Telluride Ski Resort Ski Paintings and Prints

I first visited Telluride in Colorado in the late 80’s when my sister lived near Squaw in California. For a you English man, it was a bit of a shock like a few bits of America to a young, naive British mind. I had skied the Alps since the age of 3 and skiing was rustic log cabins, old historic medieval villages, weird foreign languages, garlic breath and copious fondue cheese Schnitzel while watching yodeling short men slapping buts of even shorter men in leather shorts.

Driving across Southern Colorado on the way back from a winter surfing in Mexico I happened to drive through Telluride on the way to Taos and Santa Fee. The sun was shining and in the desert like valleys, the air con was on, and I had not even the slightest thought about skiing. Then it was like the car entered a portal to a strange galaxy. Guys and girls were walking down the clapboard high street beamed straight out of a Western movie with ski gear, carrying skis. It was like some strange movie. Nothing matched.

“You can’t just go skiing here, its all wrong. This was a western set and nothing should be there but 10 gallon hats, guys in sweaty shirts swinging guns and slapping through saloon doors picking fights. There should be horses and waggons cactuses and plenty of dust. I felt like leaning out of the window and telling them to all go home, they were ruining the place.

Skiing was very close to my heart and was solidly built in the Alpine tradition of French, Austrian and Swiss Alps with a bit of Italy. Mining towns and the wild West were in another place totally, a different film altogether. They were not meant to mix. One was in a hot dusty place, the other was cold and icy. It was all wrong and who ever wrote the script would never make a success of this one and should be fired.

It took a while, I even drove through Telluride and did not think once about putting skis on my boots. My Alpine skiing illusion was being severely challenged. It took another days drive until I got to Taos and after driving past a ski hire shop I could begin to integrate my mind into this strange new ski world. I tentatively tried out some cross country skis which I had never tried before and haven’t since. Skiing without a lift, that’s how messed up I was. I really wasn’t ready for lifts and downhill slopes. My illusions and dreams of the European Alpine world were not wanting to be challenged too much.

It took another day driving down to Santa Fee that I eventually took hold of my mind and edged towards the American downhill way, or at least the Colorado way and began to entertain the possibility that skiing was possible alongside the Wild West landscape and a dream was born. This year I hope to return to Telluride to re photograph it and paint in some of its incredible scenery and ski scene.

I love it really and I do love skiing without a lift too.

Check out the ski paintings and ski prints to see if I have painted your favourite resort yet.