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Cha Tullis, Artist of the Osage
The miles over that long highway to Hominy, Oklahoma were like medicine to me. I gazed out
the car window and saw the winter landscape as a kind of mirror of my mind. The rest of the
habitat during winter always brings memories of my childhood to me. The Black Jacks or scrub oaks were the only trees to keep their leaves. Though their color had lost the beauty of earlier crimson and alizarin they still remained vibrant when the sun struck them just so. In their dull light brown existence there still remained a tinge of former color and my mind was sub-consciously mixing the color they held, maybe a bit of yellow, some yellow ochre, a pinpoint of burnt sienna?
Bare tree limbs were stark until the slim lines of the Sycamore’s white bark popped up and it was like an accent to a room. Suddenly, without warning,
there in the sky seemingly just above the tree limbs, almost as if we could touch them appeared two fighter jets. The sight of them brought me back to our world and away from the quiet peace of the vast width of the prairie.
“Wow! Why are they flying so low?” I asked Rodney.
“Who knows. Practicing their stealth tactics below the radar?” His military thinking surfaced for a moment.
Briefly we visited the Osage compound and they gave us forms, and very good advice on help to redo Rhonda’s bathroom.
Without any big decision to make we stopped at Cha Tullis gallery. His working spirit is something to inspire any artist. I’ll speak no more of this but I do hope you will thoroughly browse his web page. To see his store is so much more than what is here but there is great historical recognition for the beauty of the Osage. Please enjoy.
The miles over that long highway to Hominy, Oklahoma were like medicine to me. I gazed out
the car window and saw the winter landscape as a kind of mirror of my mind. The rest of the
habitat during winter always brings memories of my childhood to me. The Black Jacks or scrub oaks were the only trees to keep their leaves. Though their color had lost the beauty of earlier crimson and alizarin they still remained vibrant when the sun struck them just so. In their dull light brown existence there still remained a tinge of former color and my mind was sub-consciously mixing the color they held, maybe a bit of yellow, some yellow ochre, a pinpoint of burnt sienna?
Bare tree limbs were stark until the slim lines of the Sycamore’s white bark popped up and it was like an accent to a room. Suddenly, without warning,
there in the sky seemingly just above the tree limbs, almost as if we could touch them appeared two fighter jets. The sight of them brought me back to our world and away from the quiet peace of the vast width of the prairie.
“Wow! Why are they flying so low?” I asked Rodney.
“Who knows. Practicing their stealth tactics below the radar?” His military thinking surfaced for a moment.
Briefly we visited the Osage compound and they gave us forms, and very good advice on help to redo Rhonda’s bathroom.
Without any big decision to make we stopped at Cha Tullis gallery. His working spirit is something to inspire any artist. I’ll speak no more of this but I do hope you will thoroughly browse his web page. To see his store is so much more than what is here but there is great historical recognition for the beauty of the Osage. Please enjoy.