Robert K. Abbett - A Man Called Wayne

January 23, 1999

Finding good source material is essential for any painter, and in sporting dog art this search obviously includes game birds. Collectors of this genre prefer a certain level of realism and I’ve gone down several avenues to satisfy this interest. A man I’ll call Wayne was one such avenue.

I met him years ago when I bought some of his pigeons to help me train my English setter pup, Duke. Wayne was one of those somewhat eccentric Yankee characters who, for their own reasons, raise, collect and sell a variety of game birds. And yes, he certainly had birds, There were pheasants and quail in pens, there were pigeons on the roof, there were ducks on his pond and quail running loose in the basement. In his ‘ICU’, I even saw a hen pheasant recuperating from an unknown ailment on the living room sofa - ensconced in two dish washer racks watching Gilligan’s Island on TV just as big as life. I traded a print of ‘The Irish Setter Family’ for enough pigeons to take Duke through his initial training phase. With Wayne’s blessing I would return occasionally to photograph his winged stock at my leisure. I also watched Wayne sell birds.

I’m not sure how much of the following was accidental and how much was scam; but one evening I watched Wayne attend two young men who came to buy some pheasants. After the usual haggle and payment, Wayne started after the birds in a large pen. His coordination seemed lacking a bit as he repeatedly swung his huge long handled net far behind the running cock birds and hens. Finally he successfully netted and placed several birds in a cardboard box. However before the men reached their car, the bottom of the box fell open and most of the pheasants roared off - only one being grabbed at the last moment. Due to an apparent cash shortage, sales ended and no attempt was made to retrieve the escapees - now long out of sight

Incidentally, as time passed and after graduating to wild birds, another pigeon (other than Wayne’s) entered Duke’s life in the form of a fine gray bird who took up residence on our roof and yard - probably attracted by loose dog food, horse feed and water. Of course every time we’d let Duke out the back door, he’d point the pigeon, often quite dramatically; I’d grab the camera and for weeks was able to build a sizable library of truly good point photos.

Mr. Pigeon‘s luck finally ran out the day he was carried off by a passing red tailed hawk. In wifely fashion, Marilyn stormed out of the house waving her broom, yelling something effective like, "Hey, you stop that!!!". The hawk did drop his prisoner who returned to our roof but soon left for good, obviously not pleased with our level of security.

Wayne’s birds served me well in many paintings. The ducks I photographed while scrunched down in a camo coat ended up in a woodland scene where they were shown in a typical explosive take off. And I painted Duke pointing a good looking pheasant which later became a key picture in a Southwest Art feature. Such successes impressed on me the necessity and value of original source

material, and led me to constantly gain additional means of such research; taxidermy studios, museums, dog trainers, etc.

I think of Wayne often, remembering how helpful he and his game birds were to my early career - of course we both knew those pheasants from the box would be back in his recall pen by dusk. And I wonder how many more times they were sold.

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	The Brush's Point Robert K. Abbett A column on the art of sporting dogs for Canine Images A Man Called Wayne Published January issue, 1999
	January 23, 1999 Finding good source material is essential for any painter, and in sporting dog art this search obviously includes game birds. Collectors of this genre prefer a certain level of realism and I’ve gone down several avenues to satisfy this interest. A man I’ll call Wayne was one such avenue. I met him years ago when I bought some of his pigeons to help me train my English setter pup, Duke. Wayne was one of those somewhat eccentric Yankee characters who, for their own reasons, raise, collect and sell a variety of game birds. And yes, he certainly had birds, There were pheasants and quail in pens, there were pigeons on the roof, there were ducks on his pond and quail running loose in the basement. In his ‘ICU’, I even saw a hen pheasant recuperating from an unknown ailment on the living room sofa - ensconced in two dish washer racks watching Gilligan’s Island on TV just as big as life. I traded a print of ‘The Irish Setter Family’ for enough pigeons to take Duke through his initial training phase. With Wayne’s blessing I would return occasionally to photograph his winged stock at my leisure. I also watched Wayne sell birds. I’m not sure how much of the following was accidental and how much was scam; but one evening I watched Wayne attend two young men who came to buy some pheasants. After the usual haggle and payment, Wayne started after the birds in a large pen. His coordination seemed lacking a bit as he repeatedly swung his huge long handled net far behind the running cock birds and hens. Finally he successfully netted and placed several birds in a cardboard box. However before the men reached their car, the bottom of the box fell open and most of the pheasants roared off - only one being grabbed at the last moment. Due to an apparent cash shortage, sales ended and no attempt was made to retrieve the escapees - now long out of sight Incidentally, as time passed and after graduating to wild birds, another pigeon (other than Wayne’s) entered Duke’s life in the form of a fine gray bird who took up residence on our roof and yard - probably attracted by loose dog food, horse feed and water. Of course every time we’d let Duke out the back door, he’d point the pigeon, often quite dramatically; I’d grab the camera and for weeks was able to build a sizable library of truly good point photos. Mr. Pigeon‘s luck finally ran out the day he was carried off by a passing red tailed hawk. In wifely fashion, Marilyn stormed out of the house waving her broom, yelling something effective like, "Hey, you stop that!!!". The hawk did drop his prisoner who returned to our roof but soon left for good, obviously not pleased with our level of security. Wayne’s birds served me well in many paintings. The ducks I photographed while scrunched down in a camo coat ended up in a woodland scene where they were shown in a typical explosive take off. And I painted Duke pointing a good looking pheasant which later became a key picture in a Southwest Art feature. Such successes impressed on me the necessity and value of original source material, and led me to constantly gain additional means of such research; taxidermy studios, museums, dog trainers, etc. I think of Wayne often, remembering how helpful he and his game birds were to my early career - of course we both knew those pheasants from the box would be back in his recall pen by dusk. And I wonder how many more times they were sold. -30-