Saturday, September 12, 2015

Ten Generationsof Ravens en la troca

Ten Generations en la Troca from Listening to Raven series by Beth Surdut

La troca (the truck) is as iconic in New Mexico and the Southwest as Trickster Raven-- the older rounded forms made by man mimic the languid curves and patinas of this high desert that color my soul.
In Alaska, Mark has been caring for ravens and eagles for the past 18 years. Although there are certainly professional nature photographers with admirable patience, skill, and talent, this man’s love is uniquely communicated through his actions and photographic documentation of his avian friends. His photographs and the stories he tells me gave flight to this drawing as well as  The Ravens of Truth and Memory which nods to the Norse God Odin’s ravens.
Mark writes: I must say I think your drawing of Raven is the best that I have seen yet...
 Raven flew over the office of the apartment complex where I worked. I put some meat out for him and soon he came down and got it. Next, he brought his partner and although she was much more tentative they both started stopping by each day. I started to develop a call that sounded like when the male Kushka called the female Feathers. After time, when I called, they would come down off the mountain. That summer, I noticed that they brought their fledge down to my truck and from that time on I became their babysitter.
  After 10 generations of fledges, I believe the original couple moved on and now all their children come back in the winter to live nearby cause they know I will have food for them if times get bad.
Speaking of la troca: I carried Martha Egan's collection La Ranfla (The Ride) to the mechanic's while he fixed my brakes-- I read the entire collection, nodding and grinning, wondering if I should go looking for a literate cowboy and a good cash crop, when Guapo brought me to tears right there in a chilly waiting room.
When your friends back East ask what New Mexico is about, send them this book. Then get them out here, drive them around in a troca, show them the land and sky and a good taqueria, reading them Jim Sagal's Unexpected Turn if you can find a copy. 

The raven drawing  Ten Generation en La Troca  appears in the September 2015 literary arts journal RiverSedge published by Texas Pan-American University Press. 
(Much of this post was originally published in 2013)

Thursday, September 10, 2015

#NEWYEARPRAYER for Rosh Hashanah

Rosh Hashanah Prayer by Beth Surdut
As I add a pomegranate to a custom designed  tallit that a bride will give to her groom for their  wedding  ceremony, I'm thinking about the stories attached to the pomegranate:
In Judaism, the 613 seeds in a pomegranate equal the 613 mitzvot we live by even though many of us would be hard pressed to recite the ten commandments by heart.
In Greek and Roman mythology, the 6 seeds that Persephone/Proserpina ate while she was held captive by Hades imprisoned her in the underworld for 6 months of the year. Her mother Demeter/Ceres, goddess of fruitful nature, mourned the seasonal loss of her child, causing fields to lie fallow.  The winters of her discontent became ours as did the spring and summers of her joy. 

May the seeds we plant bear fruit.
May we intentionally extend kindness to all living beings.
May we act towards others as we would want them to act towards us.
May we make our colorful marks in the Book of Life.
L'shanah tovah!

Monday, August 31, 2015

Dreaming of Hawaii? Aloha nui loa

Aloha nui loa...
Listening to IZ sing Over the Rainbow in his beautiful falsetto makes me miss living in the  islands.
 As a freelance professional textile designer living in Hawaii, I could stand in downtown Honolulu at lunch time and watch my designs walk around on what I call "the business man's aloha shirt."
Beth Surdut's Aloha Shirts @American Textile History Museum
 But when you want something so gorgeous that strangers will walk up to ask "where did you get that," my one-of-a-kind custom Ultimate Aloha Shirt™ is what you want to own.
One of a kind custom silk aloha shirts created by Beth Surdut
             Perfect for weddings, special occasions, or just being the coolest.  dude. ever.

Sunday, August 30, 2015

The Art of Paying Attention: Harris' Hawks

My Art of Paying Attention illustrated nature series can be heard on NPR 89.1 in Tucson
Links to audio and more visuals bottom of this page.

