This is a front quarter view of a Dodge Charger Special Edition that I painted in 1975. It is 44x31 inches and is painted with oil on canvas.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Friday, September 28, 2012
Elba United Methodis Church
This is one of a series of drawings, that I did for the city of Elba, Alabama.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Abstract
This is a cedar log, that I cut with chisels and a lot of sandpaper. 15inches by 7inches. I had no idea to begin with, but just followed the grain.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
TRANSPORTED
The sight of people in both lanes as he rounded the downhill curve was a driver's worst nightmare. He unconsciously stiffened his body and gripped the wheel so tightly his hands hurt. There was no way to stop the pickup in time. He ran over the one laying on top of his wrecked Harley. The others scrambled out of the way. As the white Ford slid sideways to a stop, the blue tire smoke settled over the eerie scene. Then the sound of the shrieking tires punched it's way into his hearing. Why was he hearing that now?
He had heard the grinding of the bike under his truck and the popping noise of bones being pulled from sockets. He had heard all that plainly. But not the sound of the tires. At that one terrifying second, he realised it was not the tires at all. It was the angry screams of the bikers. They were rushing toward his truck. Frightened beyond fear, he sped off as if his life depended on it. And it did.
The sudden impact had slammed the dog to the floorboard. He jumped back into the seat and stuck his head out the window. As the driver sped off, the dog was jerked back into the back glass. The dog was pissed off and wondered why he was driving that way. The orange flash of gunfire made points of light in the dusk. Bullets shattered glass behind him and the dog. He could see them in the rear view mirror running to their bikes. If he were going to escape, he needed more than the heavy F-150 pickup. Knowing that he could not outrun them, he turned onto a dirt road. There in the distance was a field road. He knew the pickup could handle it. The heavy Harleys would have a hard time with the ruts, holes and sand beds.
This little road of salvation suddenly ended at a locked gate. It was to heavy to break through. He slid to a stop just inches away from the massive iron structure. He jumped out and clambered over the gate to the other side. The dog was not running. He could handle the whole bunch. Being a dog he did not understand guns. He called the dog desperately. The dog reluctantly ran to him. As they climbed over the gate, the bikers came around the bend. With guns blazing and bullets flying, he and the dog ran off. The bikers stopped at the gate and just milled around. Thankful that they were not being followed, anymore they slowed to a walk. It did not take to long before they came to a paved highway. It was not dusk anymore . It was bright as the noon day sun. He could see for miles and there was not a lot of traffic on the highway.
The road turned to the east and they began to walk toward the light. The bikers were a thing of the past and the memory of them began to fade. A maroon Ford F-150 with a crew cab pulled up beside them and stopped. As the window came down the driver asked, "need a lift?"
"Yeah, thanks," he replied.
"Put the dog in the back and climb in." the driver said.
He knew the driver but could not place him. The dog acted as if he knew the driver also. Bewildered, he did as he was told. The driver handled the Ford as if it were an extension of his body. Speeding around hairpin curves, the truck gliding as if on air. The driver brought it to a stop smoothly, after a hard brake. The driver could do things with a vehicle that was not supposed to be done.
As we drove around the town his driving skills brought back vague memories. However they were disturbing. He knew a man once that could drive like this. That scared him. He began to study the driver. His observation gave him a headache. The dark hair, small stature, confidence and that smile. His heart stopped for a moment.
"Do I know you?" he asked.
"Yeah, and you know me well, don"t you?" the driver answered.
"Yes," he answered, "but that is not possible!"
"Why?" the driver said with that tell-tale smile.
"Because, I was at your funeral over a year ago." he said with a tremble in his voice.
"Has it been that long?" "I can't tell time here, all I do is drive."
"Did it hurt when your car hit that tree?" he asked.
The driver answered, "Never felt a thing. I just changed from that Ford Cobra to this Ford pickup. I need it to pick all these people that are walking down this road."
"Why me and the dog?", he asked. "How is it that we are here?"
"You asked me about the pain. What about you? Did you feel any pain?" the driver asked.
"No, I have never felt better. Why?"
Without answering, the driver turned around and headed back west. The driver turned off the highway onto the field road. He had a sinking feeling. The dread swept over him like a flash flood. As the driver stopped without hitting the gate, he could see what the bikers were doing. They were gathered around a man's body and that of his dog.
"Ready to go?" the driver asked.
"Yeah, I guess I am." he answered.
He had heard the grinding of the bike under his truck and the popping noise of bones being pulled from sockets. He had heard all that plainly. But not the sound of the tires. At that one terrifying second, he realised it was not the tires at all. It was the angry screams of the bikers. They were rushing toward his truck. Frightened beyond fear, he sped off as if his life depended on it. And it did.
The sudden impact had slammed the dog to the floorboard. He jumped back into the seat and stuck his head out the window. As the driver sped off, the dog was jerked back into the back glass. The dog was pissed off and wondered why he was driving that way. The orange flash of gunfire made points of light in the dusk. Bullets shattered glass behind him and the dog. He could see them in the rear view mirror running to their bikes. If he were going to escape, he needed more than the heavy F-150 pickup. Knowing that he could not outrun them, he turned onto a dirt road. There in the distance was a field road. He knew the pickup could handle it. The heavy Harleys would have a hard time with the ruts, holes and sand beds.
