If by chance you plan to roam,
Pack a map, pack a comb.
Pack a lunch, pack a chair,
So you can sit,
When you are there.

Crack a beer, crack a smile,
Wander, linger, stay a while.
Talk to God, talk to friends
Stay until the bright day ends.

Thank you God for days like this,
Dusty roads, botanical bliss,
Enough gas and a true blue Jeep,
This will be the company I keep.

Sometimes things pop up early, as was the case in 2026. Rain came early in buckets, and then a warm spell forced plants and flowers out of the soil before their usual time. So I keep my eyes peeled even in January and February.

This scene, captured in the Catalina Foothills early in February, is a prime example.
Little pops of pink and white dappled the slopes as we made our way to the Romero pools and waterfall. All was well, until we heard the unnerving sound (like a woman screaming) of a mountain lion coming from the ridgeline across from us. We glassed the slope just as several deer were scattering. So we changed course and enjoyed the elevation where these flowers were blooming.

Anemones are tubers and members of the buttercup family. These, as well as the other smaller flowers on the foothills, are among my favorites.

What’s Up? Buttercups.

Each desert blooming season follows an order: hedgehog cactus, prickly pear, cholla, saguaro, with various wildflowers blooming throughout. I always look forward to the jewel colors of cholla blooms that are best seen in late afternoon light. While other cactus blooms are closing up for the day, buckhorn cholla seem to lean in and embrace every last minute of Sonoran sun.

In late April, I roll my Jeep down dusty dirt roads into the alluvial fans of the Superstations looking for the glow. Cactus like these can have good years and not-so-good years. If I’m lucky, I’ll spot a patch of happy chollas, pull off the road, and hike a bit around them, being careful not to puncture myself or step on a rattler.

These are the moments I love with all my heart. The quail song, coyote howl, and cholla glow in the last light of day.

$15,200 Framed

It’s no secret that I love wandering at the base of the Mazatzal Mountains in the late afternoon. About an hour from my home, down a bumpy dirt road, awaits a land rich with history and diverse plant species. It’s in the sweet spot between desert cholla and ponderosa pines at about 4000 feet. As I write this, it’s springtime, and soon I’ll be headed back to this place to check on the land and my plant friends.

The agave get all the attention in this area, but there’s a nice crop of yucca that demands closer examination. The flower pendants gobble up the late day light, and the curly leaf fibers swirl in shades of blue. This plant has so many uses; you can make shampoo, roast the fruit for food, make rope or baskets from the fibers, and create beautiful dye.

Once again, the land seems to give us everything we need, and on top of that we get beauty.
As a painter who loves color, I’m grateful for inspiration like this, and it makes me want to be a better steward of the land. I hope it does the same for you.

Although Arizona is a relatively new state (born in 1912), we have our share of old things; mining towns, military forts, and old routes from here to there. I have a habit of searching satellite maps and out the car window for signs of old roads. Since I moved here in 1989, so many routes have changed. Arizona State Route 87 to Payson, for example, is now a divided highway, and no longer dips into the little town of Sunflower. The old US 60 to Superior used to wind right by Boyce Thompson, but no longer.
 
Every once in a while, I like to include a little bit of the manmade in my work, because it tells a part of Arizona history that I’m interested in. This section of old US 60 is near a segment of the Arizona trail, winding around the slopes of an old volcano called Picketpost Mountain. I found it when I wandered off the trail one spiring afternoon. The bridge spans a section of a small tributary to Queen Creek, and because of seasonal waterflow, it is the ideal environment for little wildflowers. These tiny little beauties are creamcups and yellowthroat gilias, which are smaller than a fingernail. I thought the juxtaposition was interesting; little with big, natural with manmade, and a window to the landscape of Arnett Canyon beyond.
 
New roads may be faster, but the old way will always be more interesting to me.

There are some pretty special places in the higher elevations of Arizona. When the valley’s flowers fade in the summer heat, there are still treasures to find on the hilltops. One of my favorite destinations is near the farming and mining town of Safford, Arizona. The Pinaleño Mountains rise quickly here, to Mount Graham at 10,696 feet. Here, and only here, will you find a small population of endangered Mount Graham red squirrels.*

If you’re not afraid of twists, turns, and dirt ruts, you can travel the Swift Trail (thirty-three miles from the 191) through cottonwoods, sycamores, and ponderosa pines. There are stops along the way; amazing views of historic Fort Grant, and neighboring sky islands like the Galiuros and the Winchesters.

Somewere before the road ends, at a beautiful sparkling blue reservoir, there is a meadow.
On this July afternoon, it was teeming with life. Verbena, coneflowers and wallflowers were swaying in the breeze as pollinators performed touch-and-gos. We lingered here as long as we could, happy for the opportunity to observe this important work, and grateful for the inspiration. The pipevine butterfly landed in front of me, and I knew I would paint him and his flower. The moment exists only in my mind, and only here.

*Since 2014, the conservation center at the Phoenix Zoo has been working hard on developing a pilot breeding program in the hope of producing animals for release in the wild. Numbers of the Mt. Graham red squirrels were as low as thirty-five in 2017, after the Frye fire destroyed 48,000 acres of habitat in the mountain. Learn more at Phoenix Zoo

Inspiration

If you love Arizona, you’ve no doubt heard the legend of the lost gold in the Superstition Mountains.

In the 1840s, the Peralta family developed a gold mine in the mountains, and on their last expedition back to northern Mexico in 1848 were ambushed by Apaches. All were killed but one.

Since then, there has been an ongoing quest to locate the mine. In the 1870s, Jacob Waltz, “the Dutchman” (he was German) was supposedly aided by a Peralta descendant and found the mine. Waltz and his partner, Jacob Weiser, worked the mine and allegedly hid one or more caches of gold in the Superstitions.

Adventure-seekers have been looking for the treasure ever since. Some have been victims of foul play and death. Adding to the lore is the idea that Weaver’s Needle, the geological remains of a volcanic eruption, makes a shadow that points to the location on certain days of the year.

For me, the true treasure of this rugged area is found while hiking and exploring. In certain years, with the appropriate rain, slopes are covered with blue dicks, owl’s clover and mariposa lilies*.

In this composition I positioned a leaf of the lily so it points to the base of Weaver’s Needle, to pay homage to the legend.

Gold or not, this region is special. It’s a peaceful place, where lilies wave in the breeze, cerulean skies yield to golden sunsets, and indigo blankets the nights.

*Not to be confused with poppies, Mariposa lilies (Calochortus) are indeed lilies! The word Calochortus is derived from Greek and means “beautiful grass”.

Plants, like people, have a purpose. On this rocky slope in the Mazatzal Mountains, this native plant provides flowers for pollinators, seeds for birds, and erosion control for the land.

It was originally collected by Asa Gray and named for Dr. John Milton Bigelow (1804-1878). Interestingly, both men were physicians before becoming botanists.

On this sunny day, it was collected by a band of merry native plant enthusiasts, including me. My purpose? To paint it as best as I can; remembering the warm sunny day, high on the rocky slope, where the wild things grow

$19,500.00 Framed
 
There is a hilltop near Payson, Arizona that I love. It sits at about 4500 feet, with views of the East Verde River on one side, and the Mazatzal mountain range on other. This hilltop is a botanist’s dream, with a diverse array of cactus and native Arizona plants. There is evidence that an ancient civilization spent time building, gathering and communing in this place too. I think of their time here often when I visit. I wonder what gossip filled the air as the women sat at their grinding stations, looking up occasionally at the mountains in front of them.
 
In the wild, shelter is important. For the hiker, it’s the first thing to consider when stranded in the open; before water, before food, protection from the elements is vital. Plants benefit from shelter, too. Often in the Southwest, certain plants thrive only in the sheltered cover of another plant, or in the shade of a rock. In terrain with diverse geologic formations, life thrives.
 
I am grateful for the merry band of plant lovers who have taught me so much upon this hill.

And I am grateful for the things places like this teach me about my creator, who is my ultimate refuge and shelter under which I can thrive.

I have often described my botanical subjects as actors on a stage. In that spirit, I would describe the Ajo Lily as a tall, graceful fashion model, who likes long walks in the sand and stormy weather. But she is also elusive; difficult to cultivate, and goes missing for years at a time. Named “Ajo” by Spanish explorers because of the flower bulb’s garlicy taste, these flower stalks can stand up to 6 feet in height in a good year.

I found myself lost in the colorful whites in these lilies, but I was equally enamored with the wavy sculptural leaves that grow so long at times, that they flop over make beautiful spirographs when the wind blows them over the sand.

Yes, Hesperocallis Undulata is a beautiful woman named Lily, walking down the runway in an iridescent white blouse and a ruffled green skirt. She is a tall drink of water, and a welcome sight in a dry arid land.

With gratitude to photographer, Paul Gill, who hunts Arizona flowers far and wide.

Even if monsoon season was a bust, you can count on barrel cactuses to bloom in sheer reds and pale yellows (and in this case, golds) at the end of an Arizona summer. Barrel cactuses sit like little Buddhas in the southwest landscape, often overlooked and overshadowed by the larger, more prestigious, columnar saguaro; unless they are in bloom. On this day, I was in the right place at the right time. I saw the gold glow in the distance and spun the Jeep around, because that’s what you do when you love wild plants and places.

And I love flowers. Don’t you?

The Land of Grass and Flowers
Bellflowers and Railroad Grade at Benny Creek, White Mountains, AZ
Bloomed 8-25-24 5:30 PM           Oil on Canvas 40 in. x 30 in., 2026
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For years, this spot in the White Mountains of Arizona had intrigued me. Located in a cienega near Boardshack Knoll, the land dips and yields to Benny Creek. There is a small bridge that spans the gap, which always seemed like a sheep bridge to me.

One afternoon in August, after a glorious monsoon day, a friend and I finally explored the land here. The native grass swayed in the clean breeze, and interspersed in the straw were bobbing purple bellflowers, native to Arizona but found mostly in the White Mountains. It was a glorious sight as the sun slowly sank into the earth.

 
Later, after studying maps and doing research, I found the bridge was not for sheep, but for a train. The Apache Railway was built by Flagstaff lumberman Tom Pollak in 1916. Its purpose was to haul logs from Maverick (8000 feet el.) down a six-percent grade to the mill in McNary. The rails were built with the help of one hundred sixty mules and horses, and a camp of one hundred fifty men.

 
In 1965, a few railroad men decided to run the steam locomotive as a tourist excursion. The lumber ran at night, and passengers rode in the day. For $6.95 you could board at 9:00 AM in McNary, enjoy a cowboy picnic lunch of barbeque beef under the pines at Apache Springs, and return by 3:00 PM.

