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The Chenoo And The Lizard

February 14th, 2017

The Chenoo And The Lizard

Then the Chenoo stripped himself, and danced around the spring his magic dance; and soon the water began to foam, and anon to rise and fall, as if some monster below were heaving in accord with the steps and the song. The Chenoo danced faster and wilder; then the head of an immense Taktalok, or lizard, rose above the surface. The old man killed it with a blow of his hatchet. Dragging it out he began again to dance. He brought out another, the female, not so large, but still heavy as an elk. They were small spring lizards, but the Chenook had conjured them; by his magic they were made into monsters.

He dressed the game; he cut it up. He took the heads and feet and tails and all that he did not want, and cast them back into the spring. "They will grow again into many lizards," he said. When the meat was trimmed it looked like that of the bear. He bound it together with withes; he took it on his shoulders; he ran like the wind; his load was nothing.

The Indian was a great runner; in all the land was not his like; but now he lagged far behind. "Can you go no faster than that?" asked the Chenoo. "The sun is setting; the red will be black anon. At this rate it will be dark ere we get home. Get on my shoulders."
The Indian mounted on the load. The Chenoo bade him hold his head low, so that he could not be knocked off by the branches. "Brace your feet," he said, "so as to be steady." Then the old man flew like the wind,nebe sokano'v'jal samastukteskugulchel wegwasumug wegul; the bushes whistled as they flew past them. They got home before sunset.

The wife was afraid to touch such meat. But her husband was persuaded to eat of it. It was like bear's meat. The Chenoo fed on it. So they all lived as friends.

Then the spring was at hand. One day the Chenoo told them that something terrible would soon come to pass. An enemy, a Chenoo, a woman, was coming like wind, yes on the windfrom the north to kill him. There could be no escape from the battle. She would be far more furious, mad, and cruel than any male, even one of his own cruel race, could be. He knew not how the battle would end; but the man and his wife must be put in a place of safety. To keep from hearing the terrible warwhoops of the Chenoo, which is death to mortals, their ears must be closed. They must hide themselves in a cave.
Then he sent the woman for the bundle which he had brought with him, and which had hung untouched on a branch of a tree since he had been with them. And he said if she found aught in it offensive to her to throw it away, but to certainly bring him a smaller bundle which was within the other. So she went and opened it, and that which she found therein was a pair of human legs and feet, the remains of some earlier horrid meal. She threw them far away. The small bundle she brought to him. The Chenoo opened it and took from it a pair of horns,horns of the chepitchcalm, or dragon. One of them has two branches; the other is straight and smooth. They were golden bright.

He gave the straight horn to the Indian; he kept the other. He said that these were magical weapons, and the only ones of any use in the coming fight. So they waited for the foe. And the third day came. The Chenoo was fierce and bold; he listened; he had no fear. He heard the long and awful screamlike nothing of earth of the enemy, as she sped through the air far away in the icy north, long ere the others could hear it. And the manner of it was this: that if they without harm should live after bearing the first deadly yell of the enemy they could take no harm, and if they did but hear the answering shout of their friend all would be well with them. But he said, "Should you hear me call for help, then hasten with the horn, and you may save my life."
They did as he bade: they stopped their ears; they hid in a deep hole dug in the ground. All at once the cry of the foe burst on them like screaming thunder; their ears rang with pain: they were well nigh killed, for all the care they had taken. But then they heard the answering cry of their friend, and were no longer in danger from mere noise.

