A long day’s drive from Phoenix, near the Bridger-Teton National Forest in Wyoming, is a very special place.

Open fields, rugged mountains, crashing streams, and (in the early summer) wildflowers. Legend has it that an albino moose roams this area; at least that’s what we tell gullible friends upon their arrival to this special cabin in the woods.

For several summers now I’ve had the privilege to retreat here with a circle of friends. We hike, river raft, stay up late, and play cards. And yes, we always have our eye out for that elusive albino moose. One evening last summer, as the sun was setting and the girls were cooking dinner, I wandered across the street into the grassy field. As I ran my fingers along the waist-high green grasses, I spied a grouping of white lupine. The purple variety is delightful, but the white variety is quite special. And they were glowing.

I hollered back towards the cabin, “Hey girls, the white moose!” They didn’t hear me. And that’s OK. I had a moment alone in the grassy field, with the light just so, and gratitude in my heart.

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

30 in. x 60 in., 2026

15,200

Inspired by a morning hike up Cedar Creek near Start Valley, Wyoming.

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 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.

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  

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.

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.

$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

$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.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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!

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.

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.

Inspired by the very green summer of 2021 in the White Mountains of Arizona

A long day’s drive from Phoenix, near the Bridger-Teton National Forest in Wyoming, is a very special place.

Open fields, rugged mountains, crashing streams, and (in the early summer) wildflowers.

Legend has it that an albino moose roams this area; at least that’s what we tell gullible friends upon their arrival to this special cabin in the woods.

For several summers now I’ve had the privilege to retreat here with a circle of friends. We hike, river raft, stay up late, and play cards. And yes, we always have our eye out for that elusive albino moose. One evening last summer, as the sun was setting and the girls were cooking dinner, I wandered across the street into the grassy field. As I ran my fingers along the waist-high green grasses, I spied a grouping of white lupine. The purple variety is delightful, but the white variety is quite special. And they were glowing.

I hollered back towards the cabin, “Hey girls, the white moose!” They didn’t hear me. And that’s OK. I had a moment alone in the grassy field, with the light just so, and gratitude in my heart.

X Diamond Ranch Wyoming By Dyana Hesson