 
On its inaugural journey on June 26, 1965, dignitaries, family, and friends of the train crew boarded for the historic occasion. Jo Jeffers described it in the July 1966 issue of Arizona Highways: “That first day there were speeches by politicians and Indian leaders. ‘Tumbling Tumbleweeds’ and other cowboy ballads were sung and played by the deputy sheriff, and recitations by Milo Wiltbank, the cowboy poet of the White Mountains:

Why don’t you come up here with me,
Camp in the shade of an old pine tree,
Pitch your tent by a gurgling stream,
Sit in the sun and rest and dream?
You’ll enjoy your idle hours
Here in the land of grass and flowers,
Here in the old White Mountains.
 

Today the trains are gone, and only traces of the rails appear on satellite maps. Alas, I often feel I was born too late. But not to worry; you can hike this section all the way to the 260, and enjoy the pine covered knolls, and the cienigas, and bellflowers dancing in the land of grass and flowers.

40×30 oil on canvas
$9800 Framed

There is a hilltop near Payson, Arizona that I love. It sits at about 4500 feet, with views of the East Verde River on one side, and the Mazatzal mountain range on other. This hilltop is a botanist’s dream, with a diverse array of cactus and native Arizona plants. There is evidence that an ancient civilization spent time building, gathering and communing in this place too. I think of their time here often when I visit. I wonder what gossip filled the air as the women sat at their grinding stations, looking up occasionally at the mountains in front of them.

This is my first Ocotillo painting. The time was right to finally capture this iconic and loved Arizona bloom. As I worked, Christmas was approaching. As we unpacked tangled and partly working Christmas lights it occurred to me that the Ocotillo Bloom, in the sun, illuminates much like holiday lights. But as always, nature trumps store-bought for me, the simplicity and sheer, brilliant design of southwest blooms continue to work year after year.

Leave no Trace.

Oil on canvas 60in. x 60in.

2005     Offered from Dyana Hesson’s  personal Collection

28,000

The circle, having no beginning and no end, is my favorite shape, both aesthetically and symbolically. A wedding ring, the fellowship of friends, and eternity can all be expressed with a circle. I have manipulated all sorts of flowers, cacti, and succulents into beautiful circles for this series.

Always important in my work is the significance of relationships. When you examine a bouquet of flowers, even if they are all the same type and color, there are distinct differences within the bunch. By themselves they are beautiful, but together they make an impact. The interplay of light and shadows, the repetition of shapes — simply put, the way each part relates to the next — makes a unified composition. It is the same with people, whether in a family or among friends. It is when we are together, offering our unique gifts and experiences to each other, that we are beautiful. So, whether they are circles of the same flowers or a variety of flowers or colors, I hope the viewer will delight in the beauty of the arrangement. My prayer is that they will consider and enjoy the beauty that is right before them, both on the canvas and in their lives.

When I was a kid, I was obsessed with the August 1976 issue of National Geographic. The cover featured a Mexican woman seemingly dressed in–and surrounded by–monarch butterflies. The pages inside told the story of the annual monarch migration to Mexico, but I doubt I read the story. Back then I just looked at pictures; there were too many words. That same year, on a California road trip with my parents, I had been enthralled by monarchs hanging on the trees in Monterey. I fell in love with butterflies and doodled them on school notebooks.
These days, I’m a better reader, and love to research the plants I paint. And recently, the butterfly of my youth has led me to its host plant: the complex and vitally important milkweed.
There are over 30 species of milkweed in Arizona, but this one–the antelope horns–likes a certain terrain. A little higher, a little cooler, a bit remote; just my style.
So on a nice day in May, we went looking near Payson in the Mazatzal Mountains, with the East Verde River trickling nearby. Not a bad assignment. This land has been disturbed over the years by Native Americans, ranchers and bovine feet, which ironically is why these plants thrive here. Tall, stately and covered with pollinators, I began to spot them, mostly near the old Dolly Baby Ranch.

These plants are Airbnbs for pollinators, but it’s not a simple check-in. The unusual structure of the flower regulates pollination. Insects snag sacs of pollen on their legs, but then they must be perfectly inserted in the slits behind the crown. If the pollen is inserted backwards, the grains germinate in the wrong direction and are wasted. This is why there are so few pods produced per plant. For butterflies, it’s a survival game too; their species only lays eggs in milkweed, thus their declining numbers.

On this day, the juniper hairstreak butterfly was diligently pollinating. As I watched him work, it felt like I was witnessing a miracle. It’s moments like these that fuel the work of my hands.
After a long hike and a ritual soaking of my feet in the Verde, we began our drive home, over the hills and into the sunset. I feel pretty tiny on days like that; the world is so big and marvelous, and I’m grateful to be a part of something so wild.
A picture is worth a thousand words.

-dh

Arizona Highways Magazine Project

This is the first of my new series “True Blue Arizona” focusing on the native plants of the Grand Canyon State. True Blue (my Jeep Wrangler’s nickname) and I had some wonderful adventures this spring, and I was happy to drag a few of you along with me! The inspiration for this painting was found in late April on a trek up to Sedona and Cottonwood. I think the whole valley thought it was one of the last nice weekends, because Sedona was humming with outdoor enthusiasts. That’s where four-wheel drive comes in handy.

Slowly, we literally left the crowds in the dust. My husband navigated us to a place where I had seen a large amount of sego lilies blooming two years ago. I’m not going to tell you where, let’s keep this one a secret that you will have to unlock yourself. There were also a large number of fat and happily rained on agaves sending up their flower stalks. You know I love a good juxtaposition…

The back ache and was worth the shot that lead to this painting. We celebrated with a beer in the wonderfully quirky town of Cottonwood, and True Blue came home dirty and this artist happy. My daughter gave the painting its name. I think its perfect.

More about the True Blue Series  

Sierra Madre Yucca, Patagonia Lake, AZ
Bloomed 4-22-23 5:30 PM
47×35 in. Limited Edition on Canvas

Edition of 50

$2300

Southern Arizona is pretty special. The elevation is a little higher, the big city is far away, and rolling golden hills spread this way that that until they are interrupted by sky islands—dramatic rises in elevation, where alpine environments thrive within a short distance of the desert landscape.

Near the historic town of Patagonia is Patagonia Lake. Like most Arizona lakes, it is a man-made reservoir, created by the damming of Sonoita Creek, a tributary to the Santa Cruz River. Here, the hills are dotted with a yucca variety not common in other parts of Arizona. They ring like bells in the breeze and glow in the afternoon light.

One afternoon in April, while observing these marvelous blooms and the shimmering light on the water, I spotted several teenage boys considering a jump off the lake bank into the water. They were egging each other on, chattering.

The mom in me wanted to warn them of the danger of the jump. But really it didn’t look too bad, and if I was their age, I would have joined them in an instant. The best part of the scene was that there was not a cell phone in sight. Just boys being boys on a warm Arizona day. The whole scene made me smile, and I knew I would paint it.

Allow three weeks from order date.

In the interest of good customer service, if you are local in Arizona and would like to save on shipping costs, please write a note for us when you order. You can arrange to pick up your work at Altamira Gallery in Scottsdale, and I’ll refund your shipping costs.

This Limited Edition print comes ready to hang and is hand signed and numbered by the artist. The piece is suitable for framing, but is not necessary. Do you have questions about this item? Please contact info@DyanaHesson.com

Garnet Cholla Blooms Near Queen Valley, AZ
Bloomed 5-2-25 8:00 PM

Oil on Canvas 48 in. x 48 in., 2025

$18,500

Nothing like a steep climb in the first quarter to make a girl feel optimistic. Enjoy the desert, leave no trace, pray for rain.

 Available at Manitou Galleries, Santa Fe, Small Works Show December 5th

My favorite time of day in the Superstition Wilderness is twilight; especially in the spring, when the day’s last light filters through the sheer petals of colorful cactus blooms. This year, however, was very dry, and the usual harvest of blooms was sadly absent.

After several hours of sunset exploring I was heading back to the Jeep, fairly disappointed, when I noticed this Christmas cholla in full bloom. Apparently, it had waited for this particular day, at this particular time, to open gloriously. I have explored this trail extensively, and have probably walked by this unassuming spindly plant a hundred times and never noticed it. But on this day, Christmas came early, delighting my heart and inspiring the work of my hands.

Arizona Blue Eyes, Mazatzal Mountains, AZ

Bloomed 4-17-25 2:15 PM

Oil on Canvas 30 in. x 10 in., 2025

It always amazes me how the complexities of each season produce different results in wild plant life. On a leisurely hike with plant-loving friends last spring, I noticed dwarf morning glories here and there near the creek. Such a lovely shade of blue on a seemingly delicate plant.

The Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center says of this plant, “In the arid parts of the Southwest, truly blue flowers are uncommon; this flower, often as blue as those of true flax (Linum), is the prettiest of its genus in the whole region.”

Pretty indeed; hello there, blue eyes!

Edition of 50

15×15 Limited Edition Print on Canvas $290

Organ Pipe National Park in Ajo, Arizona is the only place in the United States where these cactus grow. If you want to see them bloom, visit at dawn in early summer. The blooms are not as large as saguaro’s, but they are not as hard to see either. Many times, blooms such as this one will be at eye level. Plants are usually thirty-five years old before they have their first blooms, and are pollinated by the long-nosed bat which migrates from Mexico.

Historically, people have been exploring what is now southern Arizona for hundreds of years, and for hundreds of reasons. But it was the European pioneers who gave the organ pipe catus its common name. Apparently, its skeleton reminded them of the musical instruments they had seen in their past lives. Humans do that; in an effort to understand something new, we compare it to something we once knew. To the O’odham people, the organ pipe cactus has been a part of life for generations. The appearance of fruit meant harvest time, which was a community ritual that resulted in delicious jam or wine that they shared with hungry pioneers.

What a strange land Arizona must have been to most pioneers. They were dreaming of a big life in the west. They probably never dreamed they would eat fruit from a cactus. How sweet that must have tasted.

Allow three weeks from order date.

In the interest of good customer service, if you are local in Arizona and would like to save on shipping costs, please write a note for us when you order. You can arrange to pick up your work at Altamira Gallery in Scottsdale, and I’ll refund your shipping costs.

This Limited Edition print comes ready to hang and is hand signed and numbered by the artist. The piece is suitable for framing, but is not necessary. Do you have questions about this item? Please contact info@DyanaHesson.com

Mexican Poppies and Desert Dandelion* Near Tubac, AZ

Bloomed 4.17.24

28×22 oil on canvas

$4800

These poppies and desert dandelion were found in a sandy canyon near historical Tubac, Arizona. My friend Veronika and I first noticed the dandelions on the roadsides as we approached town, and then were excited to find more of this simple, happy flower down a sandy wash. I decided to paint the flowers suspended in the sky, untethered, perhaps twirling in a gentle Arizona breeze. A simple delight on a beautiful spring day.

*I researched the dandelion, to see if any were documented in my area of Arizona and found a New York Botanical Garden Steere Herbarium entry collected by a Mrs. Capt. Hoyt near Fort Apache in 1892.  A little more research led to a R.C. Hoyt who was stationed there the same year. What a delight to have a small connection to a fellow amateur botanist from so long ago. I think we would have been friends.

