Is it Just Corn?

"Hybrid" ~ Oil on Linen ~ 46 x 52

 

There was no doubt now that I had finally arrived. My painting hung on the sacred white wall of an art museum in a large city. Not in a gallery, but a museum. THE Holly Solomon, from New York, the center of THE art world, had chosen it to be hung there.

What NOT to Do in a Fast Food Joint with Roman Candles

Summer of 1968. The summer between my sophomore and junior year Jamie, Jim, Lance, Lamont and I decided to have roman candle duels in Lamont’s backyard. And why wouldn’t we do such a thing? Shooting them up in the air was so very boring.

Becoming the Artist YOU Want to Be

One of the most difficult and important things you will ever have to do is to decide just what kind of a artist you want to be. This short article gives what I think is the best advice you could ever get on becoming the artist YOU want to be.

Blowguns & Other Classroom Diversions

Let’s be honest, sitting in a classroom in 8th grade can be SO boring. Sure, you could stare at Mrs. Reynolds’ tight sweater. She was blessed with those special lucky charms that strained the fabric in ways that would attract any guy. Certainly not me as I was above this kind of thing, but when it was time to leave her class I often had to carry my books strategically placed in front of, well, just in front.

But even that would get old after awhile and someone far more clever than I had figured out that if you took the tip and ink tube out of a Bic pen, it could become a very accurate blowgun. The projectiles were formed by placing a small piece of paper in the mouth and shaping it into a ball with the tongue. Just put it into the hollow Bic pen, aim and blow. Of course this was frowned upon by our oppressive school administration.

My Girlfriend and the Streaker

In the fall of 1971 I was standing in the great room of the Kappa Sigma fraternity in Laramie, Wyoming with my good friend Jim and his fraternity brothers. It was a sunny crisp Saturday morning, a perfect day to go to the Wyoming football game. I was all in for that, but when the entire house decided to go streaking through fraternity and sorority row I must have turned white as a ghost.

The Meteor and the FBI

Omaha, 1970. Most, if not all of our friends had curfews, so on the weekends Jamie and I often ended up driving around Omaha and the surrounding area very late at night. I had to have Pat (now my wife) whom I was going steady with home by 11:00, so after I took her home Jamie would often pick me up and off we went.

Of Picnics and Condoms

One beautiful fall day Jamie came over to my house with a couple of friends to visit me and my friend Jim Holtz, who had stopped by to visit on his way to the University of Wyoming. We all decided to hop in Jamie’s car and have a picnic. Jamie loved to drive and we ended up 100 miles south in Kansas at a park with food we had picked up at a fast-food joint.