Stephanie Peters

Years ago, I became fascinated by the Everglades and everything that lived there. This is when I fell in love with Roseate Spoonbills and their funny beaks. I told Neil we needed to go to the Everglades right now to see these amazing birds. Instead, we went to the Phoenix Zoo to see them, because well the Phoenix Zoo was a bit closer to Sedona than the Everglades… it wasn’t until a few years later I finally got to see these incredible birds in the wild – in South Carolina. I still haven’t made it to the Everglades…

But it was super exciting to see them in the wild; these birds are typically only found in the southeast – so Texas to Florida and up to North Carolina. Except, lately they have been wandering. Last year, one was spotted in Gilbert, Arizona – and apparently might still be there – and more recently, they have been spotted in DC, Delaware, New York, Michigan, New Hampshire, and Maine… apparently, they didn’t get the memo that they are “southeast” birds. In many ways I get it – sometimes you just need to wander from your “home.” After all I've been doing it for years.

It might be a few more months until I get to wander to the Everglades but until then, I’ll live vicariously through the wandering spoonbill…

 “The Wanderer – Roseate Spoonbill”, mixed media 6”

I find the song of a red-winged blackbird comforting. It's the soundtrack of spring for sure. But depending on where you are, these birds could be companions all year round. ​

Red-winged blackbirds are found all across North America - except for in the arctic tip of Canada. In most of the places I've lived, they have always been one of those birds you can count on seeing when hiking - at least if you are near water. From the bogs of the Adirondacks, to the water-treatment areas in Phoenix, you can see the flashy black male and the patterned brown female. I'm always surprised to see how different the female looks, even though I've seen the couple so many times. 

Because I've seen them so many times, and in so many places, I have tons of sketches and photographs of these birds sitting on things like cattails, branches, up in trees, bushes, etc. 

But it wasn't until I saw this red-winged blackbird precariously sitting on an echinacea flower that I found the composition I wanted. 

I spotted this bird sitting on this flower in the middle of a field of wildflowers tucked in between cornfields, in Iowa. Usually what inspires me to make a painting is the creature itself - whether it's a bird or a muskrat - I'm drawn to the experience I'm having of this particular creature in front of me.

But in this case, it was the red-winged blackbird's experience of the flower that I found interesting. I'd never seen them on a cone flower, and it was interesting to see how it hung on as the wind blew it back and forth. Like most of the times when you encounter a red-winged blackbird, they are more focused on what they are doing rather than what you are doing. Despite your presence, they will continue their songs or continue to hunt for worms. And I think that's what I loved about this moment, it didn't seem tainted by human activity, it was blissfully nature. 

Neil was the artist in residence at the Adirondack Interpretive Center in Newcomb, NY. For 2 months, he lived on Lake Arbutus to be inspired by the enchanting spirits of the Adirondack forest. A summer blissfully away from the hustle bustle of the modern world and immersed in the peacefulness of the forest...

Well... peaceful for the most part, I was lucky enough to join him for the summer. And if I wasn't questionably standing on rocks, balancing on fallen down trees, or falling in lakes, it was a pretty peaceful summer...

Common loons have very eerie and distinct calls. Yet, they are not the gloomy, dreary bird that one would think is behind a call like their wail. In fact, they are quite the opposite with their distinct and striking summer appearance, most notably the checkered white pattern on their back. And, their black feathers are iridescent in the sunlight, ranging from shades of reddish dark purple to deep emerald green!

Every fall, they molt their breeding feathers to transition into a very dull plumage for the winter. Common loons, like all loons, breed in fresh water and then migrate to winter in salt water. Our Arbutus Lake loons most likely migrated to the Atlantic Ocean which isn't too far, but some loons will migrate up to 1570  miles to their winter homes.

And, with us. Though we kept our distance and shot all of these photos using our 600mm lens, the loons found us interesting and would swim close enough to inspect our kayaks or wonder what we were doing on the shore (falling off rocks, duh...) 

Though it was during the times when all the loons would gather together that we would see the most interesting poses...

And that's where I first saw the 'penguin dance'  - where they rear up in the water with their wings either spread out or clasped against their body, and rapidly paddle their feet. They do this when another loon or predator gets a bit too close. I suppose loons are very into their personal space (they probably social distance quite well...) So it was this pose, the penguin dance, that inspired my latest, bird migrating painting  and haiku poem:

under morning fog
flapping wings and eerie songs
checkered flashes rise

Spending the summer in the Adirondack forest was one of those once-in-a-lifetime experiences. And continues to inspire painting after painting - and despite my best efforts, Neil even enjoyed some peaceful moments to get inspiration for his own works of art 😊.

A few weeks ago when the ice on lake Icaria was melting, hundreds of geese and ducks were migrating through this little edge of Iowa.

Though we mostly saw Canada geese and cackling geese, we also saw greater white-fronted geese (lifer!), wood ducks, canvas backs, ring-necked ducks, greater scaup (lifer!), lesser scaup (another lifer!), red-headed ducks, coots, pied-billed grebes, northern shovelers, mallards, common mergansers, american wigeon, green-winged teal, northern pintail, snow geese, ross's geese (and another lifer!), trumpeter swans, common golden-eye, hooded merganser, bufflehead and this strange looking bird... 