Sedona Windsock
Soap Tree Yucca*, Sedona Airport
Bloomed 6/17/23, 8:30 PM
28×22 Oil on Canvas

$4400

I like airports, especially the small-town variety. This probably stems from my dad’s love of aviation and our frequent visits to my hometown airport in Auburn, California as I was growing up. Here in Arizona, we have some very charming small airports. The Sedona Airport is probably the most picturesque. Perched atop Table Top Mesa and surrounded by red buttes, you just can’t beat it, especially at sunset.

After a warm June day of kayaking on the Verde River, we sat with an adult beverage on the edge of the runway watching small planes touch the tarmac, and we reminisced about Dad. I noticed a nearby yucca plant, its blooms gently ringing in the breeze. They reminded me of an aviation staple, the windsock.

New technology comes and goes, but good aviators still rely on the humble windsock to determine windspeed and direction. If it ain’t broke, no need to fix it.

As the sun lowered in the sky, these yucca blooms were waiting for another type of landing. According to the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum, “Biologists have only recently determined that almost every species of yucca has its own species of yucca moth; some yuccas have two moth species.”

It turns out yucca reproduction depends on moths, and moth reproduction depends on the yucca. The moth cross-pollinates and lays eggs on the pollinated ovary, where hatchlings can dine on the flowers.

As I savored the last pour of Page Springs wine, I thought I heard: “Moths, this is the tower. You are clear for landing; enjoy your stay in Sedona, where the temperature is a balmy 80 degrees and the sunsets are unbeatable.”

*Chemicals in the roots of some yucca species are used to make soap.

A very special rare cactus, no bigger than a quarter, and tracked by scent detection dogs and passionate botanists, south of the Grand Canyon. For comparison, the flower in the painting is no bigger than my “dh” signature in the bottom right corner of the painting.
With appreciation to Arizona Highways magazine, writer Noah Austin and photographer Eirini Pajak.
Please read more about these tiny gems below.

“Uncommon Scents” October 2024 Arizona Highways magazine

Prickly Pear Cactus Blooms

Just call me Dyana Bandana!

It’s time to make this practical accessory beautiful!
Inspired by Hesson’s paintings, these cotton bandanas are perfect for just about any use. Tie one around your neck, your hair, your wrist, your purse strap, your backpack. Wear it on the town or on the range, on the trail, or in the garden. You could even dress up your dinner table or picnic and use them as napkins. Dyana Bandanas are soft 100% cotton and the classic 23×23 inch size.

Machine wash, line dry and touch up with an iron if needed.

Ride into the sunset, beautifully.

$25 each, or buy 3 and choose free shipping* at check out.

*US only, out of country shoppers will receive a $10 shipping credit and will be invoiced the balance once we ship, thank you for understanding!

As seen in Phoenix Home and Garden  Magazine

Just call me Dyana Bandana!

It’s time to make this practical accessory beautiful!
Inspired by Hesson’s paintings, these cotton bandanas are perfect for just about any use. Tie one around your neck, your hair, your wrist, your purse strap, your backpack. Wear it on the town or on the range, on the trail, or in the garden. You could even dress up your dinner table or picnic and use them as napkins. Dyana Bandanas are soft 100% cotton and the classic 23×23 inch size.

Machine wash, line dry and touch up with an iron if needed.

Ride into the sunset, beautifully.

$25 each, or buy 3 and choose free shipping* at check out.

Watch for new designs coming soon!

*US only, out of country shoppers will receive a $10 shipping credit and will be invoiced the balance once we ship, thank you for understanding!

As Seen in Phoenix home and Garden Magazine

If there’s anything I’ve learned in my 36 years in the southwest, it’s how different the weather can be from one year to the next; and how quickly we forget, only focusing on the present state of things. Often, we have to be patient, for seasons to change, and for rain to come.

Wildflower seeds can remain dormant in the soil for years, enduring hot, dry conditions; but if we have a wet autumn, the seeds awaken, sprout, and blanket the desert floor with glorious color. Where fire has burned, where soil has been disrupted, they thrive almost miraculously.

In the spring of 2023, all the conditions had lined up for a tremendous blooming season.

All up and down the Bush highways near the Salt River there were fields of orange, purple and pink. People parked their cars and waded through the grasses to take family photos, twirl in the colors, and watch the wild horses eat their fill of colorful blooms.

If this happened every year, perhaps we would take it for granted. It’s a special occasion, worth the wait.

Buckhorn Cholla Blooms, Superstition Wilderness, AZ
Sunset
12×16 oil on canvas $1450 each

Available for purchase at Manitou Galleries, Santa Fe

Phone: (505) 986-0440

Sometimes in nature it’s hard to describe the colors we observe. Tropical fish on a diving trip, the bright glowing hues of a campfire, the last light of sunset. We stand before the gaudy displays dumbstruck, and ask ourselves “How can that be?”

The natural colors of the southwest can be excessively showy. Cowboys on ponies with red bandanas around their necks get a lot of attention in Western art, but the backdrop of their lives—the land, the skies and plants—take center stage in my work. They are the colorful characters I love to paint. They were plant species here long before the cowboy, that fed hungry settlers, and remain even as development gobbles up open space. And when the desert blooms, it’s worth paying attention to the show.

One of my favorite displays of color happens on the slopes of the Superstition Mountains in the spring; in particular, the blooms of the buckhorn cholla. The variations of colors are astounding. They can bloom in shades of yellow, gold, orange, pink, deep brick red, and everything in between.

They swirl together, bouncing off each other, glowing in the late day’s light. They are poetry, a western ballad, a remembrance, a spark. Legendary colors of the southwest, rippling in the wind.

$60 each

Limited supply, please indicate which block you’d like to order in the notes section, thank you!

(in person shopping at Western Spirit Museum Store, Scottsdale)

Add a pop of Arizona botanical color to any
décor. Dress up your table, windowsill, desktop or shelf
with a special edition Dyana Hesson Arizona Elevations print.
Created from Hesson’s paintings and crafted in Arizona,
these beautiful 5” x 5” prints glow behind an inch of acrylic glass.

Superstition Color, Cholla Blooms from the Superstition Mountains
SOLD OUT   A Good Landing, Butterfly weed from the Sierra Ancha Wilderness
Arizona Spin Cycle, Wildflowers from the White Mountains

or order all three!
$165 for the collection of three

Made in Arizona, USA.

What will you build with your blocks?

*This collection is called Arizona Elevations because each composition represents a different region of Arizona, from the desert to the Mountains.
Specifically 2200, 5500, and 7385 ft.

We have it all in Arizona!

Available at Manitou Gallery, Santa Fe

If there’s anything I’ve learned in my 36 years in the southwest, it’s how different the weather can be from one year to the next; and how quickly we forget, only focusing on the present state of things. Often, we have to be patient, for seasons to change, and for rain to come.
Wildflower seeds can remain dormant in the soil for years, enduring hot, dry conditions; but if we have a wet autumn, the seeds awaken, sprout, and blanket the desert floor with glorious color. Where fire has burned, where soil has been disrupted, they thrive almost miraculously.

In the spring of 2023, all the conditions had lined up for a tremendous blooming season.
All up and down the Bush Highway near the Salt River there were fields of orange, purple and pink. People parked their cars and waded through the grasses to take family photos, twirl in the colors, and watch the wild horses eat their fill of colorful blooms.
If this happened every year, perhaps we would take it for granted. It’s a special occasion, worth the wait.

12,800
I stalked this plant in the White Mountains of Arizona for many summers. I rarely saw it, and when I did the plentiful clusters of bright blue buds would be tightly closed.
Dang it.

Next year, same thing. And the next, and the next. This plant’s flowers only open fully when there is plenty of sun, and I was only seeing these beauties under cloudy conditions. Then in the summer of 2024, after a long day of hiking various trails in and out of pouring rain, the sun finally came out just before sunset. My friend and I pulled over to walk the West Baldy trail for a bit, and the beautifully saturated and sun-soaked forest yielded several gentian plants; all of them were fully open.

What a delight to finally see what had been concealed from me for so long. It felt like a friend finally telling me her deepest secret. Such a magnificent shade of blue, and so worth the wait. Your secret is safe with me.

There’s something about a mountain; I have looked up to them all my life (pun intended). I have walked around them, skied down them, scrambled up their faces. I have been breathless from lack of oxygen, while gaining perspective that is only possible when standing at a peak. Mountains are landmarks, a way to find your way.
For Martha Summerhayes, Bill Williams Mountain outside of Flagstaff was a companion during her hard journey through Arizona.
“For some days, Bill Williams was the predominating feature of the landscape; turn whichever way we might, still this purple mountain was before us. It seemed to pervade the entire country, and took on such wonderful pink colors at sunset. Bill Williams held me in thrall, until the hills and the valleys in the vicinity of Fort Whipple shut him out from my sight. But he seemed to have come into my life somehow, and in spite of his name, I loved him for the companionship he had given me during those long, hot, weary and interminable days.” *

She did not have the luxury of traveling to the top to see the view. There were not resources for such frivolity back then. But if she had, she might have noticed the abundance of firecracker penstemon bursting in bright red around every corner. In July they are in full bloom, attracting bees and butterflies. At the top, you can sit at the base of the fire tower and watch the monsoon clouds build in the distance.

There is a reason why we say “mountaintop experience.” It is a special feeling. Just ask the butterflies on old Bill Willians.

*Martha Summerhayes, “Vanished Arizona”, written about her journey through Arizona as an army wife from 1874 to 1878.

10×30
$2400

For years I’ve preferred the long way home from Tucson to Mesa, on the Pinal Pioneer Parkway. It’s a two-lane backroad through open land and a few ranches. There are lonely dirt roads you can pull off and explore, think, or just kick around some rocks.

On a spring day I looked west from this spot towards Picacho Peak, where hordes of people were frolicking in fields of poppies and lupine, and felt quite content with the stands of purple Globemallow at my feet.

Sometimes the longer route is better; sometimes less in more.

Tree Tobacco, Castle Creek, AZ
Bloomed Oct 27, 2020 2 PM

12×16 Oil on Canvas 2021

This painting was inspired by the landscape near Castle Hot Springs, Arizona. It is a place of collisions, juxtapositions, and unexpected discoveries. Hot water gushes from the ground to converge with arid land and create a unique Arizona oasis. Near the property, Castle Creek bubbles up through the desert floor and then sinks below the earth, like a dotted line on paper. The trail in this area is rich with life. Birds, butterflies, reptiles and plants all thrive in this riparian ecosystem.

