Drove up to Prescott yesterday to take down the Billy the Kid art show (speaking of Billy, it was on this date in 1881 that Pat Garrett caught the Kid with his pants down). Kathy was still under the weather so I went up alone. An impressive thunderhead was building up over New River Mesa as I fought my way up the Black Canyon (I-17). Really tall and dramatic clouds, must have gone skyward at least 1,500 feet.
Worst part of the trip is wading through Prescott Valley, which has to be one of the ugliest towns in Arizona. All sprawl and no center, the absolute worst of every trend in the country. I remember driving through there in a snowstorm in 1966 and there was just a land office trailer and a couple signs. Hard to rectify that image with the current eyesore. Bumper to bumper all the way into Prescott. Downtown was packed with tourists.
Broke down the show in about ten minutes, helped Janet C. putty the nail holes and took off for home. Stopped on the res for gas ($3.98 a gallon) and on the way down the hill saw the very dark wall of rain raking across the mountains north of our house. Ran into rain in New River and cruised home, raining on and off, arriving back at the ranchito at four.
Worked all weekend on cloud scenes and in my sketches I whipped out more sepia Mexican witch scenes:
Got some nice effects noodling gouache washes:
It isn't what they say about you. It's what they whisper."
—Errol Flynn
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