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Category Archives: Last Church Car Forest

I Thought I Had Become A Goldfielder – Who Was Rippie, Part 3

I don’t mind being on a need to know basis and sometimes that’s where life leaves me. I had envisioned working on the car forest for the rest of my life or at least for longer than a year and a half. I dreamed of building a facility in Goldfield at the End of the World for artists to have a quiet place to work. It’s quiet and the sky slides over dramatic there, day after day. Sometimes it’s the end when you thought it was the beginning.

Cat's outta' the bag, I may as well tell ya', I'm in Reno. Next week I'm installing my show up at Truckee Meadows Community College and I'd really like everyone to see my new paintings. Being in Goldfield has given me the chance for some quiet time, which is what's needed most for painting and writing–every pro knows this. I'm thankful to the owner of the Car Forest for giving me the opportunity to stay there for a spell.

It’s the perfect town for an art retreat.  I had dreamed of a place like this. There’s nothing much around to distract you from your work and plus the town is centrally situated between the airports of Reno and Vegas, 4 hours from each.

I also had a long standing fascination for outsider artists from Reverend Howard Finster and Adolf Wolfi to Thunder Mountain, Salvation Mountain and Watts Tower.Later I learned of the janitor and secret artist/novelist Henry Darger. These are people who “just do it.” They don’t work to get a degree or an artist rep and they don’t bother to research art history. They simply make weird art obsessively and generally don’t give a damn–no credentials needed. But we like raw don’t we?

Before I ever lived there I had always wanted to be cremated but once I was there I decided I wanted to be buried some day in Goldfield. It’s a destination. The Graveyard is very memorable and it’s the kind of focal place for desert pilgrimages that weird art people of the future might love to make. “Let’s trek across the U.S. to see the Car Forest and the grave of Sorg.”

Maybe you’ve heard, but the town of Goldfield has an obsession with things that are dead. The town is all but dead and ekes out a minimal flow of existence. It was once almost 20,000 people; now 200.

Constant is the barrage of stories from Goldfield’s past. Goldfield had once been something but was now basically nothing, and for that reason, we all love the place. An antique town. Mark Twain had probably been there, yes, stayed there, got the scoop on some story, but he never lived there and President Teddy Roosevelt never visited. I wrote an article about the labor wars there in Goldfield in 1906 and Roosevelt had broken the union; dirty dealings. History and stories like this get distorted and re-purposed.

Picture 198

I was President of the Chamber of Commerce in 2012. It was a kind of fluke really because the town seems to regard the Chamber President kind of like a mayor (Goldfield is unincorporated) and I’m not a mayoral kind of guy. I just wanted to bring people to our town. I had proposed our new town motto “Least Touristy Destination in the West” but it wasn’t a hit. It seemed right to me because I hate touristy places. As a tourist it would have gotten my attention.

Our End of the World Party was not successful. It was on the same weekend as Goldfield Days, which has always had problems creating a draw, and it ended up being a big disappointment. Oh well, although we did get some major media attention from Vegas and Reno but not many campers showed up. Rippie burnt a bus that weekend but it became the most famous party that didn’t really happen. Not by my standards anyway.

Even though we brought bands to entertain at the town’s celebration, the next month the town decided they wanted to impeach me. I never came out to Goldfield days. Instead I was playing host up at our place for the handful of people that did show up and I’m told THAT was my big sin. I didn’t let them fire me and stepped down instead–less time and energy wasted than trying to fight each other. Now that I’m gone I believe the town feels better about my intentions in hindsight.

If Rippie taught me one thing, it is to quit while you’re ahead. That’s a rule of power. He seemed to know quite a few of these rules instinctively. I asked him when did our friendship end, Mark? August 17th, 2012, he replied. That was the day of our ill-fated End of the World party. He got his work out of us–Zak and me–and at that point, our friendship was through. Really strange the specificity of the situation. All the man knows is power-plays and he knew that we were no longer needed. He even had me thrown in jail for a whole week for check fraud before the sheriff’s office decided he was full of shit and they let me walk.

