." -Melanie Dawn Watson

Very well said.

Fitness for Life

2012-09-01T13:25:00.001-06:00

How does one measure the slipping of one's quality of life from day to day? How does one discover the infinitesimal downward spiral of failing health? At what point does one realize that they no longer posses the vitality of their youth? Aging -it is inevitable. So quietly it sneaks upon us. Unbounding energy ebbs and flows in the days of our youth, but as youth's follies are replaced by the wisdom of years, vigor becomes illusive. I am no longer a youth, but nor am I old man. I am at an intersection of life that is considered the peak of a man's marketable value. The vigor of youth still resides in my bones, while the promise of a successful career is just beginning to come into fruition. Yet the means by which we earn our daily bread has tilted the balance. What was once earned by the sweat of our brow has been supplanted by the ease of a modern society. The struggle of living is no longer in obtaining food, but managing social and life stressors.

Maintaining a healthy balance thus is the challenge in the modern man's affairs. To be successful in one endeavor it seems he must neglected another. This has always been my challenge. My success in academics has always come at the costs of physical health -maintaining a regular exercise routine, sleep, and even healthy eating. Failure to achieve success in the facets of my life has always resulted in a social withdraw. Yet balance is so important. Without balance one can only expect to maintain success within any particular aspect of life for a limited thread of time.

At the onset of medical school I was determined to maintain balance -to eat healthy, to maintain a regular sleep schedule, to exercise daily, and to attend to my social and personal needs. Possibly the first week I maintained balance, thereafter, well.. its medical school. As I embark on a new semester I will attempt for balance once again. Come Christmas break we will see how much success I meet in my endeavor. It will be difficult to eat as I would like, due to the limited resources I am under in both time and availability to a proper grocery store. In regards to sleep, other than the normal nightly insomnia, I get enough sleep. Sleep is too important in my ability to function properly, so I don't often let that one slide as I did in my youth. In regards to exercise I feel I've developed a good routine. The challenge will be in sticking to it. Monday and Wednesdays are dedicated to strength training. Tuesdays I will have the pleasure of running along the beach. Thursday is pylometrics, which is an exercise born of the devil. It requires a lot of jumping around. It gets your heart rate up and your legs will feel like Jello for a good three to five days after, at least initially. I take Fridays to cool off by swimming in the ocean. Although I'm not very good at it, and I swallow a lot of salt-water. At present I am focusing on breathing technique so I don't drown myself. Then Saturday is yoga. Yoga -oh my! I sweat more with yoga than running. So many people look upon yoga with a queer eye, as well did I, until trying it. Yoga is more than a bunch of contorted body poses and oms. It enhances flexibility while also enhances strenghth. If you want to improve your game, what ever that may be, then you will do yoga. Finally, Sunday is a day of rest.

It's vital take care of the body, for in caring for the physical you allow the body to take care of the mind. And as a medical student I need a clear mind. If I can attend to the needs of my schooling and physical well being, then my social and personal needs should naturally fall into place, as they tend to be most vulnerable to unhealthy levels of stress, but innately in the absence of stress they abound.

Monday begins a new semester with new challenges. I'm crossing my fingers that I'm up to it.

Cabrits

2012-08-25T18:42:00.000-06:00

Fort Shirley at the Cabrits

The walls of these buildings are between two to four feet thick, made to withstand cannon shot.

Portsmouth was a key port in the defense of Dominica.

The fort is currently being renovated.

The road leading up to the fort.

Northwest

2012-08-21T14:24:00.001-06:00

The view from my meandering today. Looking to the Northwest. (I'm always looking that way with a long feeing.) The white building in the center are on campus.

And this is the view looking in the easterly direction.

The Neighborhood

2012-08-19T22:10:00.000-06:00

Today is my last day in the neighborhood. I will be moving a little closer to campus tomorrow. I like the area well enough, but it is a little bit of a walk. (Twenty-five minutes really isn't that much, but time is so precious.) Before I leave the area I thought it would be nice to take a stroll along the streets and capture a few shots of the area. Brief as it was, this is what I called home.

Homes next to the soccer field.

It was this tree that I took a mango from for my first breakfast in Dominica

There is no freeway in Dominica. Travel between the cities is by this single, very windy road around the island. The coast line jets in and out. If you're a little sensitive to motion sickness, it's recommended to take some anti-nausia medication before you get in the taxi at the airport.

Fishing boats taking a day off.

The first specimen of the wild life of Dominica. This particular species runs wildly about the streets and can be heard at all hours of the day and night.

Some eggs are sold -some hatch.

A common site. A cow (or usually a goat) is tied to a tree along the road side.

This wild creature was playfully bounding away.

You can't see it in this frame, but mama is lying peacefully to the left, and the twin is standing on some cinderblock to the right.

Curious. Where does that trail lead to? An adventure for another day.

The roads I walk daily.

Kids playing soccer in the street.

View down my street.

Home, for one more day. I was often seen sitting on the balcony wall on the days that I studied at home.

Peekaboo

2012-08-01T21:29:00.000-06:00

You may be asking yourself, "Exactly why is he taking a picture of himself in the mirror?"

