I'll Follow the Sun

A distinguishing quality of the sunflower is that its flowering head tracks the sun’s movement. This occurrence is known as "heliotropism."
                                                     (36"x48" oil, acrylic on canvas)

Get Happy

The only happy people I know are the ones who are working well at something they consider important.  - Abraham Maslow

Use Your Gift

     INT. CARNIVAL CARAVAN - NIGHT

     The Carnival barker, JUDGE STERNBULL, 50, sits in his unkempt trailer across from the wrestler HIRAM SKOVE, 20.

                                                                                    JUDGE STERNBULL

                                            Are you possessed of any religious constrictions, son?

                                            Because I believe the Supreme Bean gives every man one gift. 

                                                      (lifting his patch; peering closely with a milky eye)

                                            And you’ve sure-tainly been given yours.   But you must use it,

                                            or you’ll pay dearly.

                 

                                                                                             HIRAM

                                            Pay dearly? 

                                                                                     JUDGE STERNBULL

                                            With your very soul.  Gets eaten away bit by bit, if you don’t use your gift. 

                                             I use mine.   And Edward uses his... 

            IN THE CORNER, sits the SHE BEAST without make-up.  The She Beast, it  turns out, is a MAN named Edward 

            who is combing his long lustrous hair.

                                                                                   JUDGE STERNBULL

                                           Disfortunately, Ed’s not the man he once was.   Nor the woman.

                                                            (off Hiram’s stare)

                                           Don't be so gawk-eyed.   Ed’s what you call a “Her-n-him-frodite” with both

                                           penist and vaginny.    Which I showed to great interest in Kansas City... 

                                           before they shut me down.

           Dialogue from "The Magnificent Scuffler",  my screenplay about the advent of professional wrestling in the 1930's

 (Acrylic on board 22"x 22")

Thoughts of the Motel Manager

He studied the darkened neon with a look of disappointment and resignation.
Disappointment that it remained burned out and resignation that he would never fix it.
 It was the same look he gave himself each morning.
(oil on canvas 16" x 24")

SCARED STRAIGHT!

When I was thirteen I went to a fundamentalist church camp back in Oklahoma.  With hormones raging and bibles banging, the campers there were a manic mix of Christian purity one moment and teenage horniness the next.

My cousin Tom also attended Burnt Cabin Bible Camp and we always sat in the back row during the nightly services called devos.  (A clever, hipper name for Devotionals).   Here we sang acapella songs that were much more "with it" then the ancient church hymns back home.   And we listened to an impassioned youth minister (maybe 23) who'd "been there, guys."   He had experienced drugs and alcohol and the temptation of sex just like us.   He knew how tough it was to love Jesus when you were a teenager.    I think his name was Rick.   They were always named Rick.    

The devo would end with a heart wrenching plea to come forward to confess our sins and be baptized.   There was an emotional "invitation song" and the explicit threat that if you weren't baptized you'd burn in hell for all eternity.   "Don't die in your sleep and never know heaven," was a popular refrain from sunburned Rick.   This had a lot of campers marching to the front of the mess hall.    Especially teary-eyed girls who had been felt up for the first time earlier that afternoon behind the snack shack.

But cousin Tom and I always rolled our eyes during this nightly parade.  We were way too cool for this crowd.   They couldn't get to us.   Besides most of these people were hypocrites.   (I was very proud of my use of the word hypocrite back then and I used it a lot.)

But Friday night, after a solid week of songs,  prayers and the continual threat of a vindictive God, we were starting to crack.   Tom was singing along to "Jesus is Lord" with  real enthusiasm, not the mocking tone I was used to.   And he definitely wasn't using our own special lyrics, "Jesus is Bored."   I knew he was ready to break.   And to be honest,  I was weakening as well.  

It wasn't the actual physical torment of hell that scared me, it was the threat of eternity.   I just couldn't wrap my head around the "forever and forever" of it all.   The thought of no escape truly frightened me.

I elbowed Tom in the ribs to get him back on track as a couple of sobbing girls marched to the front along with this pimply kid who just that day had let us listen to his A.C./D.C. tapes.   But Tom didn't roll his eyes.   Nope.   He wiped them.   He was crying.   He was really crying.   And suddenly he was up and headed to the front.  

And the next thing I knew,  I was up and following him.   I wasn't going to hell alone.   No way.   At the front we were met with big hugs from Rick -- a knowing smile on his glowing, red face.  It was both embarrassing and a huge relief.

It gets hazy after that.   It was dark and I remember stumbling down to the lake with Tom and the other sinners.   We wore some kind of smock over our bathing suits still wet from the after lunch "free swim".    There were weeds and brambles that poked at my feet from the mud as we waded out.    My teeth chattered as I waited my turn.   Both from the cold water and the gravity of the ceremony.

An older preacher,  the camp administrator,  cupped the back of my head and held my hands to my chest as he lowered me into the murky waters of Fort Gibson Lake.   When he pulled me up I knew I was different.   I was saved.

The next day, before my parents picked us up,  I was playing softball when I suddenly took the Lord's name in vain because I  bobbled a grounder.   I felt terrible.  What a hypocrite.

                                                              (acrylic on 14" x 24" found board)