Art Series: Yellowstone Collection

  • Ghost in the Road

    “Ghost in the Road” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    It was like driving through a sea of black ink.

    The trip back to our hotel from the Lamar Valley was harrowing. It being Yellowstone, the specter of animals hanging out on the road is always a possibility. We’d reveled in the wildlife of the North American Serengeti, but now the sun was gone and darkness blanketed the winding way home. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel and Kim’s clear anxiety was less than helpful.

    We snaked around curve after curve, my eyes peeled for any signs of movement. Then we saw it: a small coyote trotting down the middle of the road. As we came upon him, I slowed to a stop. He turned his head and stood frozen in the bright beam of our headlights. Time stood still. He looked at us, and we looked at him, and for a brief moment, we connected.

    Kim snuck a quick photo before he turned away and disappeared into the darkness.

    It felt like we encountered a ghost in the road.

    Sometimes we encounter people in a similar way. Their life intersects with ours and we make a brief connection. They show up to guide us through difficulty, supporting us emotionally, physically, or spiritually. When the time to move on comes, they disappear from our lives, like a ghost in the road

    Have you had encounters like that, a limited interaction with someone that greatly impacted your life?

    Years ago, I had lunch with Phil Vischer, the co-creator of Veggie Tales. I was trying to get my Kim & Jason comic strip off the ground. He gave me a lot of great advice, but one of the most notable things he said was, “Assume that your life two years from now will be nothing like you imagine it will be. Be open to where God is leading. If God calls you or Kim to a different role or a different job, be open.”

    His advice left me unsettled, but it stuck with me.

    Around that same time, Kim and I encountered a woman named Mary Jo who worked for a local Catholic Church. She told us about a growing movement within the Church to educate children and adults together and assured us that if I could create a program that held the attention and spoke to both groups, I’d definitely be in demand as a speaker. She was right, and that’s how my now twenty-year career as a professional speaker began.

    It required me to retire the comic strip, but Phil Vischer’s prophetic words helped give me an open heart and comfort when I saw God lead us in a new direction.

    It’s been said that people are in our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. Phil and Mary Jo are people who came into my life for a reason. They were fellow travelers who crossed my path, and for a brief moment in time, our souls connected. In their own way, they illuminated my path, let me know that I was seen, that what I was doing mattered, and to keep going.

    We are called to do that for others.

    I’ll never forget a time I was a ghost in someone else’s road.

    Waiting for everyone else to leave, she appeared at my product table at the back of the room after my second and final presentation of the day. She seemed hesitant, engaged in an internal debate on whether to approach or retreat. I noticed from her badge that her name was Jennifer. I assumed she was trying to decide if she wanted to buy something. Instead, she hesitantly exclaimed, “I want to trade you something, but I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”

    “I won’t think you’re crazy,” I promised, not knowing what I was in for.

    Apparently I was convincing enough, as she began digging around in her purse. She pulled out a small black velvet box and placed it on the table between us. She said not a word. Perplexed, I determined that it looked like a ring box and deduced that her silence meant that I was supposed to pick it up. I opened it. I was right there were two simple rings inside, one band was rimmed across the top with a row of tiny diamonds; the other was shiny and plain.

    They were wedding rings.

    “Ok…” I stumbled. “It looks like there is a story here…”

    She began, “Six months ago today, my husband left me while I was at work.”

    Tears welled in her eyes. She offered no further details, but it was clear that it was as surprising as it was devastating. She continued, “After he left, on a whim, I decided to apply for my dream job, the one I never went for while we were together. And I got it. And it was amazing.”

    She began sobbing, and it suddenly felt that the table between us was two miles wide. She apologized for breaking down, while I debated jumping across the table to hug her right then and there.

    She regained her composure and said, “Sitting in your two sessions today…you just said so many things that hit me. For a long time, I had given up on love. I had given up on me. I told myself that this job — my career — was my new love now and that this would be the focus of my life. But you helped me to see that I can’t give up on love.”

