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This is the REAL Neva. She is part Bichon Frise and part Maltese, a pseudo-breed that snobs call a Maltichon (pronounced Malty Shawn). Malty Shawn, however, is just a ten dollar French sounding word for “mutt.” I attribute this to the time a light bulb lit over some poodle owner's head in association with adding “adoodle” to the end of the name of whatever puppies resulted from hanky-panky with another breed. Labradoodle, anyone? Goldendoodle? The adoodle advantage, you see, is that breeders can sell “puppies” rather than give away “mutts.” I believe we would be inundated with Horseadoodles, Giraffeadoodles, and Cowpoos if they could figure out how to make it happen.  

Over time, the owners of other breeds wanted in on this action.  Breeders of Bichon Frises and Malteses (both recognized Westminster Dog Show contestants) were more than happy to pretend that BFM puppies were worthy of a fancy mock French name. All of which is way too much information to go through when people ask me what kind of dog Neva is, so my standard answer is that she is, officially, a “Little White Fluffy Dog.”

I say the REAL Neva because when she comes home from the groomer every other month she does not look like this. Those few days she looks clean and cotton-puffy and it is possible to tell that her ears are actually apricot colored and her feet are not really slate gray from dirt. Then reality sets in and she again becomes, to her great pleasure, the dusty scragamuffin dog who you see depicted here. Whether cleaned and groomed or filthy and fuzzy, she is a stone cutie. Now, people with dogs that weigh more than six pounds might consider Neva to be some kind of “toy,” with associated implication of sub-canine status. However, I offer proof of her bona-fides by noting that she has the official canine two speeds (off and on), plays fetch religiously, and goes ape-adoodle beyond belief at the sound of a doorbell. Member of the total dog club, in other words.

I hesitated at first about trying to capture Neva in a painting. Several of my Wednesday Night Paint Group cohorts are such masters at pet portraits that the baseline for capturing animal personality is intimidatingly high. I worried that, in comparison, I might end up painting something that looked more like a Rastafarian collie or pipe-curled iguana. On the other hand, I am a firm believer in the “it's only paint” philosophy. As in – who cares if I failed to get a good likeness? It's only paint. 

In this case, it's only A LOT of paint. Most of this painting was done with a palate knife, utilizing same general artistic technique that non-health-minded people employ when slathering butter on dinner rolls. I worked very quickly and, frankly, had myself a paint-slathering ball. There were after the first session a couple of small details that weren't Neva, but the paint had to dry before I could put the fix in. Now that it's done, this is her, all the way.  Neva.  Or, possibly, Phyllis Diller.

Which brings me to the other point I'd like to share about this painting: how long it took to paint. Many artists dread this question because sometimes you get lucky and knock out a keeper in no time. (Trade secret: we’re all terrified that if we tell somebody that such-and-such a painting only took an hour or two, they'll ask how come it’s so expensive).

Answer: this took 2 hours and a lifetime to paint. Two hours slapping paint around like butter on a dinner roll. A lifetime learning how to do so. The most important lesson learned over those many years has already been mentioned, and it's one of the hardest to learn. Sometimes you just have to wait for the paint to dry before you can fix something. If you don't, you still might pull off a lovely painting, but only if mud is your intended subject matter.     

Neva would say Hi, but it's nap time.

BTW, to any doodle aficionados out there.  I was just kidding!