I was born July 1, 1974 in Douglas, Arizona to a cattle ranching family that had been living and working in the area since before Arizona was a state.  As a child, when a century seemed like an unimaginably long time, I was confident that the world and my place in it would be constant and secure.  My great-grandparents had started our ranch as a homestead not long after Geronimo surrendered (and not far from the actual spot).  My grandparents were still alive and ranching.  My parents were ranchers.  Most of our friends and neighbors were ranchers and, just like ours, their families had been in the business for a hundred years or more.  I realize now that it was the ideal childhood.  There were multiple generations living and working together, outdoors, beholden to no one, with a tangible product at the end of the effort.  It all felt very permanent.  I imagine Geronimo felt the same way when he was young.

 

As I grew up, life definitely gave me an education about the impermanence of all things.  Nature, human frailty, age, illness, death and random chance all played a part in guiding me down a path that, looking back, I never could have imagined I would choose.  I was always a good student and a hard worker and at the age of thirty-one, I found myself practicing general surgery in Silver City, New Mexico.  By that time, the ranch was in trouble and eventually it was all sold.  My attitude then was that it was for the best.  I thought I had made a good bargain trading a life of heat, drought, wind and dust for a cool, clean quiet operating room and a ton of money.  Life, however, would continue my education.

 

After eight years, my surgical career began to wear on me.  I liked practicing general surgery, but navigating “healthcare” was becoming more and more of a burden.  Over time, the work became less and less gratifying and it had completely taken over my life.  Then a contemporary of mine, a former medical school classmate, was diagnosed with and very soon thereafter died of pancreatic cancer.  My eyes were opened.  I realized that anything could happen to anyone at anytime and I had spent the last twenty years working towards and worrying about a future that in reality, I had no control over.  So I decided to make a change.  I sold everything and moved to New Zealand.

 

I only had one skill, general surgery, but luckily there is a need for it in the rural and remote parts of New Zealand.  I took a job at a public hospital in a small town on the east coast of the North Island called Gisborne.  “Amazing” is a word that is overused these days.  Nevertheless, I had an amazing experience.  The country itself is the most beautiful place I have ever been.  Coming from the desert, I never imagined that a place could exist with so much water and green grass.  The people were some of the best I’ve encountered.  They were, real, down to earth, no nonsense, salt-of-the-earth types and I made some deep and lasting friendships.  Above all, life there was far more relaxed and I was able to decompress a little.  It was then that I started to get a little more interested in painting.

 

I have always enjoyed making things with my hands, which is probably why I was drawn to surgery.  I enjoyed drawing when I was a child and when I got older, I dabbled in making furniture with reclaimed wood and other materials from the ranch.  However, I have never had any formal training, so I guess that makes me “self taught.”  After a year or so in New Zealand, despite it’s beauty and wonderful people, I began to feel homesick for southern Arizona.  The reason why New Zealand is so green and wet is because it rains. A lot.  Being used to 300 days of sunshine a year, the rain did have an effect on me.  So I used art to reconnect with home and since it can be hard to find brightly colored, festive, Dia de los Muertos pieces that far away from Mexico, I made my own.  A couple of friends saw what I had made and admired it, so I made a couple of pieces for them.  From those experiences, I discovered that I really enjoyed it, despite the lack of training, and decided to continue experimenting and flexing my atrophied artistic muscles.

 

After three years, the pull of the desert sun had become a lot stronger.  At that time, a very appealing general surgery job became available in Bisbee, Arizona.  I applied for it and was hired.  The move back has proven to be a good decision.  I have reconnected with old friends and family and have reestablished my connection with the Southwest.  I have continued to work on my art and have been encouraged by friends (overly kind ones, I suspect) to try and take it farther.

 

Having been away, I have a much greater appreciation for the beauty of the land and culture of the US/Mexico border, which I hope is apparent in my work.  There is no denying that this is a troubled region.  Cochise County, where I grew up and now work, is in an economic downward spiral.  The situation with the Mexican border is uncertain.  Fear and anger abound.  Circumstances have undeniably changed since I was a child and that is probably why my subject matter tends reflect the nostalgia for better times.  But my preference for bold color and distinct lines perhaps expresses an underlying optimism that I believe exists here.  It’s a belief that in the end things will turn out as they should.

 

It is difficult to write about one’s own art without feeling self-conscious.  I don’t want to come across as a poser or a pretentious twit, but that horse is probably out of the barn.  What is true is I paint what comes to my mind, although nothing ever ends up as I imagine.  Often it’s disappointing, but occasionally I’m pleasantly surprised.  I always enjoy doing it and hopefully I can reach some of you who will enjoy it as well.

 

-R