Now I love birds, most of my travels surround birds, and many, many, of my paintings, are bird inspired... but I have a very soft spot for little mammals - Squirrels, rabbits, otters, beavers, and even muskrats. So of course, this muskrat became my new favorite model over the next few weeks as we watched the birds arrive each evening on the lake.

We did of course take thousands and thousands of photos of birds for future inspiration, but I was a little distracted...

Which of course led to sketching the adorable fur ball...

The ice is gone now (hello spring!!) So we haven't seen our muskrat friend around recently. And at the same time, our migrating waterfowl have moved on to the next stop on their journey to their breeding grounds. Lake Icaria is a little quieter now. But I'm still looking for our muskrat friend, because though there may be no ice to eat salad on, he'll be hanging around with us through the spring - which probably means more muskrat art to come!

Recently the universe gave me a little push of inspiration to create a new Natural Disaster Painting - and it wasn’t just the freezing temperatures that have been pushing me into hibernation 🥶

In February, the central part of North America experienced an arctic blast that plunged temperatures into below freezing for days. From frozen cacti in Texas to blizzard conditions north into Manitoba, it was cold... so so cold. According to weather.gov, “Over 3,000 daily cold records were set across the USA, with around 80 all-time record cold readings.” Here in Iowa, I experienced the coldest temperatures I’ve ever felt (-27F!) and blustery winds became a new normal.

Fortunately the weather changes quickly and although it’s still very much winter in Iowa, the temperatures are above freezing again and there’s hope for spring. But the Arctic blast was for sure a natural disaster - though minuscule compared to other disasters. But I feel it needed to be included in the natural disaster series. For all the hearts that were bruised and/or lost, this painting is for them.

I haven’t created a natural disaster painting in a while, not that there is a loss for inspiration for a new one with everything that is going on in the world - I’ve just been focused on birds and urban wildlife. Subjects that bring me joy and peace. But a week or so ago, a class asked me what my process was for making a natural disaster painting. A question I could easily run off an answer to a couple of years ago, but at that moment, I didn’t have the words, I just had the urge. The urge to paint this particular disaster. A feeling I haven’t felt in a long time. 
I’ve felt inspired to paint wildfire art, but that art has been more realism than abstract in the last couple of years. It has felt like the ability to make something abstract died in me – the candle burned out. I just didn’t have the steam. When I tried, it was mostly failures with a few cubic zirconias mixed in – paintings that at first glance look like diamonds, but at closer inspection, just imitations.

Though when I painted this, a flame was reborn. A deep in the heart knowing and awareness just reappeared like an old friend.

Abstract art is not just throwing paint on a canvas; abstract art like all well thought out art, requires a nod to the elements of art, design, and so on. But great abstract art – at least for me – has always been letting the paint flow from within – letting the subconscious tackle the rules and the conscious focus on the spirit from within. A familiar home that I’m glad to have returned to.
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Who knew freezing temperatures would lead me back to abstraction, especially since I’m more desert cottontail than arctic hare…

Whenever you encounter a river otter, it always seems like they are having fun. Whether they are rolling around together on the ground or diving for fish, they seem to enjoy being an otter. I’m not sure if there is another animal out there that really likes being what it is as much – well maybe cats. Cats have it made. But River otters seem to at least have a life of play. And that’s the kind of life we should all strive for. Make time for play and be oblivious to the stressors around us for at least a few hours a day.

That’s what it seemed my muse for this painting was doing, while I watched him dive in and out of the water catching fish then rolling on his back. It seemed more like he was playing with his food than eating it. No one told him it was disrespectful to play with your food and maybe that’s the secret to life, there is no bad time to play…

Kee Dee, Kee Dee is part of a series of bird paintings about migration. For more information about the collection, visit Migration Circle Bird Paintings.

Did you know our national mammal, aka the largest land mammal in North America - the American Bison is a keystone species? American Bison use to live across our prairie lands in the millions – some say up to 30 million bison once roamed at a time. And by grazing, they helped stimulate plant growth while their hooves packed in the soil and opened up new areas for seeds to take root. Pretty cool, huh?

Years ago, well not that many years ago, we took a friend visiting from out of state to the Grand Canyon. Like most people who live in Arizona, at some point you realize you only go to the Grand Canyon when someone is visiting from out of state and when you are there, you wonder why you don’t go more often.

Anyway, it was on one of those trips that I saw a yellow-headed blackbird for the first time. I wish I could say I saw this bird hanging out on the edge of a Juniper tree, creating the perfect composition, but that’s not the case. Instead, my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see these beautiful birds was in a gas station parking lot because the tire pressure light came on as we left the park and we had to evaluate our chances of getting a flat on our drive back down the mountain. Spoiler alert, we didn’t get a flat, but we did get to see a flock of yellow-headed blackbirds. I was captivated by their vivid yellow heads. It was a bright spot to see in an otherwise troubling moment.

These birds typically breed from Utah up into Alberta, and then migrate far south into central Mexico. When I saw them near the Grand Canyon, they were on their way migrating north after most likely spending their winter in Mexico. And since then, I have never seen one again. Though, if you look at their range, it seems like they can be found all over west of the Mississippi in wetland areas and they migrate in large flocks. Apparently, I need to hangout in marshy areas more often...

But somewhere out there is the best place to see yellow-headed blackbirds, and I doubt it’s in a parking lot. But wherever it is, I bet these birds are still a little bright spot of joy.  And this is why I call this one – number 6 in this series - “A Bright Spot.”