It was here, during a stay at the legendary hot springs, that I encountered wild tree tobacco swaying in the breeze. A hummingbird had raced by overhead, and I was eager to see where she was headed. Tree tobacco (Nicotiana glauca) love the streams and riverbeds of Arizona. At the Salt River near where I live, the shrubs have taken over parts of the landscape, creating forests of blue-green foliage and the yummiest yellow blooms you will ever see. Don’t roll ‘em and smoke ‘em, though; the leaves, even in the smallest of doses, can be lethal.

But they are beautiful graceful plants; the hummingbirds adore them, and so do I.

40×50 Oil on canvas

As you gaze at a bouquet, do you ever pause to consider a flower’s purpose? Humans and pollinators are drawn to the allure of a bloom’s beauty, color, and fragrance. Ultimately, however, flowers are about survival.

In the Sonoran Desert of Arizona, we are lucky to dwell among the most intriguing and iconic cactus in the world; the saguaro. We hike through these sentinels, marvel at their heights, and crane our necks upward to see their blooms.

We love to share amazing facts about saguaros with visitors to our state, especially related to their age and growth: they can take up to five years to grow a few centimeters, they don’t grow arms until they’re fifty years old, and they can weigh up to 4800 pounds after a good rain.

Hopefully these facts help people understand how devastating disasters like the Bush Fire can be to our environment and to our human hearts. In June of 2020, this human-caused fire destroyed 186,000 acres of prime saguaro habitat in the Tonto National Forest. This area of rolling hills served as the perfect foreground to Four Peaks wilderness, and was a favorite view of mine. Saguaros that were 100 to 200 years old were obliterated just like that. I will not live long enough to see its regeneration.

After a very hot and dry spell in 2021, our state’s saguaros had a super bloom. Scientists believe that the cactuses knew they were in danger, so they focused their energy toward producing more flowers than normal for a typical year, giving every effort to attract pollinators for maximum reproduction. Simply put, no flowers, no seeds.

In my opinion, flowers in the wilderness are not to be taken for granted. They are barometers for environmental health. They are life, beauty, and inspiration; a simple yet complex design created for our enjoyment and existence.

Ever since I began painting 35 years ago, my calling has been striving to recreate God’s creation. Being in the wild equals joy for me. Hopefully that’s what you see when you view my work. It’s my higher calling.

Learn more about replanting burn areas: http://www.naturalrestorations.org/

Read more about saguaros: The Saguaro Cactus, A Natural History by Yetman, Burquez, Hultine and Sanderson 2020

$2400

It’s always exciting to see something for the first time. In 2023 on the Barnhardt Waterfall trail, I spotted a few Fritillaries (or Leopard Liles). I had never seen them before in Arizona and was delighted. I snapped photos, made some notes, and planned a trip back the following year at about the same time.

It was worth the wait. The following year, with plenty of autumn rain, there were more plants than the previous year. Randy and I had a great hike to the gushing waterfall at the top of the trail, and I began to plan the painting in my mind. Two years after the inspiration, the painting finally came to life. I chose to paint a tall, stately portrait of the plant, in tribute to the waterfall.

With good stewardship, we should see these beautiful plants year after year.

$4400

I was feeling restless on warm Arizona June day, so I got in the Jeep and drove to the mountains. I ended up on a four-wheel drive road outside of Payson, where I had once seen wild bluebells. I was hoping to find more of what delighted me in years past.

I saw no bluebells, so I parked and began to wander. There are interesting plants to find at this elevation (about 4600 feet), so remained hopeful. I kept my eyes to the ground and said a little prayer. On this day, I just needed something special.

Just then, a pop of pink appeared at my feet; I’m glad I did not step on it. Glowing under the pines was the wonderfully bright and endangered bloom of the Arizona spinystar. The U.S. Forest service says of this cactus: “Imagine a group of whitish tennis balls with spines.” Awarded endangered status in 1996 in Minnesota, this variety has suffered at the hands of those who harvest it for their own gardens and propagation, leaving the wild less wild.

The spinystar was probably one of the many plants surveyed by Meriwether Lewis and William Clark on the Corps of Discovery Expedition from 1804-1806. Can you imagine seeing so many things for the first time? What a journey; what history.

On this day, I was so happy to see this little guy in the wild western landscape; thriving, colorful, unique. I’ll go looking for it again in the years to come. With any luck, there will be more, not less.

In Memory of Donald Walker 3/18/1929 – 6/4/2019

Wounds have a negative connotation and imperfection is underrated. But the fact is, if you can endure hardships, something beautiful can result.

In the desert, a fun thing to watch for are abnormalities in opuntia pads that form heart shapes. If the prickly pear is a spined variety, and the light is low, the heart shape can be undeniable.

I have snapped photos of these beautiful heart discoveries over the years, but never have I seen one blooming quite like this.

Today is Valentine’s Day and also Arizona’s birthday, celebrating 113 years of statehood. We were the 48th state to join the United States.

These blooms were spotted last spring in the Superstition wilderness, just as the sun was setting. What can I say? I love cactus, and I love Arizona.

$165 for the collection of three

limited supply (in person shopping at Western Spirit Museum Store, Scottsdale)

Add a pop of Arizona botanical color to any
décor. Dress up your table, windowsill, desktop or shelf
with a special edition Dyana Hesson Arizona Elevations print.
Created from Hesson’s paintings and crafted in Arizona,
these beautiful 5” x 5” prints glow behind an inch of acrylic glass.

Superstition Color, Cholla Blooms from the Superstition Mountains
A Good Landing, Butterfly weed from the Sierra Ancha Wilderness
Arizona Spin Cycle, Wildflowers from the White Mountains

Made in Arizona, USA.

What will you build with your blocks?

*This collection is called Arizona Elevations because each composition represents a different region of Arizona, from the desert to the Mountains.
Specifically 2200, 5500, and 7385 ft.

We have it all in Arizona!

Beavertail cactuses are like the daffodils of the southwest. The magenta blooms of beavertail can be seen glowing in the Arizona sun as early as February or March, long before other prickly pear, cholla cactus, or saguaros blooms.

Named for the shape of their pads, this cactus lacks the spines of its relatives, and instead has tiny glochids (which are just as painful). Its berries or “tunas” are edible, along with the pads, and are said to stabilize blood sugar.

This beavertail bloomed on my birthday in one of my favorite Arizona locations, Lees Ferry. Its intensely colored petals glowed like lit candles on a cake, and as the sun set, I thanked God for another year.

Scarlett Flame Flower, Dominical, Costa Rica”

30×60 oil on canvas.

Bloomed 1/16/24 11:30 am

Inspired by my time at Casa Amigos in Dominical, Costa Rica

$4400.00

Not everyone has a big backyard. But in Arizona, no matter where you live, open space is not far away. In my neighborhood near the Salt River, there is a patch of open space that I have been exploring regularly since 1996.

After a long day in the studio, I venture out through the washes and up the hills. Often, I stay until sunset. Thinking is easier out here; my mind clears and ideas flow.

The desert never looks the same way twice. In late summer after monsoon storms there can be mounds of white Datura blooms, but not every year. One season there were lupine blooming where I’d never even seen the plants.  Some years the cholla cactus blooms are plentiful, some years not.

Chuparosa are not that temperamental. They are ever-present in the washes, and have adapted by dropping their leaves in hot summer months so the stems can keep making food. Their crimson flowers vibrate with color, attracting hummingbirds with very little effort. And if you find yourself hungry in the desert, you can eat the flowers too; they taste a little like cucumbers.

So I visit my crimson friends often, and I linger to enjoy the last light, the quail song, and the cool air that rises from the wash. The Sonoran Desert is a big, beautiful, diverse backyard for us all to enjoy and protect.

I’m not sure when I painted my first agave. I have always been attracted to their strong, stately structure. It’s a treat to see a mature plant send its florescence skyward, marking the end of its days and the beginning of new life.

In my own yard, this is an annual occurrence. It started with a single plant given to me by a neighbor years ago. We now have 30 or more agave in various stages of life throughout our property. Just this week, two of my plants have sent a stalk skyward. If you sat vigil, I’m convinced you could actually watch them grow several inches a day.

I spotted this agave in the wild on a spring day on the Mogollon Rim of Arizona. I was on my way to hike a mountain stream with a friend. The Jeep came a screeching stop.

There she stood. Brave, proud and unyielding, giving every last bit of energy to reproducing.

Nearby was a large patch of Palmer’s penstemon; the tallest, most fragrant penstemon in Arizona. The large bumblebee-sized blooms were proudly swaying in the morning air.

It seemed like a natural pairing, to paint these showy plants together. Their colors complimented each other, and I loved the contrast of the large frilly blooms against the heavy stalk.

It’s my tribute to life in the west; enduring the seasons, embracing adversity, and standing tall in beauty.

-dh

New Years, 2025

Fringed Redmaids, Silver King Mine and Apache Leap, Superior, AZ
28×22 Oil on Canvas
Bloomed 3-12-23 3:30 PM

$4400

A friend came to visit, and I dragged her and her family to a site I hadn’t explored before near Superior. I was hoping we would find poppies blooming, but it was too early in the season.
We climbed a rise to get a better look at the Apache Leap cliffs and the rolling hills.

Just east of where we stood, beneath Kings Crown Peak in Comstock Wash was the site of the richest silver mine in Arizona, producing $42 million worth of silver ore between 1875 and 1900.

In 1870, General George Stoneman ordered the construction of a road from Camp Picketpost to the Pinal Mountains. A soldier named Sullivan, who was working on the road, found some heavy black rocks which he showed to a rancher named Charles Mason. Mason and some companions went looking for the source of the rocks after Sullivan died. The group was attacked by Apaches; one man died and was buried near Stoneman’s grade. The group’s mule strayed during the burial and when they went looking for it, they found the silver rich outcropping with Sullivan’s markings.

But enough about silver; what was the pink and bright green carpet at our feet?  Spead this way and that were bight and pale pink fringed redmaids. Small, yes, but mighty; a bright and cheery foreground to the landscape beyond. I don’t suppose the miners paid much attention to their beauty back then; they probably trampled over them on the way to the mine. But the plants are edible; maybe they snacked on them?

There is always something wonderful to discover the in desert, be it silver or pink.
And I did bring home a mighty dark rock too. It was a lucky day.

On Exhibit and for sale at Cowgirl Up at the Desert Caballero Museum, March 22, 2024

Sometimes in nature it’s hard to describe the colors we observe. Tropical fish on a diving trip, the bright glowing hues of a campfire, the last light of sunset. We stand before the gaudy displays dumbstruck, and ask ourselves “How can that be?”

The natural colors of the southwest can be excessively showy. Cowboys on ponies with red bandanas around their necks get a lot of attention in Western art, but the backdrop of their lives—the land, the skies and plants—take center stage in my work. They are the colorful characters I love to paint. There were plant species here long before the cowboy that fed hungry settlers, and remain even as development gobbles up open space. And when the desert blooms, it’s worth paying attention to the show.