    She motioned to the rings, and, looking at the last Adultitis First Aid Kit I had left, said, “If you’d be willing, I’d like to trade these for a new beginning. I don’t need them anymore.”

    I gave her a Kit and a big hug and mumbled something that I don’t remember, but was probably stupid.

    I don’t remember what I said that struck a chord. I don’t know whatever came of her, although it’s possible she’s still following our stuff all these years later.

    I was a ghost in the road of her story, and she was a ghost in the road of mine.

    Something I said to her on that day helped her to see with new eyes and gave her the confidence to bravely move forward. Meanwhile, Jennifer’s courage and her gift serve as an everlasting reminder of the privilege of what I get to do. When I get discouraged that the crowd I’m speaking to is too small, or not engaged enough, or that I am too tired, I think of Jennifer, a ghost in the road who crossed my path so many years ago, and I am reminded that every single day is an opportunity to change someone’s world.

    Never underestimate your role in helping to heal our world. As it has been said many times, “Helping one person might not change the world, but it could change the world for one person.”

    I hope this reflection opens your eyes and gives you an appreciation for the ghosts in your own road.

    And I hope it will inspire you to be a fellow traveler who crosses someone else’s, taking the time to look them in the eye and say, “I see you. You matter. You’re doing great. Keep going.”

  • Love is in the Air

    “Love Is In The Air” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 16. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    This painting is called “Love is in the Air.”

    Our eyes draw us to the billowing steam from the geyser, forming the shape of a heart.

    Indeed, it is a fitting representation of the way most of our society views love. Like the steam, it is a little mysterious, always changing, and dependent on which way the wind is blowing. Love is regarded as a fleeting feeling evident on a wedding day, but which vanishes at some point in the ensuing years when life gets hard.

    I would like to invite us to look for a different, better metaphor for true love in this painting.

    Like the bison.

    The bison is rock solid. Grounded. Immovable in winds of change.

    My friend, contrary to popular belief, true love is not a feeling that ebbs and flows with the wind. It’s not caught up with transitory qualities like looks, circumstances, and emotions. Looks fade, circumstances change, and emotions are unreliable, often clouding reality.

    I’m no relationship expert, but I have been married for well over two decades now. If you want a relationship that outlasts the average, you cannot depend on feelings to save you. On any given day, your partner may not look or act anything like the person you first fell in love with. You may find yourselves in a circumstance you didn’t anticipate or plan for when everything was going well.

    True love isn’t a feeling; it’s a choice. 

    This points to another important difference between these two metaphors: The steam cloud has no control over itself. The bison, on the other hand, can take action.

    Here’s a real-world example of the difference:

    A few years ago, I instituted a new personal policy: Always stop at the lemonade stand.

    You see, I am a bit of an over-thinker. My old pattern of behavior went like this: I’d see some kids running a lemonade stand and think about stopping, only to drive past it while overthinking it to death. Did I have cash on me? Did I have the time? Was there even a convenient place to park? I’ve already driven six blocks past it; it would be stupid to turn around now. Ultimately, I’d miss the moment and feel bad for the rest of the day.

    So I decided to take the thinking (and overthinking) out of it. I decided to establish a new rule: ALWAYS STOP AT THE LEMONADE STAND. Of course, for this personal policy to work, it has to be ironclad. The only way to avoid overthinking was that there could be no exceptions. No excuses. I permitted myself to be late wherever I was going. Even if I was late to my own father’s funeral, “I had to stop at the lemonade stand.”

    The key is that when it comes to any sort of goal, habit, or resolution you establish, it’s a lot easier if you don’t give yourself any outs. Commit 100%. If you allow yourself even one exception, then it’s always a fight from then on. You’ll always give yourself a reason why it’s ok to ignore the rule “this one time.” 

    Even though it’s sometimes inconvenient, I love this policy. I like that it allows me to be more generous, which is in line with the type of person I want to be. I always ask the kids what they’re raising money for. I always try to encourage them in some small way. And I always over-tip.

    The thought of stopping at a lemonade stand is like the steam; it comes and goes, and stopping is dependent on how I’m feeling at the time. But this personal policy is a stubborn bison, blocking the rest of my day until I act.

