The "West" is Still Here

THE WEST IS STILL HERE-Of course it is, but silly as it may sound, it took me some time to figure it out. After spending so many years in New England, where all traditions go back three hundred years or more, it was hard for me to realize that the 1860's and 70's could be "History."

If I had not been a painter, fascinated by the color and variety of desert and mountain landscape, I might have left with the rest of the "dudes" that first spring completely disappointed. Understand I was not looking for painted redskins, two-gun law men, or handsome cowboys. But being, by preference as well as by profession, primarily a "figure" painter, I am always in search of "human-interest" subjects; and as such, the color and romance of the western pioneers had interested and excited me. However, try as I would, I simply could not get the "feel" of the Old West. Nothing was old enough to be Old, with a capital O.

Of course I was often reminded of the Spanish; the pious padres and the intrepid dons, who explored this country nearly a hundred years before the Pilgrims landed on our eastern shores. But if they were our path-finders what was their contribution to progress of our civilization? In California and Texas, a number of "customs" I understand. But here, not much more than a few crumbling Missions. Even these were disappointing because I found that some of the present buildings were many years newer than the neat, sturdy old farmhouse I had been living in while in Connecticut.

Who then were The Pioneers? None other of course, than the men and the women-of the 1800's; the Mormons from Utah and the cattlemen from Texas; Americans like ourselves, and contemporaries of our own grandparents! No wonder I couldn't find an "old" West! It's a brand new, romantic West that is still with us. This viewpoint throws a different light on a lot of things. The whole scene comes into focus, close and clear.

The young men in Levi's, big hats, and fancy boots that we see on the streets every day or at the fairgrounds once a year are just what they appear to be, cowboys. And the cowboy today is very little different than he was either twenty-five, fifty, or seventy-five years ago. His job hasn't changed a bit. In spite of law and order, good roads, and cheap cars, the cowhand still makes his living on his horse. I visited some "working" ranches and watched these boys spend long hard days in the saddle, sleep in their bed rolls, and gather around the chuck-wagon to eat the meal the cook has cooked over an open campfire. He still has months of idleness between round-ups. These he must fill profitably, and if possible, pleasantly. In the seventies he may have robbed a few banks or stage-coaches in lean times, but today he follows the rodeos or "wrangles" dudes. So I find the "riders of the great open spaces," with their practical jokes and tall tales just as good--or perhaps just as badas ever. Unchanged too, is the small army of hopeful, venturesome men, young and old, who will search the mountains and canyons for their hidden treasures. No modern invention has yet displaced the sturdy, patient burro that carries the prospector's burdens and shares his long, lonesome days and nights. These men need not stretch their imaginations too far to be able to see old Ed Shieffelin just ahead of them up any rocky "wash."

So, too, at long last, am I able to repeople these dim desert trails and "ghost" towns with real men and women. Here are my "subjects," the pioneers and builders of a new era. It is my job to portray their lives and characters with understanding and enthusiasm. Then some day, when this country is no longer new, it won't matter whether my canvases are dated 1870 of 1940. They will simply be records of the Old West.