In certain ways Rippie was less full of shit than most people. He saw thru the bullshit of polite society. I respected his courage to let go of what’s generally accepted. Beyond the hillbilly I could see his defiance and a certain level of intelligence. There was generosity beneath the ego. He had a vision and for that reason I could look past the rough edges. He simply couldn’t hurt me.

But his ego betrayed him. What he despised about others kept him apart from them. Now that’s from a more conventional perspective like mine where collaboration is based on mutual respect and cooperation. Rippie liked to challenge. He only knew pressure.

He’s not nice but, well, who gives a fuck?


Picture 197

Publicity -Car Forest & Goldfield

Wall Street Journal (link to come)
Huffington Post (link to come)
High Country News Article (link to come)
Las Vegas Review Journal, One’s a photo slideshow, then the Video (Funny. Sums up the relations in our lil’ town)
Las Vegas City Life (Press in Vegas)
Puhrump Valley Times ( Local(ish) Blurb About Goldfield Days)
Nicholas Rattigan’s blog (funny, personal story from a journalism student)

Salt Lake City’s KSL video and interview
Vincent Cascio’s Black Hawk Virtual Media (3D, REALLY Sumthin!)
Geolocation (where? exactly?)
Slurve Online Magazine (my article)
Photographer Ron Pinkerton’s Flickr (in the lightning and at NIGHT! WOW!)
Reno News & Review (A quick announcement for our party last August)
Nevada Matters RADIO Interview about Goldfield and the Car Forest with Sorg
Sorg’s Art Exhibition at Reno’s Truckee Meadows Community College (Spring of 2013)

Bus End World Poster

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He Puts Off The Creepiest Vibe – Who Is Rippie, Part 2

He really puts off the creepiest vibe.

Everybody says so. I used to say he’s like the Grinch who stole Christmas. The Grinch lived out at the edge of town where everybody could see his house but it was where no one would go. Finally we find out the Grinch is not so bad, just damaged. That’s what Rippie was like.

I’ve always been an artist and always will be no matter how difficult–I will never stop making art–it’s in my blood. I saw that same spirit in Rippie too. He was burying these cars and that was that. No one could stop him. I saw the romance in this small town outlaw’s vision immediately.

Rippie came from a Southern state, Tennessee I think, and used to be a nice looking guy at one time. But now he was 68 looking as if he were 78–he’s a dedicated chain smoker, plus he’s fat now. He’s got very sweet crystal blue eyes. He’s soft spoken and uses simple words. He WAS soft spoken. Sorry, I had said I’d write about him as if he were already dead.

Michael Mark Backhoe

I believe I also have the kind of eyes that look sweet so me & Rippie, we both have sweet blue eyes.

In the movie As Good As it Gets, Helen Hunt’s character says to Jack Nicholson’s character (who is a world class asshole) “When I first saw you I thought you had sweet eyes: SO MUCH FOR EYES!” Maybe that goes for me too, I dunno, but it definitely goes for Rippie. So much for eyes!

He always wanted me to write about him, so here I am. Michael Mark Rippie, you were such an asshole but this Car Forest you made was a good thing.

Some people in town thought I was his son. I met his son once. Thank God I’m not him. But I guess this explains the resistance I got from alot of people there. Virginia is the little old lady who acts as caretaker of the Goldfield Hotel and she lets the ghost hunters in on their expeditions at that famous property. You may have seen her on TV. I don’t know, I don’t watch ghost hunter shows. Virginia wouldn’t even shake my hand when I extended it the day we met. She said to me “I’m not with you.” I was the President of the Chamber of Commerce so being connected to Rippie I guess she thought I had bad intentions for the town.

Rippie had a book started that he wanted me to finish for him ghost writer style, but see, not my kind of subject matter. There was something in his story about fucking a horse and that’s just not my direction. Some real insight can be gained by looking at what a man writes. I think there was a black guy in the story too. It was a cowboy story and the black cowboy had to fight for his right to survive. Rippie was not a racist, a dabbler in bestiality, perhaps, but not a racist. Life had hardened him.