The battle begun, the fight was fearful. The monsters, by their magic with their rage, rose to the size of mountains. The tall pines were torn up, the ground trembled as in an earthquake, rocks crashed upon rocks, the conflict deepened and darkened; no tempest was ever so terrible. Then the male Chenoo was heard crying: "N'loosook! choogooye! abog unumooe!" "My soninlaw, come and help me!"
He ran to the fight. What he saw was terrible! The Chenoos, who upright would have risen far above the clouds as giants of hideous form, were struggling on the ground. The female seemed to be the conqueror. She was holding her foe down, she knelt on him, she was doing all she could to thrust her dragon's horn into his ear. And he, to avoid death, was moving his head rapidly from side to side, while she, mocking his cries, said, "You have no soninlaw to help you."
Neen nabujjeole, "I'll take your cursed life, 1 and eat your liver."The Indian was so small by these giants that the stranger did not notice him. "Now," said his friend, "thrust the horn into her ear" He did this with a well directed blow; he struck hard; the point entered her head. At the touch it sprouted quick as a flash of lightning, it darted through the head, it came out of the other ear, it had become like a long pole. It touched the ground, it struck downward, it took deep and firm root.

The male Chenoo bade him raise the other end of the horn and place it against a large tree. He did so. It coiled itself round the tree like a snake, it grew rapidly; the enemy was held hard and fast. Then the two began to dispatch her. It was long and weary work. Such a being, to be killed at all, must be hewed into small pieces; flesh and bones must all be utterly consumed by fire. Should the least fragment remain unburnt, from it would spring a grown Chenoo, with all the force and fire of the first.

The fury of battle past, the Chenoos had become of their usual size. The victor hewed the enemy to small pieces, to be revenged for the insult and threat as to eating his liver. He, having roasted that part of his captive, ate it before her; while she was yet alive he did this. He told her she was served as she would have served him.
But the hardest task of all was to come. It was to burn or melt the heart. It was of ice, and more than ice: as much colder as ice is colder than fire, as much harder as ice is harder than water. When placed in the fire it put out the flame, yet by long burning it melted slowly, until they at last broke it to fragments with a hatchet, and then melted these. So they returned to the camp.

Spring came. The snows of winter, as water, ran down the rivers to the sea; the ice and snow which had encamped on the inland hills sought the shore. So did the Indian and his wife; the Chenoo, with softened soul, went with them. Now he was becoming a man like other men. Before going they built a canoe for the old man: they did not cover it with birch bark; they made it of mooseskin. In it they placed a part of their venison and skins. The Chenoo took his place in it; they took the lead, he followed. And after winding on with the river, down rapids and under forest boughs, they came out into the sunshine, on a broad, beautiful lake. But suddenly, when midway in the water, the Chenoo laid flat in the canoe, as if to hide himself. And to explain this he said that he had just then been discovered by another Chenoo, who was standing on the top of a mountain, whose dim blue outline could just be seen stretching far away to the north. "He has seen me," he said, "but he cannot see you. Nor can he behold me now; but should he discover me again, his wrath will be roused. Then he will attack me; I know not who might conquer. I prefer peace."

So he lay bidden, and they took his canoe in tow. But when they had crossed the lake and come to the river again, the Chenoo said that he could not travel further by water. He would walk the woods, but sail on streams no more. So they told him where they meant to camp that night. He started over mountains and through woods and up rocks, a far, roundabout journey. And the man and his wife went down the river in a spring freshet, headlong with the rapids. But when they had paddled round the point where they meant to pass the night, they saw smoke rising among the trees, and on landing they found the Chenoo sleeping soundly by the fire which had been built for them.

This he repeated for several days. But as they went south a great change came over him. He was a being of the north. Ice and snow had no effect on him, but he could not endure the soft airs of summer. He grew weaker and weaker; when they had reached their village he had to be carried like a little child. He had grown gentle. His fierce and formidable face was now like that of a man. His wounds had healed; his teeth no longer grinned wildly all the time. The people gathered round him in wonder. He was dying. This was after the white men had come. They sent for a priest. He found the Chenoo as ignorant of all religion as a wild beast. At first he would repel the father in anger. Then he listened and learned the truth. So the old heathen's heart changed; he was deeply moved. He asked to be baptized, and as the first tear which he had ever shed in all his life came to his eyes he died.