One of my favorite displays of color happens on the slopes of the Superstition Mountains in the spring; in particular, the blooms of the buckhorn cholla. The variations of colors are astounding. They can bloom in shades of yellow, gold, orange, pink, deep brick red, and everything in between.

How would you describe the color of these blooms? Fuchsia? Orchid? Purple? I see all three, swirled together, bouncing off each other, glowing in the late day’s light. They are poetry, a western ballad, a remembrance, a spark. Legendary colors of the southwest, rippling in the wind.

Adventurers have passed this view for centuries. Mormon lake is thirty miles south of Flagstaff along one of my favorite roadways in Arizona. It’s the largest natural lake in the state, and it’s about four miles wide by seven miles long when it’s full (but it’s rarely full).

I first came here in the late 80’s to camp. Our neighbors had a beautiful black labrador who was involved in field trials at the lake, which were fun to watch, so we went along. I was still new to Arizona. I kept looking for the actual lake, but all I saw was marsh. Evidence of the lake was everywhere, though. There was a small town along the banks with a lodge and restaurant built originally in 1924 for loggers and ranchers. There were small cabins along what looked like the shore; but again, there was no water. There was also a road that circled the lake that we rode our bikes around, but no lake view.

Eventually I would learn that the lake doesn’t hold water because it’s shallow and there is no constant flow of water; it’s only fed by runoff. But full or not, it’s home to an abundance of wildlife, including blue herons, osprey, bald eagles and elk.

On this June day, the lake was full. Winter snowfall and spring rain made all things possible. We had been out exploring for the day and pulled off to look. Many locals and visitors were marveling at the lake level. There were large herds of elk wading in the water, and the wild irises were blooming near the shore and along the road.

I closed my eyes and imagined what Martha Summerhayes thought when she passed by here in 1874. She had been on a long journey with her army husband, from San Francisco around Baja, California, on a steam boat UP the Colorado river, and then overland to Prescott. She was headed for Fort Apache. She had been hot and tired for months. Twenty miles from here she camped at Stoneman, the only other natural lake in Arizona. Also fed by runoff, it must have been such a sight. In her book, “Vanished Arizona”, she writes:

“Our camp was beautiful beyond description, and lay near the edge of a mesa, whence we could look down upon a lovely lake. It was a complete surprise to us as points of scenery were not much known or talked about then in Arizona. Ponds and lakes were unheard of. They did not seem to exist in that drear land of arid wastes. We never heard of water except that of the Colorado or the Gila, or the rivers or the tanks and basins, and irrigation ditches of the settlers. But here was a real Italian lake, a lake as blue as the skies above us. We feasted our eyes and our very souls upon it.”

What a pleasure to see this special Arizona Lake in all its glory, and wild Irises swaying the breeze in the last light of the day.

Desert Bluebells, Home, AZ

20×16 Limited edition print on canvas

edition of 50

Home has taken on new meaning in recent days. Contentment is a daily exercise, and rightly so, as contentment produces gratitude. For me, I have a renewed appreciation for what I have, almost to the point of giddy delight. For example, desert bluebells and sunsets.

My wildflower garden has been hit or miss over the years. One spring, just as little beauties were sprouting, my patch of wild ground was mistaken for weeds by diligent yard keepers and accidentally annihilated with weed control. Some years I have nothing but clover, which smells great but has no showy flowers. But this year, for whatever reason, the blue bell seeds that were dormant in other years had the perfect conditions to grow and bloom. I look down in long shadows of late day, and the flowers seem to glow an electric blue.

And I look up at an Arizona sky at sunset. There’s nothing more beautiful. Like God Himself saying, “It’s going to be alright,” and it is.  Now that feels like home.

Allow three weeks from order date.

In the interest of good customer service, if you are local in Arizona and would like to save on shipping costs, please write a note for us when you order. You can arrange to pick up your work at Altamira Gallery in Scottsdale, and I’ll refund your shipping costs.

This Limited Edition print comes ready to hang and is hand signed and numbered by the artist. The piece is suitable for framing, but is not necessary. Do you have questions about this item? Please contact info@DyanaHesson.com

Red dirt on my knees,
and Dad asks me why.

I was out playing,
Sun got in my eye.

“Well, pick up your paint brush,
And give it a try.”

But what should I paint, Dad?
“Just paint the sky.”

Allow three weeks from order date.

In the interest of good customer service, if you are local in Arizona and would like to save on shipping costs, please write a note for us when you order. You can arrange to pick up your work at Altamira Gallery in Scottsdale, and I’ll refund your shipping costs.

This Limited Edition print comes ready to hang and is hand signed and numbered by the artist. The piece is suitable for framing, but is not necessary. Do you have questions about this item? Please contact info@DyanaHesson.com

Cholla Cactus Blooms

Just call me Dyana Bandana!

It’s time to make this practical accessory beautiful!
Inspired by Hesson’s paintings, these cotton bandanas are perfect for just about any use. Tie one around your neck, your hair, your wrist, your purse strap, your backpack. Wear it on the town or on the range, on the trail, or in the garden. You could even dress up your dinner table or picnic and use them as napkins. Dyana Bandanas are soft 100% cotton and the classic 23×23 inch size.

Machine wash, line dry and touch up with an iron if needed.

Ride into the sunset, beautifully.

$25 each, or buy 3 and choose free shipping* at check out.

*US only, out of country shoppers will receive a $10 shipping credit and will be invoiced the balance once we ship, thank you for understanding!

As seen in Phoenix Home and Garden  Magazine

When you are walking in the desert, do you ever wonder who might have walked along the same path in the past?

Hibiscus Coulteri was named for Irish Botanist Dr. Thomas Coulter, reportedly the first botanist to collect in Arizona. Coulteri earned a medical degree in Dublin and studied botany in Geneva. In 1832 he travelled to Mexico to be a physician for the Real de Monet Mining company, and began studying and collecting on a journey “from Monterey to the Colorado River.” It is said his collection contained over 50,000 species, representing between 1500 and 200 species. He founded the herbarium at Trinity College, Dublin.

On the other hand, I hiked, swam in a waterfall, took hundreds of photos in the beautiful Catalina foothills of Tucson, then painted this beautiful flower. To me it looked like two cups of lemon sherbert.
I think Dr. Coulteri would approve.

20×20 oil on canvas

Organ Pipe National Park in Ajo, Arizona is the only place in the United States where these catus grow. If you want to see them bloom, visit at dawn in early summer. The blooms are not as large as Saguaro’s, but they are not as lofty either. Many times, the blooms will be at eye level, such as this one.  Plants are usually 35 years old before they have their first blooms and are pollinated by the long nosed bat which migrates from Mexico.

Historically, people have been exploring what is now southern Arizona for hundreds of years, for hundreds of reasons. But it was the European pioneers who gave the Organ Pipe catus its common name. Apparently, its skeleton reminded them of the musical instruments they had seen in their past lives. Humans do that, in an effort to understand something new, we compare it to something we once knew. To the O’odham people, the Organ Pipe cactus has been a part of life for generations. The appearance of fruit meant harvest time, which was a community ritual that resulted in delicious jam or wine, that they shared with hungry pioneers.

What a strange land Arizona must have been to most Pioneers. They were dreaming of a big life in the west. They probably never dreamed they would eat fruit from a cactus. How sweet that must have tasted.

Can a cactus be famous? This one is, so much so that her common name is Queen of the Night. This cactus can be hard to find, and is often overlooked because it resembles a pile of dead sticks hiding under another shrub.
Supporting an underground blub weighing between 5-15 pounds, this plant flushes (blooms en masse) only once between May and August in a good year. Its beautiful fragrance attracts its special pollinator, the hawk moth. When the sun rises, the grand nocturnal event, like a royal ball, is over–just a memory.
Like so many wild plants, miraculous events need to line up to support its existence.
Tread lightly, keep your eyes open, and if you see the Queen, curtsy and enjoy the sight. You are in the presence of royalty.
This painting was inspired by the observations of Veronika Countryman and Marianne Skov Jensen.

Available at Manitou Gallery in Santa Fe

In the Southwest we are blessed by the beauty of many varieties of opuntia (or prickly pear), some native, some introduced. One of my favorite plants is the Chenille Prickly Pear. While in bloom, its flowers range from yellow to crimson on the same plant. But don’t get too close; also nicknamed Cowboy’s Red Whiskers, this plant is deceptively prickly due to its dense clusters of glochids (or microspines), which are painful and hard to remove.

These plants are most at home in the Monterrey region of Mexico and along the Rio Grand in Texas, but they are a favorite cactus in many southwest gardens, including mine. On this day, their colors looked as if they were dancing, twirling and spinning like ladies in their finest at a fiesta.

While hiking in the Mazatzals after a very rainy season, I was delighted to discover flowering bitterroot.
The bitterroot was named Lewisia rediviva after Meriwether Lewis, who collected the plant on July 1st, 1806 at Traveler’s Rest in Lolo, Montana. Traditionally, the Blackfeet tribe would gather and boil the roots for healing the digestive and respiratory systems. It is believed the healing ability of the bitterroot is most potent around the New Year, which is traditionally celebrated by the tribe at the first clap of thunder during the first rainstorm.
Lewis boiled the roots, ate them, and found them bitter, hence the common name.
“Today, the bitterroot is the floral emblem of Montana as well as the source of several of Montana’s place names: Bitterroot Mountains, Bitterroot Valley, and Bitterroot River. The species name “rediviva” is derived from the Latin word relating to revival from dryness. Seeds from the bitterroot plant can survive for years until favorable conditions are found to sprout.” *
I have not seen it blooming since, but I know it’s there waiting, just under the soil.
*lewisandclark.org

Bloomed 4-24-23 6:40pm
48×36 oil on canvas

$12,600

Nothing Gold can Stay
Robert Frost 1874-1963

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

20×20 Oil on Canvas

A rugged eleven-mile hike from the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, or 134 miles on a raft from Lee’s Ferry, is the confluence of Tapeats Creek and the Colorado River. Water from Thunder River begins as a gush out of the Redwall Limestone and cascades 1,200 feet, where it meets the spring-fed Tapeats Creek. The creek flows year-round and supports canyon tree frogs, ferns, and fish; and on day five of our 2022 river rafting trip, it was the perfect picnic lunch site.

As our crew secured the boats and began setting up for lunch, I got busy exploring the creek. It was lush with vegetation, and the water was a clear window to the polished stones and polliwogs below. Pops of scarlet red began to appear along the banks, and I sloshed through the water to get a closer look. Scarlet Monkey flowers are not rare; in fact, they grow along the miners’ canals in my home town of Auburn, California. But here in the middle of nowhere they seemed pretty special, their color vibrating against the canyon walls and foaming water. I stored the moments away in my memories, and two years later I painted the scene.

It was Memorial Day weekend on the Colorado River. We were far from crowds, and there was no parade, but it was definitely a red, white and blue memorable day.