Michael Mark Viewer

One time Zak and I came back from Reno and the old man was the talk of the town (again). It seems Rippie had tied a couple jackasses to the bumper of his one ton and was going to tow them down the main street, Highway 95, to his side of town. Jackasses are notoriously stubborn and I guess to cross the corner of the highway he had to speed them up on their leashes to avoid oncoming traffic. Instead of coming along nicely, they dropped to the ground and left bloody skid marks as they were dragged across the asphalt. I was not there, but in his defense, he’s stupid as he is stubborn. This is why he loves jackasses–he told me as much. Plus we had already agreed that the animal is the official mascot of Goldfield. Anyway, he didn’t seem to foresee this bloody outcome. His intention was to help these animals and not to hurt them. To say that the jackass drug some jackasses across the highway would not be an understatement. He didn’t choose a side street for this adventure. I guess that would have been too low key. I actually think Rippie was intelligent it’s just his egoic displays got in the way for him sometimes.

In my short time as a resident I experienced a most unusual existence in Goldfield. MichaelMark Rippie had always lived unusually but I’d say our time together was probably the best topper for the second to last chapter of a man’s life. His final chapter of life won’t shine more brightly than this one but he’ll be able to bask in his own glory through his remaining years; he had finally built something. We made a substantial thing thanks to the belief we had in his vision.

The Ghouls were these grave diggers in Goldfield over one hundred years ago that had to move the graveyard. Over the course of a couple weeks of late night sessions they were able to move all the bodies to a new location, a final resting place of final resting places. The graveyard was originally located at the spot where people stepped off the train upon arrival at the station. A graveyard to greet you when stepping off the train is not good planning and the ghouls had volunteered to correct this blunder.

525131_354857821247224_68277388_n I’d be too unskilled to appropriately express the beautiful moments I felt in that place and the unique feeling of burying cars overlooking this crumbly brick & trailer town at the edge of nowhere in the middle of the night when the wind is nil and the temperature is right. There’s that certain temperature where it matches your body’s perfectly. The air outside my skin feels the same as inside and the stars shine so brightly. Everything feels vibrant and I know I’m doing unique things. We were Goldfield’s new Ghouls. Not a savory job but someone’s gotta’ do it.

After our midnight backhoe sessions, everybody slept good.

This was part 2 in the Who Was MichaelMark Rippie series. Subscribe to this page to be alerted of the rest of this series.

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Who Was MichaelMark Rippie?

I’ll speak of him as if he were dead. I got this idea from Mark Twain, the opening of his autobiography. He introduced the book with talk about how he’d need to write as if he were already dead. Exposing such blatant and intimate “privacies”, he’d have to write as if he were already gone.

For the sake of my writings, I’m going to just assume Mark Rippie is dead. One cannot be too careful. At the time of this writing, no, he’s not dead, but being incapacitated as I’m told he is, I don’t think he’ll be reading my words–though he might, so who knows. I’ll write as if he’s gone already.

You’d have to be inside the relationship that he and I had to understand the man’s views at all. His ex-wife seems to understand him and I know that she can’t handle being around him. I can’t stand being around him and I don’t think there are many people at all that do know him and can stand him. Quite simply, he’s not a nice guy. But knowing him as I do, I know that this is not a fact that he’d mind me relaying to you–in fact he’d actually love it. That’s Rippie.

Having said that I’ve gotta’ mention the huge amount of gratitude I have for Michael “Mark” Rippie’s vision. We did end up doing just exactly as he had in mind to do. It was his land and his cars–at least I think they were his–and I just helped him. He said he’d make me famous. Yeah I’m getting some notoriety from what we did. Maybe wealth will follow, we’ll see.

If you’ve ever been around a sociopath you might understand that certain people see the world in a way that only suits their own needs. If you suit their needs then you will be used to facilitate things. I did that. I’m an artist with an interest in outsider artists and environments. Mark Rippie was a determined visionary and certainly an outsider. “Artist” is an arguable label so let’s make it simple: yes.