Stuart Udall wrote, “Get to know the land and the messages it whispers to those willing to listen.”
This is the city. No whispers here. The sound of cars and machinery is pretty constant, although never louder than the birdsong.
I heard noises on the patio, thought it was that large brassy ground squirrel that’d been hanging around, so I’d walked out to look.
Fierce, the Harris’ hawk glared at me with cantaloupe colored eyes.
Unsettling to be that close to an angry raptor.
Harris' Hawk drawing © Beth Surdut (all rights reserved)
 Hissed at me as it flew to a eucalyptus tree to scold me for all the neighboring animals to hear. “Annnh, annnh, annh.”
Big. Intent. Used to winning, I could tell.
Lush russet legs, substantial talons and a beak that could snatch the cat away.
The hawk returned the next afternoon, “annnh, annnh, annnh,” as it flew overhead.
The cat, no fool, crouched by the kitchen door, watching through the screen.
A baby Anna’s hummingbird, old enough to flash crimson at it moved its head, young enough to be fluff, allowed me to stand near and watch it watch me.
The next morning, hawk flies in, perches on a telephone pole, dominating for only a moment before two mockingbirds give him what-for, screeching, scolding, pecking at his head and chasing him across the sky. "Annhh, annhhh, annnh,” I call as his small but mighty escorts persist, giving Hawk no chance to turn back.

Within a week, where there had been one Harris’ hawk, there were now four large birds, and I had their attention.  It was around 7:30 in the morning, 88 degrees on its way to 107, and I was standing alongside the road by my house, holding aloft what I assumed was theirs—a dove, its head barely attached. I’d heard loud repetitive wheezy calls—not the drawn out annh annh, anhh, instead it was hwee hwee hwee hwee-- two voices, maybe more, back and  forth like echoes in a canyon.  I spotted a twosome in a leafy eucalyptus, a third called from a backlit branch down the road, and a fourth on a utility pole-- a risky choice,
I dangled the surprisingly heavy kill by its feet, then set it down and moved away into the shade and waited. But no one swooped in as the heat of the day clung to me.

Harris’ hawks hunt in a group, flushing out the prey into the talons of the others. The alpha female might mate with two males and the offspring can stay around as long as three years. The four here are all large, but two often stay together and the other two are somewhat smaller.
Monsoon season has just started.
Late in the day, the hawks stand in the steady rain, wings spread like dark angels.
Lightning splits the sky as the raptors call to each other, heir voices bouncing around the darkening night.
“Hwee, hwee, hwee” leads my eyes to one hawk’s silhouette on a branch about a half a block away and 20 feet up. Closer, just above my neighbor’s house, 3 hawks huddle like Shakespeare’s witches amidst the metal coils and wires on top of a wood pole, intent on the kill the largest hawk is standing on and tearing apart. Must be something big—rabbit or ground squirrel--I see thick strands of guts hanging from the hawk’s beak.
The next day, with visions of electricity, water, and dead hawks in my head, I track down the number for the raptor protection program at Tucson Electric Power. In the early morning after that, I stand under the power poles around my house as Jim from TEP points out the protective coverings that have resulted in the raptor population being larger in the city than outside it. He explains that the coverings should keep the birds’ wings, with an average span of 40-47 inches, from touching the power sources on either side, causing the bird to act as a conduit. But what about the water? I ask, and he tells me that the mixture of birds and water can still mean death.
I’ve been in the city only a few months. My neighbors, who have been here for years, say, “The animals seem to find you.” I think not. I think I’m the intruder in animal territory.

The radio series is produced by Emmy award winner Mark McLemore, host of Arizona Spotlight. Audio and comments 
Prints from Listening to Raven, winner of Tucson Festival of Books Award for Literary Non-Fiction
Art of Paying Attention drawings including  bunnies, stinkbugs, hummingbirds and lizards

Tuesday, August 25, 2015

R'fuah Shleimah Healing Prayer Scarves

R’fuah Shleimah Healing Prayer Scarves  
Designed and Painted on Silk by Beth Surdut 

Love is the only language you need to give this as a gift. 
Sometimes all we can do for people in distress is 
let them know that we care.