Peekaboo! I see you!
(I promise, I returned him to the wild yesternight, but he returned. And he isn't cute, he's ferocious. Rawr:)

Barking Dogs

2012-07-22T03:24:00.000-06:00

My "dogs" are barking. I hate the phrase, and I curse the name of the person who taught it to me so many years ago (though I don't remember their name, or even their face for that matter). Without fail, when ever I work a long shift, and my feet hurt, I think of my barking dogs. And today they are barking, after 14 hours on them, with little reprieve. The support for the particular shoe that I choose to wear today aren't very good, but at least I was sensible enough to wear shoes for my EMS shift today, instead of the usual flip flops. I think it's only the third time I've worn shoes since I've arrived to the island. My first shift of the semester was uneventful. The second I received a call at midnight to attend to a student who passed out (from intoxication) and as a result needed stitches. My third shift I responded to a broken hand. And today, my fourth shift, I'm returning home at 5 AM after a day of responding to sports injuries, scratches, and to finish off (assuming I don't received any further calls between now and when I hand over the phone in the morning) a combination of vomiting, diarrhea, and sever dehydration. I'm not complaining, just illustrating the real life experience that I'm receiving above and beyond your typical medical student. The young lady tonight was very thankful for the care she received under our watch.

I haven't yet hit my study goals today, so it is back to studying for me (a for the barking dogs, a hot tub of water).

Day Fifty-Four

2012-06-29T21:14:00.001-06:00

The river bridge that cross every afternoon.

I wish you could see the images of my day that I am not able to capture. The photo above really isn't interesting in any particular way. Yet as inartistically as the scene is, there is something to be said for it. Had I shot the scene, some weeks ago it would have show a man bathing along its banks. I've mentioned this before. I see the gentleman often enough, probably 4 or 5 times a week in passing. He hangs around the "Shacks" and the dining tables outside the grocery store. Some days I see him without shoes, some days with. His clothing is nearly aways torn, but not soiled. I wonder if he notices to what degree I observe him. I was discussing his situation with the taxi driver who takes me home nearly every night. He has many children, though none are believed to live here. He took an accident to his face some years ago, disfiguring his lip. It is not exactly known why he chooses to live on the streets. Speculation might say that loss has driven him. I will admit, it's a thought experiment that I've given much thought to: To live homeless, having nothing, having no one. How would I survive? I have spend many hours over the years contemplating the answers to these questions, and more. The scene I would have you see today would be of the gentleman sifting through the rubbish bin out side the grocery, hoping to find his dinner. I just had mine. I feel immense compassion when I look upon his life.

Day Fifty-Two and Fifty-Three

2012-06-28T22:40:00.000-06:00

Day Fifty-Two: My view as I was lying on the picnic bench whilst I was read upon the finer points of mononucleosis.

Day Fifty-Three: I was only able to catch the tail end of this sunset. I liked the contrast.

Day Forty-Nine

2012-06-24T22:42:00.001-06:00

Dusk at "The Shacks". The Shacks are the equivalent of most schools cafeteria or food court. Local vendors operate their own little shack, where they offer exotic foods such as pizza, burgers, chicken fingers, grilled chicken, crepes, and curry. Of the various option, only one shack offers a dish or two of traditional Dominican cuisine. There are also a few that offer local juices and fresh fruits and vegetables. Some student's refuse to eat at the shacks, due to the occasional infamous "Shack Attack", or simply mild food poisoning, but others have no qualms. I occasionally patronize the shacks, the food isn't bad, but I prefer healthier options.

Day Forty-Eight

2012-06-23T22:06:00.000-06:00

Clifton Government School

Game of Hopscotch anyone?

Peds clinic.

Because I am an EMT I am given greater responsibilities than your typical first semester student.

I like to start out by having the kids listen to my lungs and heart.

Day Forty-Five

2012-06-20T22:45:00.005-06:00

My morning walk enjoys this view painted upon the wall. My favorite mural is of the hibiscus and humming bird.

Day Forty-Four

2012-06-19T21:49:00.001-06:00

Durring the lunch hour the children at the school daycare were outside selling ice-cream, to raise money for "Save the Whales". As any good person would do, I bought the ice-cream for the sake of the children more than for my want (oh, but I do love ice cream, and it is such a rare treat). I decided that while I ate my ice-cream I'd take a short stroll along the beach.

Day Forty-Three

2012-06-18T22:16:00.002-06:00

A tree of roots. There trunk, I think, was once hanging roots that earthed themselves when they reached the soil.

Surface roots make a tree look very old, in my opinion. One of these days, when I get around to it, I'm going grow bonsai trees, and they will have roots like this this tree.

Day Forty-One

2012-06-16T20:29:00.000-06:00

Just a few houses away from mine is this little bar. Some evenings when I call it a night a little earlier than usual I will observe the locals playing dominoes as I pass by. It reminds me of the days before television became the means of entertainment. I can happily say that after I moved out of my parents house, so many years ago, I stopped watching television. I don't even know what plays anymore.

Day Thirty-Nine

2012-06-14T21:54:00.002-06:00

The sun paints the clouds in a beautiful array of yellows, reds, and oranges (orange happens to be the complement to the blue of the sky and sea, which may be why sunsets are so so striking, especially over the ocean). So often in our awe looking into the dappled colours of the sunset we forget to look behind us, to note that indeed we are bathed in colour. Today's sunset wasn't as grand as the many I have enjoyed in my few days here, but my eye caught the clouds behind, and I thought upon how we neglect to see the beauty all around when blinded by the beauty of one.