Is a desert rat unskilled and burying cars with a backhoe an artist? If he’s got someone to publicize him then I guess he is, yes. Besides, I was always the artist. He was the visionary.420081_299463073453366_43964780_n

My friend Zak moved out to Rippie Ranch too because Zak’s the strongest guy I know. I knew he’d be useful to our endeavor. Zak’s got a little girl (6 years old right now) and Goldfield was a great place to raiser her for awhile. She saw a different kind of life than from that in the city. He’s also pretty creative himself, Zak, so it was an effort between the three of us building this car forest.

I met Rippie one day driving thru Goldfield. I let him know how much I appreciated his erect car I spied off the road a bit. Quickly I saw his vision for a whole “forest” of these cars and that very day we met he invited me to come and help him make this happen. He needed an artist to make art out of them once they were standing and in return he’d pay me in room and board. This was around 2004 or 5. I had a driving job installing art shows across the state of Nevada working for the state of Nevada and the stars aligned when Rippie and I met that day.

He pushed the shotgun scabbard aside and I hopped on the back of his four wheeler. His beard is long & frizzled grey and a dingy rolled cigarette stump never leaves the corner of his mouth. He has a revolver on his hip at all times. Even though he talks exactly like the dirty redneck from those movies who”ll blast a hole in ya’ and then rape your corpse, I was game for an adventure.

He said he intended to break the Guinness Book Record; “Carhenge up in Nebaraska has 27 cars stickin’ outta’ the ground”. It wasn’t until the fall of 2011 that I moved to Goldfield full time to live in a dingy trailer beside him and his 7 dogs, but before then I was able to stop and paint a few cars en route through Goldfield for him through the years. He had about 10 in the ground when I got there.581240_354856787913994_930104443_n

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A video from the car forest, 2005 or so:

MichaelMark Plays by nadasorg subscribe to this page to be alerted of the rest of this series.

Goldfield Labor Wars 1907

I illustrated this cover to go with my story, published in Harbinger Asylum

I illustrated this cover to go with my story, published in Harbinger Asylum

Wobblies Unite The Workers

The headline read “Anarchists Growing Bolder At Goldfield” -The Goldfield Sun, and the year was 1907. Goldfield was becoming a company town and the gold miners had their defense: their union.

Goldfield had been ripe for capitalists, politicians, rebels and anyone with unbridled ambition to take action and cause a ruckus. Goldfield was a clean slate, an open book in 1903. Small mines were about to start turning huge profits. By 1907 the town had grown into a substantial 24 hour town, the largest in Nevada. 20,000 residents lived here and the mines were being consolidated.

Vincent “The Saint” St. John was a professional agitator. With the backing of already famous agitator Big Bill Haywood, his union, the Industrial Workers of the World, the IWW or the “Wobblies”, believed in “One big union”.

In 1905, with their rallying cry “Workers of the World Unite”, the IWW split from the Western Federation of Miners. The WFM’s secretary-treasurer and Socialist William “Big Bill” Haywood opened the first IWW convention in Chicago, June 27th, 1905: “This is the Continental Congress of the working class. We are here to confederate the workers of this country into a working class movement that shall have for its purpose the emancipation of the working class from the slave bondage of capitalism.” Chicago hosted that inaugural IWW convention. In attendance were labor movement standouts Mother Jones and Eugene Debs.

Haywood went on.. “When the corporations and the capitalists understand that you are organized for the express purpose of placing the supervision of industry in the hands of those who do the work, you are going to be harassed and you are going to be subjected to every indignity and cruelty that their minds can invent.”

Laborers of America, especially in the West, were open to the idea of socialism, not state socialism but a socialism for the people: socialism “with its workboots on.”

Climbing out of mines, workers were being subjected to newly installed changing rooms at the mines to be used under observation to prevent “high grading” which is the term for stealing gold ore in their clothing and amongst tools. Until then, the act had been regarded lightly. Miners considered high grading to be a God-given perk of the job. After the banking scare that year, script (company store coupons), was being used to pay wages in lieu of cash.