Each scarf contains the Hebrew words r'fuah shleimah 
 from the Misheberach prayer for complete healing of body and spirit.

$140 for 8”x 54” or 30” square

Individually drawn and painted with kavanah/intention. 

Bless and heal this person who is ill.

May the one who blessed our ancestors, 
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, 
Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah,

May the Blessed Holy One be filled with compassion 
for their health to be restored and their strength to be revived.
May God swiftly send them a complete renewal of body and spirit and let us say, Amen.

Custom orders encouraged.

Monday, August 24, 2015

Be Exquisite in Autumn and Winter--Beautiful Art Scarves

Autumn Light hand-painted silk scarf by Beth Surdut
I promise you this: the temperatures will drop, your brain will once again be quickened by the intake of sweet autumn air, and you can wrap yourself in beauty. Think of each hand-painted original silk scarf as a precious piece of fine wearable art--your statement piece or sapphires, topaz,emerald, silver and gold, as sparkling as a finely wrought necklace.
Here's to name-dropping! My painted accessories and garments have been shown at the Smithsonian Institution, De Cordova Museum, Cahoon Museum of American Art, American Textile History Museum, and the fabulous New Zealand Wearable Art Awards.
So go ahead, spurge on the most beautiful scarf you'll ever own and be prepared for strangers to  walk up to you and ask with a  gasp and a sigh, "Where did you get that?"
You'll be able to tell them that you purchased it directly from the artist @
On sale for $200 apiece.
Night Fall Sangre de Cristo Mountains hand painted silk scarf by Beth Surdut

Monday, August 10, 2015

Mr. Stinky and the Wild Princess

Feral, gorgeous and virile Mr. Stinky courted me every night by YOWLING at midnight out front of my house. He'd go quiet as soon as he saw me, never asking for food, seeming just to want me. Two months into this nightly serenade, I began to suspect that he was one of my old bad boyfriends dressed up in a cat suit--he had all the same moves, rubbing his handsome self up against me, running away when I tried to get too close, marking his territory but still schmoozing the blond across the street, who fed him.
Cats for the Mind painting by Beth Surdut
Breaks my heart to see homeless animals, so when I was asked recently to design an image for the Sarasota Defense of Animals Catwalk  at Siesta Beach, I created Cats for the Mind and licensed it for use on tee shirts. Available from me as prints, and if you sign a big fat check, the original painting can be yours. Of course, a portion supports kitty programs.
Mr. Stinky, so much handsomer than his name, turned out to be a good cat with bad manners, living with me part-time, now nutless, still spraying, trying to get it on with the little feral spayed princess and eventually getting confused part way through the mating dance because he can't quite figure out how to get tab A into slot B, kind of like the old guys here, but cuter.
See more at

