But on closer examination, Bucknall's paintings are reminiscent of that innocence and vulnerability once common to us all, combined with a bizarre twist of realism and a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor. He revisits the past not only through portraits of half-animal, half-human characters that could only exist in the most creative of imaginations, but also through his various painting and drawing styles. These graceful oil paintings and ink drawings range in inspiration from Elizabethan portraits, 17th- and 18th-century European still lifes, and American western pieces, all with a surrealist influence.

Bucknall describes his art as "surreal ... a strange otherworldy feeling, but not distorted. Certainly, it's eclectic in that I borrow part of the past and mix it together in different ways. It's absurdist."

Now in his early 70s, Bucknall calls Austin his home, although he has previously garnered experience all over the world. Beginning in his home town of Twickenham, England, he followed his interest in art to India at age 18. He moved back to England and enrolled in Chelsea Art School in London before heading to Texas to earn his Bachelor of Fine Arts from the University of Texas. He left Austin for the University of Washington, where he finished his education with a master's degree. His work and dedication paid off as he settled into a career as a professional artist that has flourished since 1963.

Bucknall's work has been shown widely, with a range as diverse as the his background and style. His work has been on display in distinguished venues such as the Folger Shakespeare Library and the Houston Grand Opera, but Nirvana fans will recognize "Old Indian and White Poodle," a Rembrandt-style oil painting. It's the cover illustration of the 1993 joint release by Nirvana and The Jesus Lizard, Puss/Oh the Guilt. But before you Nirvana junkies get excited, this portrait will be noticeably absent at the exhibit, because it now hangs permanently in Bucknall's home.

Inside the salmon-pink residence Thursday morning, the Nirvana painting is the first piece to catch the eye upon walking in. Around his house, a Scrabble board sits out on the kitchen table, and his artwork is neatly framed on the walls. On awork table in Bucknall's upstairs studio lies an enlarged sepia photograph of a man seated with a cane, tracing marks drawn over the image. A half-finished caricature of a creature's head would soon be superimposed over the man's body in the tracing.

Bucknall's newest paintings, now housed at dberman gallery, indicate an obvious departure from his previous work. His older work is detailed and precise. But Bucknall's growing fascination with ink opened a door to abstraction, away from the über-realistic oil portraits that typify the artist's style. Using oil, he creates a world of his own with violin-playing monkeys and gun-slinging lizards as its inhabitants. But with ink, he ventures away from stout realism. He lets the ink run together instead of staying within the lines, uses abstract shapes and forms, and at times adds text. His creations feature bugs or sea creatures scattered about a central locus, their homes an absurd collision of fantasy and child-like whimsy.

He says that two things are necessary of any style of art he may adopt.

"One: absurdity," he says. "I think all kinds of spectacular things, all great things, in life are absurd. Birth itself is absurd. Love is absurd. You make a fool of yourself in love. Even death is absurd. Another thing is childhood, a feeling of standing still.

"We make our past into little nuggets that we recall when we sit down to write or paint. It's reaching back to our childhood, reaching to a time when you looked at the world with innocence and wonder without question. Art opens the door to go back to that time."

If you are looking for a meaning behind the paintings, do not ask Bucknall. He doesn't understand what people are looking for when they ask, "What is this supposed to mean?" with an incredulous look across their faces.

"That runs counter to the suspense that is necessary for art to be art. Why have visual art if you can say a couple of words about it and that's it? Ultimately, what comes out is mystery," he says.

Bucknall desires to suspend disbelief, hope and enchantment while asking the viewer, "Remember when?" He employs a child-like candor through anthropomorphism to find a link between fear, love, humor and human feelings in their most simple state, a state that is most effectively represented through a chimera-like, multispecies being. He deals directly with these complex human emotions by assigning them to a deer, rooster or even coral to form a narrative and tell a story.

By removing part of the human, he can focus on mankind as a whole, not a specific person. Another overly used art phrase he isn't comfortable with is describing the work as the artist's own self-expression.

"What's wrong with looking at art as self-expression is that you are looking at it like it's the artist's life story, like a psychoanalyst would. But to reach the level of art, it has to reach everybody. It hits that part of the culture where everyone comes together, emotionally and collectively," Bucknall says.