St. John, the young, successful union agitator, who had earned a reputation for violence in the miners’ strike in Cripple Creek, Colorado, 1901, was now here in Goldfield. “ organization which asks no quarter and will give none; whose battle cry is ‘an injury to one is an injury to all’; an organization which recognizes no division among  workers…”

Harry Jardin, a friend and cohort in St. John’s radical union, went on to bid, unsuccessfully, for the single Nevada congressional seat on the Socialist ticket in 1906. “Get an ax and use your ax at the system that makes slaves of you…” Jardin advised.

St. John and Jardin were among the union leaders indicted for conspiracy for the 1907 Preston-Smith murder trial, where in an act of self-defense, shot a restauranteur during a picketing dispute. Said St. John, “If they pack the jury to hang our men, we will pack hell full of them.” Many years after his death Morrie Preston was pardoned of this killing.

Later, the radical Big Bill Haywood put in his bid for Governor of Colorado while in jail. He had been detained for allegations of the murder of the Idaho Governor, Frank Steunenberg.

Wingfield Consolidates the Mines

All the miners knew was that mine owners like George Wingfield and Senator George Nixon, co-owners of The Goldfield Consolidated Mines Company, were impinging on their right to happiness. These mine owners were the same men who also happened to possess large financial interests in the banks. It was a national bank scare as shares were dropping. The union made demands.

Wingfield: “Compromise be damned. The Goldfield mines will stay closed down until hell freezes over before we open them to let a lot of anarchists tell us how to run our property.” He had the upper hand. Diamondfield Jack Davis, gunman/murderer, was Wingfield’s bodyguard. Wingfield also had the backing of the patriarchs in his newly formed Goldfield Business Men’s and Mine Owners Association.

On December 6th, President Teddy Roosevelt sent troops to Goldfield.

Subsequent to the troop occupation, wages dropped, unions were banned from Goldfield. The miner’s strike ended April 3rd, 1907. Their leaders had been taken out of commission.

Roosevelt eventually sent a presidential commission to investigate. Their findings were stated “The action of the mine operators warrants the belief that they had determined upon a reduction in wages and the refusal of employment to members of the WMF, but that they feared to take this course of action unless they had the protection of federal troops, and that they accordingly laid plans to secure such troops, and then put the programme into effect.”

There was rumored to be a bribe of $50,000 to Governor Sparks. Ida Crouch Hazlett -journalist -The Socialist: “Everything points to the fact that Governor Sparks was paid $50,000 for getting the troops in here. He is nothing but a drunken sot, as tough and disreputable as they make them, and nothing else could be expected.”


Goldfield -The Last Rush on the Western Frontier

-Sally Zanjani

The Ignoble Conspiracy -Radicalism On Trial In Nevada

-Sally Zanjani and Guy Louis Rocha

Radicalism In The Mountain West -1890-1920

-David R. Berman

The International Car Forest of the Last Church

HERE it is! A guy, Nick, had come to visit some months ago (like 7) and I had never bothered to go look for his article ’till now. I love it. Nick transcribes some of the fear of coming to this kind of place that I, myself, had also experienced. Read up.. fun article about my home.

click here:

The International Car Forest of the Last Church.

Cat Sitting Fishbowl Stint pt. 5

Christmas Eve Went Like This

Just got back from dinner at Carl & Patty’s; spaghetti and garlic bread. Good company. Others were there as well, Dave & Patty. We all have radio shows on KGFN. We’re all friends. It’s nice having friends. I miss family. I know they miss me. Gotta remember to cal them.

Work on the Tex Rickard house is rigorous. It’s clean, clean. Super clean and being done in glazes so this means it takes time, painting the details right and I don’t rush it. Days turn into weeks with this one.

There are bricks and shingles. My oils lay down in various ways so the tricks come out. I don’t want to have to outline every single brown shingle or every red brick. That’s the challenge here.

So I worked on a different painting after that ordeal. It’s interesting we get to publish our thoughts as we’re painting them, these days.