Sunday, August 2, 2015

Death and Cookies

Death stands next to me in the kitchen watching me make cookies. He gets way too close, his murky odor distracting me as I measure portions of raisins and oats.
Death’s shadow and I have been keeping company a lot these days.  I think he especially wants beautiful Sara because her heart’s so good. A bad-mannered suitor, he grabbed her breast and slid into her spine, not realizing what kind of backbone he was dealing with. That woman’s faith has gotten her through sixty-some-odd years of more than you want to know. We know she needs a miracle, and she’s gotten sidetracked from what she does best, which is full-time ministering to people as a pastor.  I think when she comes through this, she’ll fill her kitchen with people seeking the warmth of her great spirit.
I add a teaspoon of ginger and listen to a public radio interview with a Unitarian minister who has esophageal cancer. He got himself so right with God and Death that for a long moment that man forgot his family was in this, too. Then he got a year’s reprieve. When Death came knocking a second time, “My family and I had already had the dress rehearsal,” said the minister. Bet his wife and kids didn’t look at it that way.
I hear people say, “I’m not scared of dying.”  Maybe all the people who love them are scared. So think of that next time you get all philosophical about leaving this earth. We still want you.
Death still hangs around as the flour and rising agents fall gently out of the sifter. At least one of us is disturbed to see something wiggling. I scoop out the little wormy things and give Death a few treats.  
“That’s all you’re getting from me today, buddy,” I say, as I cream the healthy substitute butter with the natural substitute sweetener that’s supposed to help keep me on earth longer.
Some of the cookies are for a rabbi with a sweet tooth. “Who will say kaddish for me,” asked the bachelor Rabbi in a sermon twenty years ago, when he could still tap dance. Possibly everyone he has ever met, I think, as people come up to him wherever we go. From birth to death, he has been a part of every life cycle event. Now, at 82, brilliant and sparky despite crippling spinal stenosis and Parkinson’s, he taps sitting down, his feet clicking to Gershwin and the Beatles.
I’m making these cookies in my writer friend David’s kitchen. “So what happens when Jews die?” he asks. His lymphoma has him walking the tightrope between Christian Science and modern science. So far, he’s finding his balance.
“No heaven and hell. We’re about the here and now, though reincarnation would be great. I can’t get everything accomplished in one lifetime,” I tell him as I plop cookie dough onto the next baking sheet.
When I bend over to open the oven door, Death pokes me as rudely as a wet nosed dog.
He leans close, rotten breath whispering, “Make room for me.”  I slide the second batch into the oven. Then, fed up, I shove Death in, too, and quickly close the door. No matter how much sugar you add, death stinks, but for the time being, the comforting scent of oatmeal cookies completely fills the kitchen.
I divide up the sweets for Sara, David, and the Rabbi.

This morning I revisited this piece written in 2009 because that greedy bastard Death is trying to take my uniquely creative friend who conquered prostate cancer, then colon cancer, and other challenges. He and his wife kept those trials a secret until now, years later. So I say Misheberach for him, the Jewish prayer that asks for r'fuah shleimah, the Hebrew words for the complete healing of body and spirit.
We sat around my dining room table in Florida, talking about beauty and laughing about life's ironies  as I fed my friends, who I love to cook for. May we share a meal  again.

Healing Prayer Scarves
I originally posted this as a guest blogger on author Judi Hendricks' blog.
Beautiful Sara died in May 2014, the day after I got out of the hospital, her loss still a fresh wound to my heart. The rabbi passed away at 86. David just turned 79.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

Harris'Hawks in the Hood

Harris' Hawks in the 'Hood, the newest installment of my illustrated radio pieces, is online now and airs Friday and Saturday on NPR 89.1 KUAT

What started as

gradually became
and is currently


Visit for more wild nature drawings and stories.

Thursday, July 16, 2015

Critters on the radio

I listen to ravens, and paddle with alligators in wild and scenic places, but I know that true adventure can be found just outside your window.
Starting July 17, the first of my multi-platform The Art of Paying Attention Nature series will be airing on Arizona Spotlight KUAT Friday at 8:30 a.m. and 6:00 p.m. and Saturday at 5:00 p.m. My drawings of the critters I talk about will be featured on AZPM's website. where you can listen anytime online.

First up: The art of paying attention.Once you start looking, it is hard to stop.
Next week: Stink bug love. Warning: this piece contains graphic (insect) sex.

Find more drawings - and true stories - about spirited critters on this blog and at

Friday, June 26, 2015

Out of the Lion's mouth

Yes, I drew this, but there are days when I can't tell if she's being swallowed or launching herself out of the lion's mouth.
In Balinese myth, a big moon faced ogre swallows the moon goddess each month until she's a sliver of light and hope, but he never succeeds entirely, because he only has a head. She always emerges, serene and beautiful, with a knowing little smile. It's something to aspire to--outwitting the ogres, knowing where the lions are-- don't you think?

