I didn't choose the Southwest by accident. It chose me — through blood, through story, and through years of standing in sun-drenched places watching light move across adobe walls, ranch houses, mesas, and faces shaped by weather and work.
What draws me back again and again is not just the beauty of these places, but the deep sense of memory they represent. The land remembers. The buildings remember. The people do too. I paint because I want to hold onto that feeling — the quiet gravity of a place that has endured.
New Mexico and West Texas are stripped-down environments. There is no place for anything false to hide. Color becomes purer. Shapes become simpler. Light tells the truth. That honesty is what I'm after.

The story on the home page begins with my grandfather K.W. Hopkins bartering prescriptions at his drug store for paintings on the Taos plaza in 1913.
He followed his brother Ben Hopkins there. Ben became a working artist, and built a life in a world his own family had tried to deny him. He began an art heritage that lasted from the early 1900's to the 21st century. My ties to Northern New Mexico and its artistic past are not admiration from a distance — they are personal and deep-rooted.
But that is only half the inheritance.

My Grandmother Who Painted on Paper Bags
On my father's side, the story begins not on a sun-washed plaza but on a dirt-poor West Texas cotton farm where there were no expectations of developing artistic talents.
Lola Brown Mahon was an exception.
In a world defined by hardship and bare necessity, she was an artist, a reader of poetry, and a lover of great literature. All of this she shared with her seven children.
They grew up educated and genuinely cultured, many of them able to recite long passages of poetry from memory. Her paintings were passed down through the family. And when there was no canvas and no money, she would save the brown paper bags and cardboard boxes from the grocery store, flatten them out carefully, and paint on those. That image has never left me. A woman on a cotton farm, smoothing out a paper bag so she could make something beautiful.

She received scant recognition in her lifetime but I’m privileged to honor her in mine.
My father carried her into the world with him. He was a West Texas man — in every other way exactly what you'd expect: drawn to farming and ranching, to the law, to horses, to the wide-open land. And yet he recited Longfellow. He talked about his mother's paintings. He had a reverence for great literature that was, by every measure of his environment, completely out of place.
And that gave me permission.
As a young man surrounded by contemporaries whose entire world was football, farming, and ranching, my father's example quietly told me that a man could love art without apology. That it was not softness — it was a different kind of strength. His mother had painted on paper bags. I could pick up a brush and mean it.
Those two inheritances — the Taos pharmacist who traded in paintings and his art pioneering brother, and the West Texas grandmother who never stopped making them no matter what she had to paint on — are the twin roots of everything I do.



If you feel a connection to the landscapes and culture of the Southwest, I invite you to spend time with the work here in my studio.
And if you'd like a more personal look into the process behind the paintings, you're welcome to join my VIP Insiders list below where I share new work, studio notes, and reflections from the road.
“My art is about authenticity and simply letting the subject matter speak for itself. The Christian astronomer, Johannes Kepler, once said, ‘I was merely thinking God’s thoughts after him.’
It's an honor and privilege to make a career of painting God's thoughts about the beauty of landscape and the human face after him."
• 50+ years as a successful professional artist







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