As there is actually a tribe of Indians in the Northwest called Chenoo, there can be little doubt as to the derivation of the name. Such a character could have originated, as I have said, only in the icy north; it could never have grown in the milder regions of the west and south. But the Chenoo, the monstrous, ferocious cannibal giant, with an icy heart, is the central figure of the evil supernatural beings of the north. The Schoolcraft traditions and Hiawatha have little to say of Titans whose heads top the clouds, who tear up forests and rend rocks, and change the whole face of Nature in their hideous battles or horrible revels. But such scenes are continually described by the Passamaquoddy and Micmac storytellers, and they would be natural enough to Greenlanders, familiar with whales, icebergs, frozen wastes, long winter nights, and all the frozen desolation of the north.

Digital Manipulation

January 10th, 2017

Digital Manipulation

Working with various digital manipulations recently. Explained to me why we spent years doing our art by hand!! LOL

Studio Gallery - Spring Is Coming And The Work Has Begun

January 24th, 2016

Studio Gallery - Spring Is Coming And The Work Has Begun

Iíve gotten 2 days in Ö but not many hours Because it is COLD! Nevertheless I am working now on totally rebuilding the area that will become Artís Place Gallery with access to the upstairs studio. Doesnít look like much right now, but follow along. Hopefully it becomes what I am currently carrying around in my head.


SWIPE FILES - Anybody remember swipe files?

June 10th, 2015

SWIPE FILES - Anybody remember swipe files?

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Believe it or don't believe it, my art career began in the 1950s. I know it is really hard for the new guard to believe but there really wasn't any internet, Google image search, Pinterest or any of the multitude of image sites that exist today. Heck, it was really a pure time and something called Deviant Art would have been sold from under the counter!

When we needed a visual reference "back in the day", we went to the library if we could, but almost always to our "swipe files" ... file folders cataloged and filled with images that we ripped directly or surreptitiously from any magazine we could get our hands on. I mean a trip to the dentist could be very profitable and barbers that liked hunting and fishing always had Field & Stream, Outdoor Life and similar mags filled with great animal illustrations. There were photographs of course, but they were ,,, well ... really not great. But anything that would help with layout - the anatomy of a creature, plants, people and objects - was clipped, filed and brought out when references were needed for an illustration or painting.

Our swipe files and library gave us visual references and ideas from some of the finest artists ... Ben Stahl, George Hughes, Constantin Alajalov, John Clymer, W. H. D. Koerner, J. C. Leyendecker, Charles Archibald MacLellan, John E. Sheridan, Douglass Crockwell, N. C. Wyeth and, of course, the ever loved Norman Rockwell. Talent was the order of the day, but it was a hard market for new artists to crack. Imagine mailing proposals and illustrations to publishers using a typewriter, ugly copies created with carbon paper (Yuck) and photographs of your work in black and white already! Not an easy time. And if you got involved with the production of the printed copy you used lead type ... look that up on Wikipedia if you want to know the true meaning of joy.

But today? Just do a Google search and you have hundreds of thousands ... nay ... millions of reference photos, illustrations and ideas. And there is the rub. The technology, tools, and delivery are remarkable and the artists are superb and they exist in huge great swarms!

This begs the question:

Is it possible for the average highly talented artist/illustrator to make a living in a glutted market. What do you think?

Old Images Brought to Light

December 1st, 2014

Old Images Brought to Light

Currently working on some old sketches to see if they have promise. Some Inuit images first. Interesting working with a different style.

Christmas Craft and Gift show - first public showing in a long time.

November 5th, 2013

Christmas Craft and Gift show - first public showing in a long time.

Well I am finally getting some of my prints, cards, and paintings together for this one day local showing ... desperately in need of the practice!

Can I abandon my alter ego - We will see

August 12th, 2013

Can I abandon my alter ego -  We will see

My career as a biologist has always outweighed my belief that I am really an artist. In fact, art has been important through all these many years, but the biological work has always been at the forefront. I am now attempting to allow all that "stuff" that is bottled up inside me to come out into the broad daylight.. Will it work? Time will tell.

Send me your opinions about how to do this. ..... but don't make me cry! ;-)