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The images below represent just a small sampling of what is available. For further
information, current prices and availability of any Bev Doolittle prints or originals
please call B & R Gallery and Framing at 661-298-2038, or toll free 800-255-6498.
PLEASE NOTE: Only the issue prices are listed. Once a print is "sold out," it is often available on the secondary market, where prices vary depending on source and also fluctuate.
We tried to strike good balance between image quality and download time. Your comments are
welcome.
All Bev Doolittle images reproduced on this web site are
copyright The Greenwich Workshop. All rights are reserved.
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Calling
The Buffalo
In "Calling The Buffalo," a medicine man of the Sioux has
been chosen by his tribe to call the great herd. He goes away from his camp, choosing one
of the infrequent water holes from which to make his prayers. Guided by rituals handed
down from the medicine men of one generation to another, he chants and prays to the spirit
of the buffalo. He uses the powerful magic of a buffalo skull to entice the herd into this
tribe's territory. Knowing his people's survival depends upon his success, he focuses his
spiritual power and casts his big medicine into his call. The only question remaining is,
will the buffalo heed his call? |

Image Size: 16 1/2" x 16 1/2"
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Eagle
Heart
At the end of the day, as they sat chatting around the campfire,
Bear Heart, with a sweeping hand gesture, told Bev, " In what you are doing, you are
keeping all of us alive. You may think your canvas is inanimate, but what you put
into it speaks for itself. It cries out " Look at me! Look at me, full of life, in
harmony with the landscape!" In my case, when you paint a grizzly, you're sustaining
the life of my father and my father's relatives, because I am of the bear clan. My father
was of the bear clan. I regard bears, all bears, as my father." |

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Hide
and Seek
I sing of hemlocks whispering mysteries,
Of meadows green with promise,
Of lakes with secrets,
Of mountain peaks in touch with eternity,
Of solitude filled with murmurings we can never hear,
Of presences that hover just beyond the edge of perception,
Of meanings etched in snow, transcribed with wings,
I sing the truth
Of hidden things. |
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FOR MORE PRINTS:
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