(Opuntia Macrocentra)

36×48 oil on canvas 2024

The land in southeastern Arizona is beautifully diverse and colorful. There are green cotton fields along the Gila River, dusty rose desert slopes near Duncan, and patinaed earth from copper mines near Morency. It’s where the San Francisco River gushes after monsoon rains and the Coronado trail winds, 460 times, from the desert floor to the thick pines near Hannagan Meadow.  The contrasts are beautiful, to say the least.

Here, the purple Long Spined Prickly Pear thrives. This opuntia is full of contrasts, too: its pads range from green to purple, its pale pink buds burst into crimson and bright yellow blooms, and its unusually long spines range from dark navy to chalky blue.

As is the case with so many of Arizona native blooms, this small opuntia is also resilient. Despite harsh summers and little rain, it thrives, bursting forth with blooms that support pollinators and fruit for wildlife. This beauty was not only surviving but thriving, serving as an example to us all.

Resilience, Prickly pear

Along Arizona’s highways right now there are ribbons of orange, purple and yellow.
But sometimes, there are rare finds. Like these multi colored poppies on the side of the road near Wickenburg.
Sometimes it’s not a trek into the wilderness, but a keen eye and a quick u-turn that leads to Arizona botanical bliss.
Available on March 23, at Saturday’s miniature sale and Cowgirl Up!

Just call me Dyana Bandana!

It’s time to make this practical accessory beautiful!
Inspired by Hesson’s paintings, these cotton bandanas are perfect for just about any use. Tie one around your neck, your hair, your wrist, your purse strap, your backpack. Wear it on the town or on the range, on the trail, or in the garden. You could even dress up your dinner table or picnic and use them as napkins. Dyana Bandanas are soft 100% cotton and the classic 23×23 inch size.

Machine wash, line dry and touch up with an iron if needed.

Ride into the sunset, beautifully.

$25 each, or buy 3 and choose free shipping* at check out.

Watch for new designs coming soon!

As Seen in Phoenix Home and Garden Magazine

*US only, out of country shoppers will receive a $10 shipping credit and will be invoiced the balance once we ship, thank you for understanding!

The Queen of the Foothills – Engelmann’s Hedgehog Cactus, Santa Catalina Mountains, April 19, 2023 11:00 AM
30×40 Oil on Canvas
$8800

Some southwestern blooms are subtle, but hedgehog cactus blooms are anything but. In the springtime, on desert slopes in full sun, every part of this plant glows. Their spines create shade to protect their stems and warn predators to stay away, but they also radiate light in shades of amber and silver blues.

On this day, on the slopes of the Santa Catalina range outside of Tucson, it appeared as though a queen had discarded her ruby crown in the desert as she traveled through the strange and exotic land. Maybe she fell in love with Arizona and decided she’d rather be a cowgirl, trading jewels for chaps, silk for bandanas, and a castle for wide open spaces.

Sounds like my kind of gal.

$4400

In the summer of 2022 it rained, and it rained a lot. The hills near South Fork were verdant green and covered with flowers. Several fields near the river looked as if they had been planted, but they were wild. According to some sources, wild Cosmos in Arizona “is never observed in large numbers,” yet here I was, observing it.

This area of Arizona is dominated by the Springerville Volcanic Field, which consists of 405 discrete vents over 3000 square miles. It is the third largest such field in the United States, where rolling hills of grassland collide with pine-covered mountains. It is also where craggy cliffs lift above watersheds, creating inhospitable-looking formations. However, the Mogollon Culture creatively used these formations to their advantage, building villages and garden terraces; Casa Malpais being the largest example.

It is thought that Spanish priests named Cosmos flowers for the Greek meaning of the word because they thought the structure of the petals displayed the harmony of the universe. The ground erupts, and beauty follows, beauty from ashes.

$12,600

Southern Arizona is pretty special. The elevation is a little higher, the big city is far away, and rolling golden hills spread this way that that until they are interrupted by sky islands–dramatic rises in elevation, where alpine environments thrive within a short distance of the desert landscape.

Near the historic town of Patagonia is Patagonia Lake. Like most Arizona Lakes, it is a man-made reservoir, created by the damming of Sonoita Creek, a tributary to the Santa Cruz River. Here, the hills are dotted with a yucca variety not common in other parts of Arizona. They ring like bells in the breeze and glow in the afternoon light.

One afternoon in April, while observing these marvelous blooms and the shimmering light on the water, I spotted several teenage boys considering a jump off the lake bank into the water. They were egging each other on, chattering.

The mom in me wanted to warn them of the danger of the jump. But really it didn’t look too bad, and if I was their age, I would have joined them in an instant. The best part of the scene was that there was not a cell phone in sight. Just boys being boys on a warm Arizona day. The whole scene made me smile, and I knew I would paint it.

Butterfly Weed and Acmon Blue Butterfly
Sierra Ancha Wilderness
Bloomed 7.2.23  2pm
22×28 oil on canvas

$4400

One of my favorite National Scenic Byways is Arizona State Route 260, better known as the Desert to Tall Pines Scenic Road or the Young Highway. I like driving it from south to north.  In a day’s drive, I can enjoy everything I love about Arizona.  You begin with beautiful views of Roosevelt Lake, deep canyons, stands of saguaro and ocotillo. As you travel north and up in elevation, you quickly leave the desert and enter ponderosa pines, cool streams and grasslands. Along they way there is treasure to find. Indian paintbrush, yucca blooms, and on this day, the bright pop of Butterfly Weed.  I don’t see these very often in Arizona so this was a treat. Evidently the Butterfly thought so too, she landed lightly and stayed a while, as it should be.

Just a fun note, this milkweed has no milky sap, the thick tuberous root was once used as a cure for pleurisy.

15×20 Limited edition Print on Canvas
edition of 50

Inspired by my springtime morning  rounds in my Mesa neighborhood, where new discoveries are always a delight.

Allow three weeks from order date.

HOLIDAY ORDERS: Please order by November 26th to ensure the best chances of receiving your print by Christmas, whether picking up locally, or shipping out of state.

In the interest of good customer service, if you are local in Arizona and would like to save on shipping costs, please write a note for us when you order. You can arrange to pick up your work at Altamira Gallery in Scottsdale, and I’ll refund your shipping costs.

This Limited Edition print comes ready to hang and is hand signed and numbered by the artist. The piece is suitable for framing, but is not necessary. Do you have questions about this item? Please contact info@DyanaHesson.com

“June! The rich, thick, amber light, like a transparent reflection from some intense golden medium, seemed to float through the warm air. The sky became an azure blue. In the still noontides, when the bees hummed drowsily and the flies buzzed, vast creamy- white columnar clouds rolled up from the horizon, like colossal ships with bulging sails. And summer with its rush of growing things was at hand.”

-Chapter 11, Call of the Canyon, Zane Grey

Allow three weeks from order date.

HOLIDAY ORDERS: Please order by November 26th to ensure the best chances of receiving your print by Christmas, whether picking up locally, or shipping out of state.

In the interest of good customer service, if you are local in Arizona and would like to save on shipping costs, please write a note for us when you order. You can arrange to pick up your work at Altamira Gallery in Scottsdale, and I’ll refund your shipping costs.

This Limited Edition print comes ready to hang and is hand signed and numbered by the artist. The piece is suitable for framing, but is not necessary. Do you have questions about this item? Please contact info@DyanaHesson.com

Party of Three, Fields of Green and Old Gate, White Mountains, AZ
9×12 oil on canvas SOLD
$900

Party of Three, Mountain Dandelion, White Mountains, AZ   SOLD
9×12 oil on canvas
$90

Time and Place Series, August 20, 2022 11:07 am

Come closer, said the view,
I have more to show you.
Walk towards me, said the flower, I’m brighter than I seem.
Listen carefully, said the Bluebird,
for my song will lift you,
And your heart will be content as you wander down the stream.
-dh

22×28 original oil on canvas
$4000

August is a special time in the high elevations of Arizona’s White Maintains. In years of plentiful rain, the grasslands burst with colorful wildflowers, that sway in the breeze and soak up the last bit of warmth before autumn sets in.

It was the last day of our annual visit to the X Diamond Ranch on the banks of the Little Colorado River. As is often the case with me, I just needed to explore one more place.  Randy and I walked the large expanse of grassy plateau and I could hear the rush of swollen waters racing towards the Grand Canyon below us. I thought about who had walked this ground before me. Native Indians, settlers, ranchers, wanderers.

Then, I saw yellow; Stoneseed flowers moving slightly in the tall grass, as if dancing one last dance, before the cold of winter.

I close my eyes and I can see, smell, and hear the time and place again.

20×20 oil on canvas

Original Oil on canvas $3500

In Jackson, Wyoming, the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone are impressive; but frankly, I like the little towns of Thayne, Afton, and the community of Star Valley the best. There is so much to explore. This year our visit was just as the leaves were turning and the cool temperatures of Autumn were settling in; perfect hiking weather.

There are three canyons that lead from Star Valley Ranch into the Bridger Teton National Forest. My favorite canyon trail follows Cedar Creek through a steep passage, eventually leading to high elevation lakes and meadows; but I’ve never seen them. In the past, fear of bears, lack of daylight, or time have turned my hiking party around before we go that far. That’s OK; on this Autumn day, we had a merry time and no one got eaten.

The light was glorious on this day, and I was happily enthralled by the changing leaves and the last bit of summer wildflowers blooming on the forest floor. Maybe next time we will make it to that lake? No matter, every day is a good day.

Sego Lilies, False Garlic and Lemmon’s Butterweed, Mazatzal Mountains, AZ

4-14-23  4:30pm

40 X 30 oil on canvas

Some days are near perfect. Warm sun, cool air, a hike to a waterfall, feet in the creek and flowers literally everywhere. This day lives on in my memory, and on the canvas, and for that I am grateful.

40×30 Oil on Canvas ©2024 Private Collection*

Some things really are a labor of love…

Way down south in Arizona lives a rare wildflower called the Arizona Blue Star.

We happened upon it while exploring near Patagonia, Arizona late in the day on April 22, 2023. We had just finished some tricky driving (at one point we had to drive backwards down a steep, narrow grade because there was no place to turn around) and had stopped to rest in the sandy wash. My eyes were darting around the landscape looking for color when I noticed them; tall, star-shaped, white and lilac flowers swaying in the breeze.

In all my exploring, I had never seen such bloom. When I got home, I researched this special plant and found out how rare it was. It’s only been found here and in one canyon in Sonora.

This plant is rated G2 “imperiled” which means it’s at high risk of extinction or elimination due to restricted range, few populations or occurrences, steep declines, severe threats, or other factors.

Seeing something for the first time is pretty special; capturing the moment on canvas, a challenge. But the Arizona Blue Stars lined up, so to speak. My collector Steve was looking for a special way to celebrate his wife, who loves southern Arizona. I shared my excitement for this plant and told him “I love the idea of a bouquet in the sky, as if held by a bride as she walks down the aisle.” Steve wrote back, “Coincidentally, we were married 34 years to the day of the photo. She held her bridal bouquet as she walked down the aisle under the swords of an Airforce Honor Guard.”