Musical confluence--Wondering Where the Lions Are by brilliant Bruce Cockburn

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Rare mermaid sightings in the desert dispels myth!

Four mermaid sisters, merbabes all, recently arrived in the low desert of Arizona. They are stranded and looking for seaworthy accommodations, preferably with a handsome vegetarian sailor or two  who views them as more than just a nice  piece of tail. Meanwhile, they are  waiting for monsoon rains and may be spotted in flooded arroyos.
Separated from their 6 siblings by frames, they keep their mersisters close in the form of small unframed prints.
Merblue Mermaid 32" x 42" by Beth Surdut
 Each mermaid is watched over by a set of eyes on her tail-- a chaperone of sorts.
Meremerald Mermaid 28"x42" by Beth Surdut
And many of the mermaids travel with a small denizen from the deep, except red haired Meremerald.
Merglow Mermaid 32" x 42" by Beth Surdut
Merglow knows secrets she may never tell...and has had a large portrait printed of her beautiful self.
Mermaid and Parrotfish 31" x 42" by Beth Surdut
 This mermaid fiercely protects her parrotfish from human dinner tables and never divulges her name.

Original paintings on silk, $2200 each. Lovely small signed prints, $75 each. Larger sizes available.
To meet all the mermaids and read their inception/conception story, visit The Mermaids Return
and watch the video with a luminous score by Conrad Praetzel.

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

The Modern Tallit

Pomegranates and the 613 Mitzvot Tallit designed and painted by Beth Surdut
When my Russian-born grandfather was 18 years old, his two brothers, studying to be Torah scribes, were murdered by Cossacks. My grandfather came to America in 1905 and fathered three sons. My decision to become a designer and painter of prayer shawls, wedding canopies, Torah covers, and healing scarves is, in part, a way to say Kaddish for these family members, along with my mother and my father, each time I hand letter a prayer in Hebrew. 
I see a prayer shawl as an invitation to step out of the chatter of daily life-- and life has become very noisy-- and into a meditative space. Designing each silk tallit for a specific client, I draw, paint, sew, and tie tzitzit to form a portable house of prayer.
Wisdom Tallit custom designed and painted by Beth Surdut
As I look through notes I've taken while I interviewed clients and their families, I find the girl who wanted an owl flying in a night sky over the Jemez Mountains, the woman in the desert who felt at peace by the sea, the man who freely sang his heart to God every week, the scientist who admired the Periodic Table, and many more. Jews by birth, Jews by choice, seasoned adults and 13-year-olds about to be Bar or Bat Mitzvah-- each one bringing me to new places of study as I searched for prayers that spoke to each person. 
Like many people, I tend to avoid the Book of Job, yet in that catalogue of tsurris I found one of my favorite questions for an atarah:
"Where shall wisdom be found and where is the place of understanding?" asked Job, the guy we all run from until we meet him face to face in the mirror. 
"If not now, when?" asked Hillel. Autumn Tallit custom designed and painted by Beth Surdut

Monday, June 22, 2015

How to have sex with a flower: the art of hybridization

Nectarine Dusk by Beth Surdut
If you think this going to be about sex as you know it, you're going to be disappointed, although giving these luscious little hand painted hibiscus pieces might lead to a really good time.

 Hybridization is about sex of the floral kind. Beautiful colors, the right scent, some pollinator action, and the appropriate reproductive organs make flowers ripe for pro-creation. There's even a peduncle involved, which is the piece of the stem that's attached to the flower, not some totally creepy relative who should be locked up. And, as if life isn't already confusing, the stigma, florally speaking, is the receptor of the female flower's reproductive organ.
 Hybridizing is the act of "crossing" flowers to obtain a seed pod. This creates seeds that are completely unique, and, just like humans, the offspring can be even better looking than their parents... or just different. You get to be your own mad scientist with a cotton swab and sperm donor.
Peachy keen by Beth Surdut

