Guy was the most educated American mountain man fan I ever met anywhere. He unseated ME in my own estimation. His wealth of knowledge was incredible. If you notice in the pictures of his mountain man figures, the beadwork is all subdued; no electric blues or bright reds or yellows. That was not just his style; it was the result of studying the bead trade between China and the world during the period when beads were trade items with the tribes. I painted a mm bust for him when his hands issues started him on the road to not painting. I sent pictures, chortling to myself over what a fine job I was doing. He came back with quotes about the shades used in the beadwork, and all of my bright colors had to be replaced with more accurate tones. His groundwork was exceptional. Having lived by himself in a cabin in the mountains, he absorbed what he saw around himself, and translated that into exceptionally accurate and compelling scenery for his figures and horses. His groundwork defied the common mantra to concentrate only on the figure, and was inseparable from the figure in terms of completing his vision of what the final result would be.
He was a martial artist. As a teenager he had been wounded in both legs in a hunting accident and was in a wheelchair for years as he worked to regain his ability to walk, which his doctors told him would never happen. Not only did he prove them full of it, he earned his black belt as a young adult. He had a huge heart. We live a hundred miles apart, and when I would visit, I always went home with a stack of figures. The walls of my painting room are adorned with the Native American items he had acquired over the years but was getting rid of in order to remodel his home for Bertha. He would commission work that he did not need to encourage me. His knowledge and experience in the American show scene was incredible. Useful also.
His passing was no surprise, but a kick in the stomach anyway. Every day for the past year I have squirmed about not getting to see him, and of course I did not. My loss. OUR loss. I don't know that his like still exists in this country. Were it possible to have a painter hall of fame, Guy would have a position near the front. YA-TA-HEY, Heitz. May your beaver be fat, your horses dependable, and your women happy. Mind those Blackfeet.