    Thinking about complimenting someone, writing a note of encouragement, or helping someone in a bind is not the same as actually doing any of those things.

    If you are in a relationship where the love feels like it’s fading, are you like the steam cloud, waiting for something to happen? Are you waiting for a feeling to return or for your partner to change, to do something that rekindles that loving feeling you once had?

    The better strategy is to be more like the bison and make the first move.

    As psychologists have found time and again, behavior shapes emotion. If I am angry or upset when I see a lemonade stand, I always feel 100 percent better after I stop, even if I’m only walking away with a watered-down lukewarm cup of lemonade.

    So even if you don’t feel like it, try doing something loving for the other person. Surprise them with an unexpected gift. Do one of their household chores for them. Praise them in front of someone else.

    It’s amazing how often our loving actions can transform into loving feelings.

    Before you throw in the towel on a relationship that has lost its loving feeling, act lovingly toward your partner. Decide that you’re not going anywhere, like a bison standing in the middle of the road at Yellowstone. Don’t give up.

    Change may not be immediate, but if you are persistent and continue acting in love, don’t be surprised if, before long, a new feeling of love is in the air.

  • Chocolate Moose

    “Chocolate Moose” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    Our family didn’t go to Yellowstone to see moose, specifically. We went for the scenery, and we did want to see as much wildlife as possible.

    One afternoon, we settled into a nice spot in the shadow of the Grand Tetons called Schwabacher Landing, and waited for moose. We’d heard the odds of seeing them there were good. Very quietly, we waited, and waited, and waited. It felt like any moment one might emerge from the brush to steal a drink from the pond.

    We sat for two hours before admitting defeat and heading back to the hotel, disappointed.

    The next day, while in Jackson, we wandered into the gallery of a photographer who told us about a side road to check out if we really wanted to see moose. The sun was about to set, but the spot was only a few miles away. We were skeptical, but two minutes after parking our car, we saw three moose.

    It was as if our patience the day before had been rewarded in some strange way. Our persistence earned us a small prize after all, like a sweet dessert at the end of a meal.

    In life, there is a lot of waiting. Long periods where nothing seems to go right. Tiresome stretches where we sit with patient expectations to see a dream come true.

    This sometimes confounds us, because somewhere along the line, we got the idea that life is supposed to be easy. We chase comfort and good feelings and grow frustrated when we encounter struggle and pain.

    But the truth is that a life in which you expect nothing but nummy treats and comforts will leave you disappointed. That’s not what this life is for.

    As Pope Benedict XVI implored, “You are not made for comfort, you are made for greatness.”

    But to paraphrase Benjamin Franklin, chocolate is proof that God loves us and loves to see us happy. That’s probably why he rewards us with little treats along the way. They are there to reward our efforts, keep us on the right track, and motivate us to keep going in pursuit of true greatness.

    And yet, it is not healthy to develop a spiritual sweet tooth. Perhaps heaven will flow with rivers of decadent chocolate, but chocolate is not meant to be our entire diet here on earth. Life is a training ground for relying on faith instead of feelings.

    The small desserts we encounter on our journey are only a foretaste of what’s ahead.

    Enjoy them. Delight in them. Savor them so that you may persevere during the difficult times.

    But remember that the true reward is yet to come.

  • Big & Grand

    “Big & Grand” by Jason & Ginny Kotecki. 24 x 24. Oil on canvas.
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    Everything that exists first started as an idea. A vision. A dream.

    The question is, How many people have to see it before it becomes reality?

    On a family trip west, we spent time in the foothills of the Grand Tetons hoping to see moose. We didn’t have any luck, but while we were waiting, I snapped a photo of my youngest daughter sitting at the edge of the pond, tossing pebbles into the water. I thought it might be the start of a great painting. The only question in my mind was, “What might she be looking at?”

    I imagined painting a moose into the scene, maybe a huge one. I thought Bigfoot would be funny, or perhaps a montage of all sorts of fictional creatures: leprechauns, fairies, unicorns, oh my!