Turns out that flower sex is best in the morning. Sperm dries up in the heat of the day and no amount of boom-boom pills is going to make that pollen functional.  Choose a good looking male (flower), pick up his/its pollen on the cotton swab--the more sperm, the better. Rub that sperm onto the female stigma (sooo much more fun than a stigmata). In dry climates, maybe a little shpritz from a mister--this is not a euphemism; I'm talking a bottle with water and a sprayer. 
The goal is to create new seeds and a plant with a resulting flower you can name after yourself or your pet or your kid, if you are so inclined.  There's even a special place for you, the floral yenta/Dr. Frankenstein, to record the parents. It's called a stud book. No, not making this up. 
Know that crosses do not always come to fruition. Just like humans, sometimes the seed capsules do not mature during the 60-90 days of waiting. Who knew flowers could be so sexy? But let's be clear, this  is all about  the seed that will become the plant that will produce the flower, maybe. 
Roxanne's red dress by Beth Surdut

I'm not that patient. Instead I painted my idea of hybrids on silk using fiber-reactive dyes and gold-flaked resist. The images are approximately 11 inches (not so square) and 15.5" square framed and glassed.
$175 includes domestic shipping per piece. If you purchase the gang of three, I'll give you a discount and no, you can not trade sex for art. 

Monsoon:Quench My Thirst,  43" x 32" $2100

Monday, June 1, 2015

Harris hawk and the intruder

Harris Hawk drawing in progress by Beth Surdut

Stuart Udall wrote, “Get to know the land and the messages it whispers to those willing to listen.”
No whispers here, the songbirds and doves silent.
Fierce, the Harris hawk glared at me with cantaloupe colored eyes.
Big. Intent. Used to winning, I could tell. Unsettling.
Hissed at me as it flew from my patio to a high branch of an acacia tree to scold me for all the neighboring animals to hear.
Lush russet legs, substantial talons and a beak that could have snatched the cat away.
The hawk returned the next afternoon, “anh, anh, anh” as it flew overhead.
The cat, no fool, crouched by the kitchen door, blue eyes watching through the screen.
A baby Anna’s hummingbird, old enough to flash crimson as it moved its head, young enough to be fluff, allowed me to stand near and watch it watch me.
The neighbors say, “The animals seem to find you.”
I think not. I am the intruder moved into their territory.
Speaking of territory, you are welcome in mine
Post Script: Hawk returned on the third day, perching on a telephone pole, his presence dominating  for only a moment before two mockingbirds gave him what-for, screeching, scolding, pecking at his head and  chasing him across the sky. "Annhh, annhhh, annnh, " I called as his small but mighty escorts took the lead and the rear, giving  Hawk no chance to turn back.

Thursday, May 28, 2015

Fetch Google Fetch! on being a rank stranger on Google

Having built a new website with the same name as the old one, turns out that keeping the name did not keep my Google rank as far as my products are concerned. Type in my unusual name and voila! about 3,510 results including this new interview in the June 2015 issue of Arizona Jewish Life
However, if someone who doesn't know my work (how can that be?!) is searching for a custom tallis, raven art, nature paintings, botanicals, mermaids, jungle art, wearable art for men and women, or the variety of media from murals to radio that I work in -- my pages do not show up. It is not unusual for clients to find my work before they know my name, and this is my livelihood, so while the google robots are out looking for me,  any links and shares to from colleagues sites would be appreciated.

And for those of you unfamiliar with the Rank Stranger that existed long before Google, here's a  gorgeous version

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Choose your audience carefully

The  Regal Horned Lizard, pointed and crenellated, stubby and shy, was so intent on watching a grasshopper on my front  stoop that  neither one moved when I appeared.
Patience, such patience, I thought as I stood next to the lizard, admiring him with my camera.
Grasshopper did not move.
My camera snapped at them.
Lizard glanced at me, then back to Grasshopper.
Snap, went the jaws my camera.
Lizard did not twitch. Grasshopper held his ground.
So smart, I thought. Grasshopper knows the speed of a lizard.
Playing it  safe, I thought.
Oh, the wisdom of the wild.

