We made the mountains

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. I glanced over to the mirror between strokes. I had to take a long second look. I was not in the mirror. Emissions from the nearby gas refinery filled the air. There was the mountain range I was painting in the background. There was the turbulent emissions swirling in a steady breeze. Trees in the foreground. No me.

I brought the mirror to my plein air easel setup. I tacked it to a nearby tree so I could watch myself paint the landscape. I thought that if I could see myself making the strokes I would concentrate more on induvial details. It worked for a while, while I painted leaves of the cottonwood in the foreground. I replayed the immediate history before I disappeared from the mirror.

I had finished the Pryor mountain range in the background. Took a swig while it dried. Started on the bark of foreground cottonwood. Looked at the mirror. Focused more on the bark and used some black oil point to add depth to the bark. Took a swig. Started on the leaves where the crown meets the trunk. Looked at the mirror. I was still there and focused more on the long and slender stem of one leaf. Thought how can I make the underside of the leaf more dull with this oil paint? It came to me as I took a swig and looked at the mirror. I was still there. I bent down to ground and grabbed a leaf. I used the partly dry leaf paint on a leaf I just below the upside-down one I was painting now and traced it with the coarse curved teeth of the one I had in my hand. I looked at the mirror to see if my stroke was any different using actual nature. I was not there.

Had I painted myself out of the picture? I had my paintbrush in hand. Looked to the mirror and no reflection of myself. Good old-fashioned plein air vanish. I was still there, just not in the picture.

I still didn't know if what I was painting was sacrifice cliff. Legend has it that upon returning to their camp from a victory, the war party found their women and children slaughtered. The war party decided to take their own lives off this sacrifice cliff. I had painted the cliff. I needed to paint the building in the foreground still. Rumor had it that this building was built into sacrifice cliff and it was not the large cliff I had just painted. If I were to go off a cliff, I would take the larger one. Is this how I painted myself out?

I had a lot of stuff going before I started this plein air excursion. Beautiful wife and a curious little boy. I didn't want to vanish. I had stuff to do in a supporting role to my family.

I came to remember in pieces the height of land behind me. It was called Boothill Cemetery. It is a dirt trail that led to a rock cairn. A large sign said something about the town that was there for ~10 years marking the spot where trailblazers died with their boots on. That's how I wanted to go, with my boots on.

I am wearing boots. Plein air should be done in boots is what I figured. I traversed to this spot, hung up my mirror and went to town. I decided to leave the mirror and the painting and walk around the small dirt trail with paintbrush still in hand. I paused and looked at the traffic making their own turbulent emissions.

I came back to the painting and mirror and took a healthy swig of my flask with an cottonwood leaf on it. Looked back at the mirror and I was there.