from wind-lashed autumn skies.
In short, we wanted our lives to
imitate Maynard Reece's art.
The first Federal Duck Stamp
a lot of us ever bought was his
record-setting fifth, the 1971-'72
composition of cinnamon teal, two
drakes and a hen poised to land,
that for my money's as good, and
as compelling, as stamp art gets. It
goes without saying that the design
is uncommonly strong, but what
elevates this stamp is how vibrantly
and palpably alive its subjects are.
Reece nails it in every respect: their
attitude, their anatomy, their richly
colorful plumage. All the elements
of the cinnamon teal's character, in
other words – and he does it without
resorting to fussy feather-rendering.
This is the signature of a master:
the ability to convey the impression
of detail without bogging down in the
details themselves. Only an artist who's
on intimate terms with his subject
matter can pull it off, and while I don't
know of any good way to quantify this,
it's hard to imagine a painter who's
spent more time in the field hunting,
sketching and simply observing
wildfowl than Maynard Reece has.
I
f this was true of the Maynard
Reece I idolized when I was
pulling my first Jones cap down
on my head and slogging in to a
Missouri River marsh with a sack of
Carry-Lite decoys over my shoulder
and a 16-gauge Model 12 under my
arm, it's undoubtedly true of the
Maynard Reece who, at a spry 92, is
the acknowledged Grand Old Man
of wildlife art.
I caught up with Maynard last
September at the opening of Birds
in Art, the flagship show of the Leigh
Yawkey Woodson Art Museum
in Wausau, Wisconsin. It was the
37th renewal of this internationally
prestigious exhibition – and the 37th
time Reece's work has been included.
Only one other artist, Guy Coheleach,
shares the distinction of being in every
show since the event's inception.
Another distinction Reece shares
with Coheleach is the title Master
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