A long marriage, like the Arizona Blue Star, is rare. Golly, I love the west. Cheers Steve and Colleen!

*on display at “Wild Arizona” Sonoran Desert Museum, Opening 10-3-2025

From the Time and Place Series

As is always the case, there’s so much that I want to paint, and simply not enough time. I charge ahead, trying to capture the moments that have struck me between the eyes, small and large; trying with all my ability to capture what captivates me, hoping that it will captivate you. Striving in the midst of work and busyness just take a moment to be.

The title for this show, time and place came to me as a way of representing what I so desperately seek to capture. When you are invited to an event, it’s a one-time thing.
Time: 10 AM
Place: The Holy Chapel

If you miss it, the bride and groom have gone, the sun has set, conversations have ended, the flowers have withered.

So, I’ve gathered some favorite events and put them on canvas.

I hope you’ll take the time to stop, and look, and appreciate a beautiful fleeting moment.

Recent Commission

2023- Commission

There is a reason why photographers love the moment just before the sun sinks into the western horizon. The aesthetics are ideal; warm light bounces around and through vegetation and the landscape, which only hours ago lacked definition in the bright sun, begins to yield to more subtle, dreamy hues like blues and purples.

This is my favorite time of day to visit the Superstition Mountains in the springtime. The late-day light aids in the location of cactus blooms, like spotlights focused on actors on a darkening stage.

I love this time of day not only for the light and shadows, but also for the way it makes me feel. It is happy hour after all. The day is spent, whether good or bad, and it’s time to relax and take note of the setting sun, and raise a toast the day’s end.

This native Arizona plant, the Opuntia Engelmannii, is prolific out here. Its shades of yellow can vary from plant to plant, ranging from bright yellow to butterscotch. On this late April day, I observed some beautiful blush and apricot hues dancing in the petals and I knew it would make a beautiful painting.  The blooms were hanging low on the branch so I crouched down, first checking for rattlesnakes that could be underfoot. It was all clear, and all was as it should be. The classic end to the perfect Arizona day. Cheers Arizona, stay golden.

Brittlebush over Camelback Mountain, AZ

60×30 Oil on Canvas

There are so many things that are iconic about Arizona; sunsets, saguaros, and the howl of a coyote at day’s end. But if you’ve spent any time in the more populated cities of Scottsdale or Phoenix you’ve undoubtedly seen one of our most famous icons; a mountain named for a resting camel. It’s lovely from all angles, and its visibility aids in navigation. From my home, Camelback’s hindquarters are a stately set of pyramids that appear deep blue at sunset. From the south, the camel gazes towards the west, and homes climb its slopes as hikers march along its back. But perhaps the loveliest view of Camelback can be seen from the southern slope of Mummy Mountain to the north.

From this vista, you have a great view of Paradise Valley. You can almost imagine the large plots of farmland that were irrigated here in the early 1900’s, courtesy of redwood flumes carrying water from the Verde River. Over the years, the early ranches and estates gave way to resorts and homes, but the beauty and charm of this valley remains.

The Camel is not going anywhere, and neither are the flowers. Long before ranchers and farmers and water flumes, the brittlebush bloomed. Native Americans counted on it. It was used to treat headaches, joint pain and wounds. The stems were utilized to produce a clear resin used for glue. Even following a dry winter, you can count on the sunny yellow brittlebush flowers to grace Arizona slopes and washes. *

On this sunny April day, it was all as it should be. After heavy winter rains, the air was clean and the happy yellow flowers were swaying in the breeze. Camelback looked sleepy, as he always does, and in the distance, I’m sure I heard a coyote howl.

* “The hairs on the brittlebush plant serve several purposes. Many desert plants have hairy leaves or stems. The hairs act like a blanket over the leaves to protect them from the heat and cold. The white color reflects the sunlight helping to keep the plant cool. They also help trap any moisture and reduce the amount of water lost.” – Arizona Sonoran Desert Museum

The Gathering, Sego Lilies and Agave, Mazatzal Wilderness, AZ

48×36 Oil on Canvas

In the Spring of 2023, after a long season of production in the studio and a successful gallery show, I happily headed into the Arizona wilderness to refresh and regroup. I intended to “not work” that day and just enjoy my hiking friends and the waterfall at the end of the trail. However, God’s spring bounty would not be ignored. There was so much blooming that after my hiking companions drove away, I stayed behind for hours; wandering the grassy slopes and photographing the many blooms and agaves that love this terrain as much as I do.

With most of our food coming from grocery stores these days, we forget that early people and pioneers had to go in search for their sustenance. You ate what you could grow, and when you couldn’t grow anything, you ate what you could gather.

In the history of the west, the sego lily was a pretty sight, but it was also food. The bulb of the sego lily was harvested, boiled and eaten. Because the bulbs are no larger than a marble, I doubt anyone pushed away from the table feeling full; but still, the pioneers were thankful to have the nutrition that sego lilies provided. If you were a hardy pioneer and wanted to boast about your suffering, you might even call yourself a “bulb eater.”

On this Arizona spring day, I was happy to have enough water and snacks in my pack not to have to harvest any lilies for eating, but I did gather a bunch of them to photograph with the majestic agave growing nearby. As the sun set behind the Mazatzals I reflected on all those who came before me, walked this land, and dreamed their dreams of life in the west.

Commission

“Plant a garden in which you can sit when digging days are done. It may be only a small garden, but you will see it grow. Year by year it will bloom and ripen. Year by year, it will be better cultivated. The weeds will be cast out. The fruit trees will be pruned and trained. The flowers will bloom in more beautiful combinations. There will be sunshine there, even in the winter time, and cool shade, and the play of shadow, on the pathway in the shining days of June.”

-Painting as a Pastime” by Winston S. Churchill

Sometimes inspiration is nearby, in the backyard, at sunset, during the super-bloom of 2023.

For purchase information, Please contact  beverly@bonnerdavid.com

28×22 Oil on Canvas

(this Painting will be a part of the Cowgirl Up exhibit and sale, March 31st, 2022. Please contact cowgirlup@westernmuseum.org to purchase)

From the Time and Place series

This was my first time visiting Kinishba Ruins near Fort Apache Historic Park. Having recently read Craig Child’s “House of Rain” and Martha Summerhayes’ “Vanished Arizona”, which both describe this historic area of Arizona, I was excited to walk this land and imagine the activity that once filled this 600-room pueblo.

Constructed around 1250 A. D. by the pre-Colombian Mogollon culture, there were supposedly 1000 occupants doing life here; having meals, celebrating, grieving losses, arguing, laughing, resting.

As I walked carefully around the sandstone walls, I began to see plant life that interested me. Specifically, the silverleaf nightshade.

These star-shaped purple blooming plants are common, but complicated. They are showy with yellow stamens and fruit, have beautiful silvery foliage, reseed easily, and are drought-tolerant. They are also prickly, and entirely toxic.
Most tribes who have inhabited this area have used nightshade for various purposes. In my research, I learned that the medicine men would chew the root and treat rattlesnake bites.
But maybe on an afternoon this this, the children of the pueblo would do what I did as a kid. Maybe they would gather a bunch for their mom. And maybe they would lay on their backs and watch the clouds. And maybe, when the sun sank and the skies turned from cerulean to indigo, they would watch the stars come out.
I bet they did.
-dh

from the Time and Place series

oil on canvas        40×50        $16000

What do you remember about the places you visit? What stands out to you the most? When you return to your favorite places, where do you like to visit? Maybe it’s a favorite restaurant, a shop, or a stretch of beach. For me travel creates plant memories. I remember when and where I saw certain things blooming, and I love to return to them again and again.

Such is the case for a particular plumeria tree on Puako Road north of Kona on the Big Island. Plumeria come in wonderful colors, white with yellow being the most common, but I have developed an eye for a red variety that I love. It had been few years since I had visited my favorite red blooming tree near the church, and thankfully it was still there and in full bloom during my visit. I had taken photos here on two other occasions, but none were right for a painting.  This time I knew I had the shot I wanted to paint.

Back at home in the studio as I painted the deeply saturated hues on my canvas, I could almost smell the flowers and feel the balmy Puako breeze on my face. I hope I can return, again and again.

Time away with friends is precious, especially when you share common passions.
I was fortunate enough to be hosted by my dear friend Deana in Carpinteria one summer. She is the perfect host, and an expert on local history, vegetation and hot spots.
Fueled by exploration, and California wine, we squeezed every moment out of the long weekend and saw so much. Our itinerary also included a visit to acclaimed Lotusland Botanical Garden, but in the end, it was Deana’s garden that provided the most inspiration. Over the years, Deana has transformed her small plot of coastal property into a visual feast for the eyes, layering aloes, agave and succulents into compositions that delight. Her front yard is prized by her neighbors, who visit on their daily walks.

The sun can be stubborn in the summer months along the coast, but it likes to shine in the late afternoons and early evenings when this moment happened. One evening, in Deana’s carefully created plantings, I saw a sundial, and I knew it was time. Time to breathe deep, share a moment with dear friends, and be grateful for their time and talents.

dh

Inspired by a chandelier of Angel Trumpets swinging in the breeze over a table of freshly brewed Kona Coffee and Hawaiian breakfast treats.

From the Time and Place series

October, 24, 2022 9:45 am

Nothing beats a morning walk on your first day on the Big Island. The sweet scents, birdsong, and saturated colors of Kona fill the senses, like no place else on earth.

Turquoise Puya,* Boyce Thompson Arboretum, AZ
30×60 oil on canvas
April 5,th 2022 5:21 pm

From the Time and Place series

(page down to see video of the plant)

In the design world, a lot of attention is given to color trends. And so, if you look back at the various colors that you lived with in your home, or wore, chances are the trend was dreamed up by humans.

Remember your avocado green refrigerator?  Oh dear, now I’ve dated myself.

But what if nature were in charge? Across the globe, depending on time and place, creation inspires with color, shape and texture.

In April of 2022, around the corner and down the trail at Boyce Thompson Arboretum, a very special bromeliad was preparing to bloom. The last time this Puya berteroniana had graced us with its saturated turquoise blooms was in 2008.

Plant enthusiasts dropped what they were doing and drove to Superior to see it, photograph it, and pay homage.  The color of this beauty almost looks unnatural, but I assure you it is very natural, very special.

Like agave, the puya put all their energy into producing a flower stalk, then they die. But off-shoots live on, and with any luck, in 10 years or so, there will be another bloom.

So, I challenge you, when seeking color inspiration, take a walk, look around. I think Puya Turquoise is on point.

*Puya is Spanish for “point” as in sharp point, like the tip of a bullfighter’s lance.