So this other painting, it’s very van Gogh. Vincent burped out color, almost impatiently, but his drawing style showed up on the canvas as well. He drew into paint, that’s what Picasso did alot as well. This painting is like that.

I had said to myself the other night that Vincent would have not liked the desert; it’s hard to exaggerate colors here. Colors are a bountiful gift and this painting sings. It’s friendly and delightful, but the sky is overcast and the landscape is not sun drenched.

An indulgence I dip into is lots of blue, in the ground, in the buildings, on the walls, the shadows of everything, blue. I love playing with that. I let myself go with this one.

I had started with blocks of color I let dry over night. It was a very brief underpainting so then I was able to let loose and render forms with that color already there for ground areas.

The white was also dashed off unbridled in a few spots. There’s a camper in this painting and it stands out, even beside the red broken down car beside it.

I could walk you to this spot. It’s right by my house and not a typically beautiful location, looking toward some shacks and trailers, but the ridges miles behind, that’s nice to see as a back drop.

So it all lined up nicely in the photo I thought, so this painting came from the lines of that photo shot a month ago.

I call this painting, tentatively and in jest, yes, Fruit Cocktail Desert, yes desert. It’s so bright and lively. Saturated desert scene.


Christmas Day (and Night)

For lunch I was invited to have dinner at the Dinky Diner. I walked down there and it was a full house. Completely full of locals there for Christmas Dinner together. It was such a great thing. For those of us with no family here it was wonderful and the feast was excellent. Small town excellence.

It’s kind of always on our mind, the solitude here. Goldfield is not just out in the country, it’s very remote desert. It’s 4 hours to civilization. Alot of us keep to ourselves and that’s how we’ve ended up here. I’ve done it all and so have many others so we know what we’ve got in our little town.

I took a coffee to go and said my Merry Christmases, hugs and off I was, back to the little camper to paint.

Once nestled in, another canvas was started late Christmas night. It’s the other standing bus at the Car Forest. By the way, I did forget to call family until it was too late. That 3 hours time difference slipped my mind.

I had called this hill One Car Hill because for a long time it only had the one car, which happened to be the first car I ever painted here, years ago. Now it’s burnt. Someone lit it on fire, probably Rippie and the paint was all burnt off but you can barely see a head from what I painted so long ago. Anyhoo, a yellow pick up was added to the hill top and then the big white bus started to stand there.

But the way they’re situated, the way they stand, the way the other two cars stand in front of the bus, it’s as if they all sprouted from the same seedbed. And the thick fog that day, behind the cars and concealing the ridge behind, it makes for a great painting. We’ll see.

But I started on that one Christmas night.

While I paint this bus, I think of the End of the World party and how much has changed here. We had 100 people visit that day but only 20 came to camp around our house. Port-a-potties were not needed. Nice burn though, damn nice burn. The rain let up and Rippie lit it up for a small crowd. Las Vegas newspaper was there. Jeeze, that was 6 months ago.


