cretin sympathetically regaled me with
multiple photographs of the multiple
turkeys he and his photographer
girlfriend took on multiple hunts in
multiple states. He's . . . Sadistic, that's
the word I was groping for.
He claims that obsessive turkey
hunting is necessary for his art,
but I notice he isn't rushing out
to buy feathers.
"I won't shoot a fanning turkey.
It's so I can preserve the feathers.
I pick the feathers that are
structurally sound, not separated,
and sort them by size, and then I
spray them lightly with an aerosol
latex, and use gesso" [originally
some form of glue, chalk and
pigment; now any combination of
calcium carbonate, polymers and
other chemicals] "as a base. I
paint that white, sketch, and then
I start to paint."
Unlike some artists, Andy is smart
enough to realize that the frame is
intrinsic to the art itself (shades of
Marshall McLuhan again) and the
process he uses is designed to draw
the eye to the work of art. He uses a
double-matted recessed technique,
in part to protect the feathers, but
also for its dramatic effect.
A
ndy still works for Legacy
Sports, primarily – I suspect –
because they essentially pay him to
go hunting (work, work, work!)
and he lives in Nevada with an
18½-year-old chocolate Lab that
still hunts, and with the Lab's
replacement, an 11-year-old
wirehaired pointing griffon. He
claims to have a desk job, but good
luck trying to reach him in the office
during hunting season, a loosely
defined – by him – period that
apparently extends from the
beginning of September through
the end of April. The young man
who wanted a career in the hunting
field and dreamed of somehow
combining hunting and art, and
then lay helpless for over a year,
has made his dreams come true.
"I'm a lucky guy. I take nothing
for granted."
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