The circle, having no beginning, and no end, is my favorite shape, both aesthetically and symbolically. A wedding vow, a fellowship of friends, and eternity can all be expressed with a circle. This is a theme I like to visit often in my work.

In the natural world, circles or cycles are the order of business. Seasons come and go, and come again. The skies open up and quench the land, seeds sprout, flowers bloom, die, and the cycle begins again.

Every summer I return to the White Mountains of Arizona. Rolling grasslands collide with thick pine covered forests and the Little Colorado River begins its journey from the slopes of Mount Baldy. This is where inspiration blooms and my mind dwells on conservation.

Last summer during my visit, it rained daily, sometimes for hours. Hard drenching rain.

I always thank God for rain like this, because having been a desert dweller for many years, I know how absolutely essential water is to our very existence in this great state.

On the banks of the Little Colorado River one clear morning, I knelt down to enjoy the diversity of blooms that surrounded me. How could I choose just one to paint?  Next to me the rain-swollen river was churning and swirling like a wash tub. Over me, a blanket of cerulean sky stretched into infinity.

So, I didn’t choose just one flower. I wanted to express the bounty of the land, and combined all the elements of that moment in time on the canvas. I hope I can return to this place year after year after year. To give thanks for God’s provisions, and to consider how I can be a better steward of this remarkable region of our great big world.

dh 2022

Featured Wild flowers:
Pale Mountain Dandelion
Western Spiderwart
Morning Glory
Scarlet Morning Glory
Southwestern Cosmos
Globemallow
In memory of Kitty Collins, who had an interest in water too.

Video Nov 16 2022, 2 16 06 PM

In partnership with the Creative Cardinal (my beautiful niece) we’ve created these captivating  saguaro bloom drop earrings!  Inspired by my saguaro bloom sketch, etched on birch with a sterling silver hook and bail. Approximately 1 3/4 inches tall. Light weight and oh so desert botanical.

Made in the USA

$20 a pair

Wood finish varies from pair to pair

This is an overlook I love. I’ve stopped here often over my many years of exploring Arizona.
To get here, you take a road recently renamed, “The Desert to the Tall Pines Scenic Byway.”
These 67 miles connect Roosevelt Lake to Young and the Mogollon Rim. You leave the desert at 2100 feet and climb through the Salt River canyon, arriving at a conifer forest at 7600 feet, all rather quickly.
Somewhere in the middle is this stop. Here, you’ll have views of Four Peaks and Roosevelt Lake. You’ll also find snow here if there has been recent winter rain in the valley.
You can stand (carefully) on the precipice of Parker Creek and observe swaying ocotillo, mature agave, and thick grasslands. If it’s quiet, you can call out your message and it will echo back to you. Back to you. Back to you.

But silence here is nice too.

Allow three weeks from order date.

In the interest of good customer service, if you are local in Arizona and would like to save on shipping costs, please write a note for us when you order. You can arrange to pick up your work at Altamira Gallery in Scottsdale, and I’ll refund your shipping costs.

This Limited Edition print comes ready to hang and is hand signed and numbered by the artist. The piece is suitable for framing, but is not necessary. Do you have questions about this item? Please contact info@DyanaHesson.com

Claret Cup Cactus Blooms, Prescott, AZ
38×30

Edition of 50

$1500

In late spring, some friends and I went to a cabin in the woods in Prescott. We cooked, antique shopped, and of course, hiked. There are some wonderful trails in Prescott, along creeks, among the pinons and under the pine trees. It was on one of those hikes that we spied this beautiful mound of‎ Echinocereus triglochidiatus glowing on a bank, nestled among the pine needles and boulders. It demanded a closer look.

While I was on this trip, I got the call that my dad was not doing so well. There was nothing I could do, and I was so far away. My friends listened to me, cried with me, prayed with me. And that’s what good friends do. They are like shining lights at the end of a dark tunnel. The beauty these cactus blooms will always remind me of their love and care.

Allow three weeks from order date.

HOLIDAY ORDERS: Please order by November 26th to ensure the best chances of receiving your print by Christmas, whether picking up locally, or shipping out of state.

In the interest of good customer service, if you are local in Arizona and would like to save on shipping costs, please write a note for us when you order. You can arrange to pick up your work at Altamira Gallery in Scottsdale, and I’ll refund your shipping costs.

This Limited Edition print comes ready to hang and is hand signed and numbered by the artist. The piece is suitable for framing, but is not necessary. Do you have questions about this item? Please contact info@DyanaHesson.com

Cotton Bloom and Mount Graham, Pima, AZ 22×28 oil on canvas

$4000

This summer, we took the long way to the White Mountains, traveling through Safford and Morenci en route to the Coronado Trail. As we passed through the farming town of Pima, Arizona, I noticed fields of greenish-white flowers waving to me in the breeze. It was time to pull over and pay homage to a very important C of Arizona, Cotton.

Stretching out as far as the eye could see along the Gila River to the north and Mount Graham to the south, were healthy fields of these beautiful plants. Cotton has a rich and important history in Arizona.  It has been cultivated in our desert for over 3000 years, originally by the Hohokam, who dug canals to irrigate their crops. And it was the Pima tribe who helped scientists develop the variety we know today as Pima Cotton.

And cotton, by the way, is not just for soft sheets.

In 1917, Paul Litchfield purchased 16,000 acres in the valley as part of the Goodyear Tire Company, and cotton was used to help make rubber tires for airplanes during World War I; the cultivated cotton went into the tire threads. Like a good steak? Cotton seed is used to feed dairy and feedlot cattle. Thanks to a long growing season, fertile soil, and precious water, Arizona cotton continues to bring millions and millions into our Arizona economy.

It’s also wonderful that this useful plant has such a beautiful, showy flower.

So, when you sink your tired bones into your Pima Cotton sheets tonight, thank the Native American and modern farmers who have worked hard in our Arizona soil, creating a soft place for you to land.

For more facts about Cotton: Arizona Farm Bureau 2016

https://www.azfb.org/Article/Why-in-Gods-Name-Are-We-Growing-Cotton-in-the-Desert

Original 22×28 oil on canvas

Inspired by a spring morning in my garden

-dh

50×40 oil on canvas

(Could be hung horizontally)
$14000

Spring of 2020 was cancelled, especially travel.  As the hospitality industry shifted to keep guests safe, people began looking for places where they could be outdoors.  Unusable reservations changed hands, and that’s how I landed a week’s stay in Sedona. My Canadian friend could not make the trip, and offered me a deal. Normally, there are interesting people from all over the world enjoying the sights of Sedona, but in this season of history, Americans were craving the great outdoors in their own backyard.  We met yoga teachers and musicians, retired folks and families, and had wonderful socially distanced conversations with people hungry to connect.

We hiked, cooked, hiked some more, swam in the creek, and one night the musicians next door played an impromptu concert on the patio. My friend had brought some fancy Empress Gin and we had colorful cocktails as they played.

One morning, on a trip to the grocery store, my plant loving friend Veronika and I noticed a tree cholla* with a generous celebration of purple blooms. It was growing in the middle of a traffic circle. We found our way safely to the earthen island and explored the marvelous plant. Simply breathtaking. And kind of like the color of our new favorite cocktail.  These blooms could not be ignored. Like us, they were celebrating life in the great outdoors.

It took me a few years to get to this composition, but I’m delighted I did. And yes, it’s not really a perfect circle of blooms, but nothing is perfect, and that’s ok.

-dh

*I’m pretty sure a Cylindropuntia imbricata

If you’ve seen my painting “Superior Architecture” of Picketpost Mountain, and you could imagine your boots on the ground there, this would be your view if you turned around.

I love the grassy landscape in this location. And, in March, it is riddled with a wild hyacinth commonly called blue dicks. The flowers are such a pretty pop of purple-blue in a sea of buff and greens grasses. The corms (bulbs) of these plants were an important starch source for native people throughout the Southwest. Gathering would be a family affair, and the same area harvested year after year. These wild plants thrive in disturbed and post-fire environments.

In the distance you might notice a significant landmark in the Superstition Mountains, Weaver’s Needle. If you don’t know it, I’ll let you look that one up.

For now, just sit on the hillside with me. The sun will be setting soon.

Spring along the Salt River
Summer in the White Mountains
Autumn on the North Rim
Winter in the Sierra Anchas

Created from four of Hesson’s most beloved paintings inspired by the season of Arizona, each pack contains eight blank cards and envelopes in a clear cellophane package, suitable for gift giving and flat enough to mail easily.  Made in the USA.

$15 each

Over 800 people used to live near here in a town called Pinal. They were caught up in the Silver King Mine boom of 1878. The architecture they built has melted into the ground.  Dinner plate shards from the once booming hotel lay next to Apache tears and other stones in Queen Creek. But Picketpost mountain and wild plants that adorn her and the canyons here remain. And year after year, the wildflowers bloom.

They arch in the wind and glow with colors that are timeless. And the new-old town, Superior, Arizona, is bustling with new life and  cold beer.

These are the places that make Arizona special. It’s a privilege to paint them.

-dh

Inspired by a picnic with friends on the banks of Lewis Lake in Yellowstone National Park.

This Flower, although not unknown in these parts, was a new discovery for me, which is always nice.

Collected during the Lewis and Clark exposition, the lily is often mentioned in Lewis’s journal in the spring of 1806. He thought the lily could be used as a botanical calendar, to help track the onset of spring, as it is often the first flower to bloom after snow melt.

According to the US Forest Service, “Yellow avalanche-lily is a favorite food of grizzly bears and black bears, which use their claws to comb through the soil unearthing the nutritious bulbs. Elk and deer relish the foliage. Native Americans would harvest the bulbs which could be boiled or dried and used in stews or other dishes.”

Remember, when you are picnicking in bear country, you may not be the only one.

Hey Bear!!!

When I first moved to Arizona back in 1989, I was worried. I had spent my childhood climbing trees, throwing pinecones, and playing in the snow of the Sierra Nevada foothills. I was worried that Arizona would not meet my aesthetic and outdoor wandering needs.

I told my husband, “Arizona is dry and parched and full of old people.” Parts of that are true, but then my eyes opened, and I fell in love. Arizona’s contrasts are unashamedly dramatic. The Sonoran Desert collides with forests, vast horizons meet the sky, tributaries trickle into the mighty Colorado River, and white snow rests on red rocks and sage-green cactus.

Our seasons are subtle here, but each has its own revealing light that is irresistible to my artist’s eye.

In this piece, I am standing at the precipice of Parker Creek in the Sierra Ancha Wilderness. I gaze downward and study the deep dramatic jewel tones of a majestic agave who, last season, sent up its florescence. It is a late winter day, so there are still patches of snow, but they are melting and finding their way to Roosevelt Lake. I breathe deeply and think, “Well Arizona, you’ve done it again.”

Maybe Arizona is full of old people because once you come here, you’ll want to stay as long as you can.