    Eventually, the solution became obvious: it needed to be Big.

    You see, “Big” is a character Ginny created when she was younger, and he’s made appearances in many of her artworks over the years. He needed to be what she was looking at, and that’s how this painting became my first official collaboration.

    Ginny drew and painted Big, and I handled the rest of the painting, including his reflection in the pond. It was a blast, and my heart just about exploded when she signed her name in the corner. (Rose is her middle name.)

    I love the origin story of Big. According to Ginny, he is a lovable giant who lives in the clouds and comes down occasionally to give people hugs.

    One thing we can all agree on is that the world could definitely use more hugs.

    I wish that Big were real.

    Part of me wonders if he is.

    How many people have to see it before it becomes reality?

    You have to imagine something before it can become a physical reality, whether it’s the main character of a book or a life-saving cancer drug. Our dreams are often born from a problem that needs to be solved, like a personal need or a nagging challenge you regularly encounter. Maybe it’s a larger one the world around you is groaning for.

    I believe your dreams are planted within you by God. And He wouldn’t have planted them within you if you weren’t the right person to help bring them to fruition.

    These dreams start as a faint vision or a passing thought, before slowly coming into focus, eventually becoming clear in your mind’s eye.

    There comes a point when you need some affirmation that you’re not hallucinating, that there really is something to this vision that has stirred up a fiery passion within you. Then comes the big and scary moment: You summon up courage and float the idea past a few others, just to check if they can see it too. 

    Usually, the reactions are mixed.

    Many won’t see the vision at all. They may even try to argue you out of it, saying it’s not realistic or practical.

    Some will nod and smile, offering words of encouragement, but it feels more like a grandparent whose grandchild just told them about their imaginary friend: “What an active imagination you have!”

    But if the dream has merit, you will encounter some true believers. These folks must be taken seriously because you will need them later.

    When I had the vision to take an unconventional path, to make a living with my art while making the world a little better by making its people a little more childlike, I experienced all of these reactions.

    I encountered many who never saw the vision of what we were trying to build, even though I described it as accurately as I could. They included newspaper syndicates, retailers, publishers, licensing agents, and more.

    I also felt the “pat, pat” on my head from those who viewed me as slightly delusional, but relatively harmless and easily redirected once reality hit.

    But I was also graced with a few true believers who saw the vision. Some notable ones included my parents, Kim’s parents, and our best friends, Sue and Jenna. Theirs were not just empty words of encouragement. They responded with action by sacrificing their time, money, and prayers. This signaled the proof of their belief.

    The certainty from true believers is invaluable. There will come a time when you lose faith in the vision, and you will need them to remind you that it’s real.

    Mounting failures and things taking longer than you expected take a toll. That vision, which once seemed so clear, begins to fade. You wonder if all the naysayers were right. After all, so many of them had way more experience than you, and the evidence seems to be piling up in their favor. Maybe I am delusional? Maybe I was mistaken? Maybe the signals got crossed, and I accidentally co-opted a dream that was not meant for me…

    I entertained all these thoughts at various times. It was tempting to give up.

    But then I remembered my parents. And Kim’s parents. And Sue and Jenna. I remembered that nobody pours money or time into a lost cause. Their sacrifice was tangible proof of their belief in us. It helped assure me that no, this is not a mirage. It’s real. They see it.

    Their belief bolstered my own.

    It’s easy to feel discouraged and lose hope when people don’t see what you see. Or when it’s taking too long. It might even show up in a time and place you weren’t expecting. The dream might feel long in coming, but it won’t be late. 

    Disregard the people standing in your way.

    Don’t worry about the ones who say, “I just don’t see it.”

    That’s ok. Not everyone will catch your vision.

    That doesn’t mean it’s not real.

    Your idea might just be the hug our world’s been waiting for.

  • Bantha Crossing

    “Bantha Crossing” by Jason Kotecki. 16 x 16. Oil on canvas.
    Original is available 🟢 Shop this art!