Cat Sitting Fishbowler, Part 4

Day 3, Evening

8:30 PM, Nina Simone moans. 4 canvases here means dabs here & there and most interestingly, they’re all different genres it seems.
Mister White Whiskers wants out again. He just came in!
She wails sex like in the dark, Nina. Time for propane heat.
These moments can pass unnoticed as insignificant. Take note. Take heart. Godspeed.
Mark art from these; poetry or publication in abstract of the moment’s feeling. You Tube it, Tumber, Google + it. Sing out. Yell to the the mountain top and share it. We have this in common, that we can all put it in a certain perspective if we try. Make a story of it or a picture; maybe somethin’ in between. Whether it’s a story of your trip to the post office or laundry day, or leaning against the juke box last night. See the beauty (or horror) and share that.
Cooking the contents of a can: stir fry vegetables, cost $1.80. Looking forward to eating this.
To spruce it up I made it into Thai. Added a couple spoons of peanut butter and then garlic powder, garlic salt and black peppercorn ground in. Oh and coffee creamer- Irish cream.
It really is good.
For the last couple bites I’m adding more peanut butter. Ewwwwww.. THAT’S awesome! It’s chunky peanut butter. Not the first choice for my teeth, but tasty.
The vegetables are thin slices of carrot, watercress, bean sprouts and those lil’ corns cobs. Peanut butter is so nice with spice. It’s a dampening effect. Insulation. I tried to get  a pic of me eating it for you but the camera’s card was full AND battery’s dead!
I got the grooviest jazz goin’. Ornette Coleman from 1959.
Day 4, Morning
I should have emptied that card last night. Ornette put me to sleep after a few painting dabs. The fog this morning is killer. I’m about to go out & shoot. You gotta’ see this.
Digital frenzy. Went out in the ‘hood a bit. Historical documentation never ends. Atmosheric effects galore! The sun would come and go, filtered by these grounded clouds and consequently, the whole landscape would come and go too. I don’t know if I got many shots of the well lit moments but it’s mysterious how they become concealed so quickly.
Boesch Home, I’m told, was lived in by an old miner who was blind. He had laid a wire along the ground that he’d follow to get him to work & home every day.
This is the edge of the mining districk. One of the state’s longest continually running bars is over here. The Sante Fe is exactly the kind of place you’d expect; leather horse tools hang from the porch’s banisters.
Goldfield was so much more densely populated at one time. It’s hard to imagine.
When the lighting is right, I’ll have to get some shots of this cabin’s interior.
It’s that simple existence that’s become so foreign to us. I woke from my nap after shooting the Christmas Eve fog, thinkin’ about Mr. Boesch’s little place. I didn’t notice if any electricity had ever been connected. He wouldn’t really need lights except for visitors. Right across the street is the Sante Fe, though. Maybe he would have just taken them over there during a visit.
Seeing the stuffing come thru the walls puts things into perspective. I guess the miners would have worked during the winter. Temperature doesn’t change much down in the hole, I guess.
Mr. Boesch claimed he could feel the ore with gold in it. I believe the story is he was actually rich. He just preferred the simple life.

Cat Sitting Fishbowler Part 3 -Journaling and Photos

Day 2, Evening

A record day on the blog site yesterday I think. Viewers are checkin’ up on me. It’s almost Christmas; lazy bastards -nuthin’ better to do. Suppose I’ll paint tonight.

(click these to see the slideshow blown UP!~)

Last night, cleared this little table and this day bed. I needed space for patient painting.

There are only so many places I could be in this trailer. I’ll list them all:

Day bed, here where I am now. Table & chair, about 2.5 feet from my head at the moment, where my booted foot is right now. Kitchen, starting about one foot past my foot and ending 6 feet beyond that. I’ll call it.. the pantry; that’s just beside the kitchen which is where the cat bowl is on the floor beside the old propane heater.

In these images, you’ll see some shot yesterday of the old high school, during my walk back to the camper. I wish to fishbowl from this building at some point. As you can see, the building needs some attention and I’m all about bringing the noise! It’s a cause I’d like to be involved with. There’s money for preservation if we can get the cause publicized. I don’t know if they really understand what fishbowling could do for them. Readers, please email me back if you have specific ideas where to find money for this historic and most beautiful school house.

Bedroom is beyond this room, about 7 ft. from my foot. There is a porch this is really just a space beside the camper, otherwise, this is the extent of the this abode. If I stand on my left foot, my left hand reaching one wall, stretching my right foot reaches the other wall for the width of this camper trailer.

The train I’m letter is just beyond that silver trailer over there across the way. Whiskers is purring. Stupid dog barks outside. Whiskers looks at me as if to say “should I be concerned?” This evening he showed me the food he prefers by jumping toward it (in the pantry) from the kitchen counter, 3 feet away from him. I’m thinking of offering Mister White Whiskers cat nip; I’m drinking a beer. Let’s PARTY Mister Whiskers!

Took some pictures, alot actually. You’ll see them taken from this end of the camper to that end. 12 feet in distance, I’d say. Time to play and paint. Cats don’t get bored; I like that.

This painting I’m about to embark upon, it’s horizontal in ratio and based on photos of a sunset I took a month ago. Orange, purple, electrified! Concentrated glow.

