A buffalo skull was always part of Charlie Russell’s signature, representing, I think, his regret at the passing of the old west. He was right; the skulls that must have littered the prairies in his day, are gone, just like the mighty herds that left them behind. I treasure a beautiful, very old skull hanging on my fireplace, that my dad found half-eroded out of a riverbank.
This one, somewhat newer as you can tell by the still-present horn, was part of the array of objects of interest at the Esplanade the other day. I set it on my Pendleton jacket for a moment and voila! a still life.
Love this one, Gina!!
I meant Gena!!!!