    Kim and I grew up in small towns. Occasionally, a train would pass through, blocking a road and putting traffic at a standstill. This was incredibly inconvenient when you were already running five minutes late. Sometimes you could backtrack and take an alternative route, but most of the time you had no choice but to wait. And wait. And wait. It’s one of the most annoying things ever.

    Not once did I ever see anyone take a photo of the train.

    Things work differently in Yellowstone National Park. People get super excited about traffic stoppages. You might even say they hope for them.

    When any sort of wildlife — from bison to bears to elk —  blocks the road, cameras come out quickly to document the occasion. It almost feels spiritual. We want to capture the moment so we can carry it with us and show it to others. We might make it a wallpaper on our home screen or print it out and hang it on our wall.

    This is not a moment of annoyance, it’s a moment of awe.

    Both of these scenarios, fundamentally, are disruptions of forward progress. How then can we explain the difference in our reactions? Could it be that the only difference is our perception of the circumstance?

    Isn’t it possible to see both instances as an invitation to slow down? To be present? To notice and maybe even be amazed at something that would otherwise pass us by?

    What would happen if we looked at ALL the roadblocks in our life as an encounter with the divine?

    In Star Wars lore, the Bantha is a large, hairy, four-legged mammal. It has an unpleasant smell, produces blue milk, and is domesticated by Tusken Raiders.

    But in real life, they are just an Asian elephant in a costume.

    I put the bantha in this painting because it tickled me to think about seeing one in the wild. But also to remind us that things aren’t always what they seem.

    What disgusting things that cross our paths are really something else underneath?

    Is that obstacle in your path right now an annoyance? Or an opportunity?

    Maybe the traffic jam just saved you from a fatal accident that would have happened five minutes down the road.

    Maybe the impossibly long red light is an invitation to enjoy a few minutes of silence, a break from rushing around, a chance to say a quick prayer for someone who needs it.

    Maybe instead of allowing frustration to mount, and if we practiced being present, an insight into a problem we’ve been struggling with will materialize.

    Maybe the illness is a chance to slow down.

    Maybe the delay is a chance to evaluate if you want to continue on this path.

    Maybe the storm that just leveled your life is the beginning of a blessing you never saw coming.

    Maybe it’s a bantha. Maybe it’s just a train. Maybe it’s an encounter with the divine.

    Maybe you just need to change the way you see it.

  • Reality Check

    “Reality Check” by Jason Kotecki. 20 x 20. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    The Grand Prismatic is one of the things I was most looking forward to seeing on our family trip to Yellowstone National Park. It’s like I had to see it to believe it was real.

    This is not an uncommon sentiment when it comes to this magical place.

    The early explorers who came back with stories from Yellowstone were written off as crazy people. Surely a loose screw, an overindulgence in booze, or insanity caused by being alone for too long was easier to believe than the tall tales that returned. Upside-down waterfalls? Boiling rivers? Bubbling mud? Twenty-foot beasts?

    Please.

    Well, if you’ve never seen a geyser, hydrothermal activity, or an angry grizzly bear reared up on its hind legs, you’d deem these reports as unbelievable, too.

    I have been to Yellowstone, and in the words of Han Solo when speaking to Rey and Finn about the Force, “It’s true. All of it.” (Even the grizzlies, although I didn’t experience an angry one.) The place is filled with the unbelievable.

    But of course, now it is believable. Because we’ve seen the pictures and millions of us have visited, having driven through it on roads that weren’t there 150 years ago. And so the amazement has dimmed.

    Just like it has with all the wonders of this world.

    We are surrounded — besieged! saturated! deluged! — by the unbelievable, but because it’s familiar, we treat it like an afterthought. Every day becomes ho-hum.

    But pretend with me for a moment that you’re from Mars, a barren red wasteland, and you’re hearing about Earth for the first time. What if I told you it was a place where…

    Food grows right out of the ground.

    Water comes from a sky that regularly changes color throughout the day.

    Sometimes that water turns into trillions of tiny crystals that cover the ground and shine like diamonds when the sun hits it just right.

    Small flying insects use flowers to create a delicious, sweet liquid called honey.

