Acrylic Painting 30” x 40”

The story behind The Call begins with a long-held vision, the support of a lifelong mentor and friend, and a bison named, Trouble. I had long wanted to paint a bison, and through a gracious rancher, I was introduced to Trouble—born during a fierce snowstorm, injured at birth, and named for the extraordinary effort it took to save his life.

Everyone—even a bison— has a story to tell. I use my camera to listen. Despite several successful photo sessions with Trouble, I found myself unable to connect with the any of the sunlit photographs of him. Perhaps this was because I was emerging from the most difficult season of my life—a thirteen-year storm during which I often wondered whether I would ever find my way back to myself again. Through this lens, images filled with sunshine alone felt disconnected and less than authentic.

When a snowstorm was forecast, I intentionally timed my shoot for just after it was expected to pass. Arising well before dawn, I gathered my gear and headed to the ranch. When I arrived, however, the storm had not passed. The cold was biting, and snow fog wrapped the pastures in a thick haze, limiting visibility. Trouble appeared only as a distant blue silhouette, barely discernible through the storm. With temperatures hovering at twelve degrees, I was tempted to leave. Despite that, I felt I should stay, so I began shooting on faith. In those conditions, even autofocus has little to hold onto. I had no way of knowing whether the images would even show, given the conditions of the storm. Hours later, I left without knowing whether the images had registered anything at all.

It wasn’t until I was back in my studio, editing the photographs, that I realized I had captured Trouble mid-bellow, calling out from within the storm. That stormy image captured the essence of Trouble in a way sunny photographs never could. Here was an animal that had overcome storm after storm in his life. Far from destroying him, those storms helped make Trouble the against-all-odds bison that he is today. I knew then this was the narrative The Call would explore. This view of Trouble resonated deeply with me; through my own life experiences, I have learned that God uses the storms in my life not to break me, but to clarify and refine who I am.

Though photography is my starting point, what works visually in a photograph doesn’t necessarily translate to painting. The final composition is resolved through drawings and studies. During this stage, I leaned on my lifelong mentor, dear friend and fellow artist, Clancy “Pops” Gray, for his unparalleled understanding of bison anatomy. As The Call began to take shape, Clancy and I continued our regular conversations, often including updates on my work. I would send him images as the painting progressed, relying—as I always had—on his insight. One day I reached out and heard back not from Clancy, but from his son, “Pops is in ICU and it doesn’t look good.” My whole world dropped. Clancy was gone within a matter of days.

I had known Clancy since I was twenty-three. He was my mentor, colleague, and friend, who over time became a big brother, a crazy uncle, a second dad, and a best friend. I wouldn’t be who I am today without Clancy in my life. At his memorial service, several of his bison paintings and sculptures were on display. Standing among them, something in me shifted. Trouble’s story had been driving the narrative of The Call, but receiving that text altered the work in ways I could not have anticipated. What began as a heart vision—a bison named Trouble calling out in a storm, reflecting how God refines our truest selves through hardship—became something more. I wanted to use this painting to honor Clancy and his legacy.

During the hardest times of my life, Clancy was there. He taught me not to fear the storms in life, but to embrace them. Clancy believed that nothing is ever wasted in the hands of our God. This kind of faith allowed him to focus on the good, and encourage others to do the same. What I’ve learned through enduring storms, including the loss of Clancy, is storms change us—but they don’t have the final word. I painted The Call for anyone who has ever felt, “this storm will never be over, and my life will never be the same”. My encouragement to you is we weren’t meant to stay the same, for it is in the storm that our identity is clarified and character is formed. God uses every part of our stories—the good and the hard— to reveal and shape who we were created to be. I am forever grateful God used Clancy and a resilient bison named Trouble to help teach me this truth. The Call is dedicated to Clancy “Pops” Gray. Clancy, thank you for always seeing the good.