I shifted my stance and Lizard lost his focus,
scuttled into the blue agave whose
spines would protect him from me.
Grasshopper did not move.
Closer inspection allowed.
Surely, Grasshopper would leap now.
But it is hard to leave when one leg is stuck to the  pavement
Impossible to leave when
you are desiccated
perfect, but dead.

The Regal Horned Lizard (horned toad, Tumamoc in the language of Tohono Oodham)
and I, with more names than I shall list,
had patiently stalked a dead grasshopper.

One foot stuck in place can
impede your progress
You could stay there, looking perfect
until you die, an object of curiosity
and eventually
Someone might notice that
you haven't moved and
the living would move on.

There is a video crawling round the web
the courtship dance of a male
peacock spider, so named
for his brilliant display.
Such a dance he does!
Choreographed as if for Vegas
His legs, like arms, kicking
like a chorus girl
waggling her sequined behind
On and on he goes
Giving his all
"Look at me! Notice me! Pick me!"
But she is silent
Dead, like the grasshopper.

Take notice who you dance for
Choose your audience carefully.

Speaking of audiences, get a front row seat

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

All Things Considered: Sense of Wonder

A few weeks ago, I sat in a study group under artificial light in a darkly paneled room with no windows. 
The teacher pontificated, "We have all lost our sense of wonder."
He shook his head sadly and continued his lecture on ancient theological arcana. 
Speak for yourself, mister, and get a window. Better yet, get outside where all your senses can spark if you pay attention. One glorious place to breathe in and explore is right in the city.
I'll Fly Away- Saturniid Moth-- silk painting by Beth Surdut (sold)
 The butterfly house at the Tucson Botanical Gardens is a steamy world of small wonders.
It is also a kind of coming home for me.
Tucson Botanical Gardens
Orchid Society by Beth Surdut
The years I spent in the jungles and rivers in Hawaii and Florida
Butterfly islands design by Beth Surdut
Tucson Botanical  Gardens Butterfly House
TBG Butterfly House
Hibiscus Varietal-OOAK hand  painted silk woman's top by Beth Surdut
  introduced me to the mysteries of orchids, hibiscus, epiphytes,
Dendrobates ventriculatus @Tucson Botanical Gardens
 and dendrobates, tiny colorful frogs with a poisonous reputations and Latin names so satisfyingly  fun to say: ventriculatus, histrionicus, tinctorus.
Painting by Beth Surdut of dendrobates ventriculatus @Selby Gardens
After a volunteer checks to see that no butterflies are hitching a ride on me,  I stand in each realm of the botanical gardens, seeing what I have already painted and drawn, and planning what I want to do for a solo exhibition in the lovely gallery that was the home of people who absolutely delighted in nature's beauty. Every element extends an invitation to me as a visual storyteller and writer, illustrator and designer. In turn, what I create will, I hope, both please and inspire, and come full circle so that people will follow the path from my art to the fascinating beings and habitat that causes me to pick up pen and brush.
An otherwise shy lizard, big and handsome, flaunts his spiny blue back as he pauses in front of me and turns his head to give me a sideways look. I can tell you that his sense of wonder and mine are still intact.
Armored Chameleon (detail) painting by Beth Surdut (original and prints available)
I invite you to step inside my garden

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Here be dragons

After a hard day of walking on pavement, she was glad to be home

This little dragon, a Regal Horned Lizard, is stalking a grasshopper on my front stoop.

Somewhat coy, this Desert Spiny Lizard and I circled each other this morning and yesterday.

Pomegranate Stain (2" x 60") by Beth Surdut
Pomegranate Stain lizard detail by Beth Surdut

Mayhuel and her many headed El Dragon by Beth Surdut

El Dragon, stuffed , trying to escape the studio

El Dragon, painted silk (pre-stuffing) by Beth Surdut

          Come visit!