    The people living there are created when two microscopic cells meet under just the right conditions.

    The majority of the oxygen those people depend on for survival comes from a vast army of invisible sea creatures.

    The people can fly across a vast ocean in a matter of hours.

    They burn ancient sea creatures to fuel their vehicles.

    They can significantly improve their vision by applying small slips of soft plastic to their eyeballs, and they just throw them away at the end of the day.

    They have small handheld devices that allow them to listen to any song ever recorded, communicate across continents by video, tell them how to get anywhere on Earth, and share cute photos of cats.

    And yes, there really are rainbow pools in this land that once teemed with animals bigger than a house.

    Balderdash! you say?

    Well, I’ve been there and it’s true. All of it.

    Unfortunately, the sad fact is that most of the people who live there take it all for granted. It’s all familiar. Ho-hum.

    Now that’s balderdash. Today, my friend is not just another day.

    Keep your eyes peeled. Don’t miss it.

    The unbelievable is everywhere.

  • Not a Morning Person

    “Not a Morning Person” by Jason Kotecki. 24 x 24. Oil on canvas.
    Original is SOLD 🔴 Shop this art!

    Do elk have the choice of being a morning person?

    Are there some elk, hidden away in the woods, “sleeping in?” Some who stayed up late contemplating the universe, or were up all night partying with other woodland creatures?

    Alas, I assume that elk are wired the way they are wired, and they don’t have the choice of whether they are a night elk or a morning elk.

    No, but we do.

    I used to be a night person. I rolled my eyes at the people who annoyingly championed the virtue of early rising. I loved staying up to work on art when the world was quiet. I’d go to bed way past midnight and somehow only need a few hours to tackle the next day with a full supply of energy.

    That, of course, was before kids. Nowadays, when nine o’clock rolls around I am dragging like a wet, rolled-up area rug. If I do summon the energy to stay up a smidge past midnight, my next few days are completely wrecked.

    A few years back, I read the book “Miracle Morning” and developed a new habit. Nowadays, I am up before 6 am (unthinkable back in my youth).

    I guess that makes me a morning person.

    The war rages on between the pious morning people and the obstinate night owls. Although typically vehemently opposed to one another, both sides seem to talk about liking the quiet, which is, of course, present both very early in the morning and very late at night.

    Our souls crave solitude from the noise that dominates our daily lives.

    We all need to carve out some quiet time. The when probably isn’t as important as what we do with it.

    My life transformed when I became a morning person, and not because I decided to get up early in the morning, but because of what I did with that time.

    Back in the day, I used the silence to work, read, or endlessly scurry down internet rabbit holes.

    These days, my routine looks different.

    I pour a fresh cup of coffee, light a candle, and plant myself in my prayer chair, which once served as the place where I rocked all three of my kids. I read the Bible. I journal. I pray. Sometimes I listen to music or read from a devotional. Other times, I just sit there, in the quiet, before the kids are up and the world turns on for the day, listening for the still, small voice of God. It is bliss. I never thought I’d ever actually enjoy getting up this early, but now I wouldn’t miss it.

    It’s a little oasis in a desert filled with an endless parade of noisy marching bands and riled-up slot machines blinking and begging us to pull their lever. The marching bands are all the outside forces trying to distract us. The slot machines are the illuminated rectangles in our purses and pockets that we constantly refresh, lured in by the promise of that oh-so-gratifying hit of dopamine when we see something that surprises us, delights us, entertains us, or enrages us.

    This is a challenge to examine our habits.

    Do we get up early merely to have a longer treadmill on which to sprint, attacking a to-do list that never ends?

    Do we stay up late bingeing content that temporarily satisfies but does nothing to uplift our souls or make us better humans?

    Do we subconsciously avoid silence because it makes us feel anxious in the immediate gratification era in which we live?

    Silence feels weird.

    Silence feels unproductive.

    Silence feels boring.

    And yet, maybe the elk are up early to bask in silence.

    I’ve always been a believer. I’ve not always been a morning person.

    But spending an hour a day in silence with God changed everything.