This little road of salvation suddenly ended at a locked gate. It was to heavy to break through. He slid to a stop just inches away from the massive iron structure. He jumped out and clambered over the gate to the other side. The dog was not running. He could handle the whole bunch. Being a dog he did not understand guns. He called the dog desperately. The dog reluctantly ran to him. As they climbed over the gate, the bikers came around the bend. With guns blazing and bullets flying, he and the dog ran off. The bikers stopped at the gate and just milled around. Thankful that they were not being followed, anymore they slowed to a walk. It did not take to long before they came to a paved highway. It was not dusk anymore . It was bright as the noon day sun. He could see for miles and there was not a lot of traffic on the highway.
The road turned to the east and they began to walk toward the light. The bikers were a thing of the past and the memory of them began to fade. A maroon Ford F-150 with a crew cab pulled up beside them and stopped. As the window came down the driver asked, "need a lift?"
"Yeah, thanks," he replied.
"Put the dog in the back and climb in." the driver said.
He knew the driver but could not place him. The dog acted as if he knew the driver also. Bewildered, he did as he was told. The driver handled the Ford as if it were an extension of his body. Speeding around hairpin curves, the truck gliding as if on air. The driver brought it to a stop smoothly, after a hard brake. The driver could do things with a vehicle that was not supposed to be done.
As we drove around the town his driving skills brought back vague memories. However they were disturbing. He knew a man once that could drive like this. That scared him. He began to study the driver. His observation gave him a headache. The dark hair, small stature, confidence and that smile. His heart stopped for a moment.
"Do I know you?" he asked.
"Yeah, and you know me well, don"t you?" the driver answered.
"Yes," he answered, "but that is not possible!"
"Why?" the driver said with that tell-tale smile.
"Because, I was at your funeral over a year ago." he said with a tremble in his voice.
"Has it been that long?" "I can't tell time here, all I do is drive."
"Did it hurt when your car hit that tree?" he asked.
The driver answered, "Never felt a thing. I just changed from that Ford Cobra to this Ford pickup. I need it to pick all these people that are walking down this road."
"Why me and the dog?", he asked. "How is it that we are here?"
"You asked me about the pain. What about you? Did you feel any pain?" the driver asked.
"No, I have never felt better. Why?"
Without answering, the driver turned around and headed back west. The driver turned off the highway onto the field road. He had a sinking feeling. The dread swept over him like a flash flood. As the driver stopped without hitting the gate, he could see what the bikers were doing. They were gathered around a man's body and that of his dog.
"Ready to go?" the driver asked.
"Yeah, I guess I am." he answered.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Little Itch
I carved this out of cedar. It is 12 inches tall, four inches wide and 3 inches thick.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Twenty to Life
Dick was overcome with gloom as the sun dipped below the prison wall. The light reflecting off the razor wire was brilliant. This was the closest thing to a sunset that he had seen in years. Even though the sun had disappeared, it was not dark. Daylight would hang around for another forty five minutes. That old stone wall was so high it blocked the sun in the prison yard. Unlike the outside, it would get dark inside the yard twice.
In here nothing changes. Everyday at this time Dick would get melancholy and wonder why he was here. Was it because he was mean as a stepped on snake. Was it because he had hurt people? Or was it because his parents had named him Dick? Not willing to place the blame on himself, he always chose to blame his parents. The real reason was one that even Dick did not fully understand. He was, as his name suggested, a virile man. An alpha male, he was comfortable with and loved women. He was always able to conquer and dominate them. However as his late teen years came, he began to realise that he was queer. This realization upset and bewildered him. He became more aggressive toward women. That did not help his situation. The queer feelings intensified. He fought a losing battle. He could not let the public know the truth. It was 1979 after all. But what could he do? He knew that if he went into the prison system, there would be men, captive men.
As we all know, young people do not ever make good decisions. Now that he was thirty-five, Dick was unhappy with his choices. The prison walls, darkness, isolation and fear every night was so unbearable, it proved that he had made bad choices. After entering the prison system, Dick realised that he was no longer the alpha male. In fact he was low on the pecking order(no pun intended). In the dark he was thankful for the safety of the bars.
He was locked in a building with men that were not nice. At the top of the heap was Frank. A large mountain of a man with no compassion and no soul. When he put his white eyes on you, your heart would almost stop. Frank was in for murder. Because the death penalty had been put aside, he was in for life and had nothing to lose. Several of the guards had been injured by him. It was a rite of passage for the new guards to challenge him. If they didn't, it was seen as a sign of weakness. Evil minded Frank sometimes inflicted serious bodily harm.
Of all the men in the prison, this was the one that Dick feared the most. Dick knew that Frank could smell the fear. It was oozing from his body. Dick had become lax in his attention and got too close to the bars. As Frank reached out to the bars, Dick moved backwards quickly. Too quickly. It irritated him for his fear to control him. No one else knew, but Frank. "One day these bars won't be here," Frank said "and you know what I will do then." Dick could not let anyone else see his distress. To cover for this, he said in a loud voice,"I look forward to it!" Frank just laughed. That infuriated Dick even more. However he knew when to be quiet.
After observing Frank for years, Dick knew that he was a cunning and calculating killer. He did not get away with twenty-three murders by being stupid. He was not the retarded killer everyone imagined. Frank had planned each death down to the last detail. He did not target women. It was men, and tough men at that. None of the men were sexually assaulted, it was not like that. It was the thrill of the conquest and victory over a worthy opponent. If he could destroy a man equal to himself, that was the thrill that he needed. His last intended victim was different. The Alabama task force had suspected him for a while. They used a police Sergeant for bait. Knowing that Frank sucker punched his victims just below the sternum, in the diaphragm, was just the edge the Sergeant needed. He placed a metal plate there under his shirt.
The momentary surprise was all the sarge needed. When Frank hesitated for just a spilt second it was over. The sarge broke Frank's jaw with a right cross. As Frank stumbled back, his kneecap was broken by a downward side kick. When the cop put his foot down, he spun around and caught Frank with a spinning back fist on his temple. When he awoke he was in a lot of pain and handcuffs. No one had pity on him, least of all the sergeant. He had spent years with the Yoshukai Karate organization and even had a couple of classes with the founder, Master Yamamoto.
Dick moved away into the darkness. Why had he taken this route? To get to the captive men? He had not been in here long before he realised he was not attracted to men at all. What was he to do? At his age he knew that it would be hard to get out.
Then there was Jimmy...
In here nothing changes. Everyday at this time Dick would get melancholy and wonder why he was here. Was it because he was mean as a stepped on snake. Was it because he had hurt people? Or was it because his parents had named him Dick? Not willing to place the blame on himself, he always chose to blame his parents. The real reason was one that even Dick did not fully understand. He was, as his name suggested, a virile man. An alpha male, he was comfortable with and loved women. He was always able to conquer and dominate them. However as his late teen years came, he began to realise that he was queer. This realization upset and bewildered him. He became more aggressive toward women. That did not help his situation. The queer feelings intensified. He fought a losing battle. He could not let the public know the truth. It was 1979 after all. But what could he do? He knew that if he went into the prison system, there would be men, captive men.
As we all know, young people do not ever make good decisions. Now that he was thirty-five, Dick was unhappy with his choices. The prison walls, darkness, isolation and fear every night was so unbearable, it proved that he had made bad choices. After entering the prison system, Dick realised that he was no longer the alpha male. In fact he was low on the pecking order(no pun intended). In the dark he was thankful for the safety of the bars.
He was locked in a building with men that were not nice. At the top of the heap was Frank. A large mountain of a man with no compassion and no soul. When he put his white eyes on you, your heart would almost stop. Frank was in for murder. Because the death penalty had been put aside, he was in for life and had nothing to lose. Several of the guards had been injured by him. It was a rite of passage for the new guards to challenge him. If they didn't, it was seen as a sign of weakness. Evil minded Frank sometimes inflicted serious bodily harm.
Of all the men in the prison, this was the one that Dick feared the most. Dick knew that Frank could smell the fear. It was oozing from his body. Dick had become lax in his attention and got too close to the bars. As Frank reached out to the bars, Dick moved backwards quickly. Too quickly. It irritated him for his fear to control him. No one else knew, but Frank. "One day these bars won't be here," Frank said "and you know what I will do then." Dick could not let anyone else see his distress. To cover for this, he said in a loud voice,"I look forward to it!" Frank just laughed. That infuriated Dick even more. However he knew when to be quiet.
After observing Frank for years, Dick knew that he was a cunning and calculating killer. He did not get away with twenty-three murders by being stupid. He was not the retarded killer everyone imagined. Frank had planned each death down to the last detail. He did not target women. It was men, and tough men at that. None of the men were sexually assaulted, it was not like that. It was the thrill of the conquest and victory over a worthy opponent. If he could destroy a man equal to himself, that was the thrill that he needed. His last intended victim was different. The Alabama task force had suspected him for a while. They used a police Sergeant for bait. Knowing that Frank sucker punched his victims just below the sternum, in the diaphragm, was just the edge the Sergeant needed. He placed a metal plate there under his shirt.
The momentary surprise was all the sarge needed. When Frank hesitated for just a spilt second it was over. The sarge broke Frank's jaw with a right cross. As Frank stumbled back, his kneecap was broken by a downward side kick. When the cop put his foot down, he spun around and caught Frank with a spinning back fist on his temple. When he awoke he was in a lot of pain and handcuffs. No one had pity on him, least of all the sergeant. He had spent years with the Yoshukai Karate organization and even had a couple of classes with the founder, Master Yamamoto.
Dick moved away into the darkness. Why had he taken this route? To get to the captive men? He had not been in here long before he realised he was not attracted to men at all. What was he to do? At his age he knew that it would be hard to get out.
Then there was Jimmy...
Friday, July 13, 2012
Wash Day
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