Day 3, Afternoon

There’s a pretty thick fog outside right now. It’s morning. I’m going out to shoot and then post on the blog here. Also, I’m out of tobacco. Probably walk home for that. I was puffin’ away last night while painting. BUT THIS PAINTING -it’s turning out really well and easy. Yes, no distractions really helps alot.

The 2 books of art I brought to look at are on Van Gogh and Monet. Vincent wrote such beautiful letters and his impoasto paint is impressive, the way he just does it and ends it. I thought of him last night while applying my goops of white and yellow. It’s hard for me to just stop. Thnx for the help, Vincent.

You have to leave this place every day to do your dootie. You know what I’m sayin’? Number two; but it’s great because that most basic of functions the body needs gets us out of our cave by necessity.

The windows of this thing are like chest level when standing.

Monet could get colors to harmonize and clash at will. Looking at his work, you see he only cared about color effects. I care about translucence.

I woke at 11 today. I had excellent sleep, worked late last night I guess. No clock in the camper so today’s filtered sunlight made it hard to tell the time ’til I checked my laptop.

Mister White Whiskers was out most of the night. He got the oily gourmet stuff for breakfast.

I did end up taking that walk home in the biting wind today. Took a couple dumps, downed coffee and gathered a few supplies: canvases, my easel, vodka, cool aid mix, socks, tobacco, color harmony book, hydrogen peroxide for me teeth. Zak and Alison are not home at the moment. They’re possibly getting a ride to Reno for Christmas, but have apparently not left yet. I like the clown head he laid on the table here. I like the sunlight in our house. A couple ATVs came for a quick visit to the Car Forest during my quick visit.

I’m bringing a few onions as well. I was thinking about Diogenes. See his statue in “Cat Sitting Post 1”. They say this philosopher only ate onions and lived naked in a barrel. He was the original cynic.

Maybe I’ll finish this canvas of the Tex Rickard house tonight. Probably record some CDs of my radio show for the parents.

On my walk home today, I was thinking of wants vs. needs. I like the simplicity.

Cat Sitting Fishbowl Stint part 2 (photos)

Just a handful of images. I’m staying in this tiny camper till Christmas and I’m lovin’ it. Last night I just wrote and today I’m starting a couple canvases. I’m going to be updating you of this exciting time in my life. There’s no crapper, only a urinal.

As always, you can click on an image to see them blown up.

I walked down to our cafe for breakfast and some writing time. We’re glad it’s open again. No gas yet, just food. Nice atmosphere. Of course every time I go there I know everyone. It’s a bit much, actually, especially when I’ve just awakened and then had to brave the chilly wind with ice sickle tears at the corners of my eyes when I walk in. I finished letter to my mom and dad and then after breakfast, walked over to the post office to mail them off.. a little late.

I received a letter from a friend, Christmas card and commending me for what I’m doing in life. The letter was addressed “Chad Sorg, c/o Goldfield Chamber of Commerce, PO Box __________.. I’m not on the board of the Chamber any more, but the letter found me easily. The new reining President is Bobby Patterson, who happens to be my #1 choice for the job. He has my total support!

At home, our PO Box is 53, here in Goldfield, 89013 if you’d like to send something. Money’s always good too.. but yeah, our house is called End of the World, so just for fun, why don’tcha’ address it to that name next time, see if it gets to me.

I love the rust and the ruins and the joshua trees. More images to come, from my lil’ trailer hide away, especially once I get a painting done. Mr. White Whiskers likes the night life apparently. I worried about him all night till he finally knocked this morning just before dawn. He doesn’t seem to like salmon; what’s up with that!?? Our heater kicks ass!

And I JUST COULDN’T WAIT to show you this newest canvas..

Bus Burn Painting, Oil, 12 x 16

LIGHTNING and THUNDER at the Car Forest!

Ron Pinkerton came to the Car Forest a few months ago.

He was out there 2 nights in a row, shooting after sunset in the wind and rain and lightening, lighting the cars and shooting shooting shooting. I saw him out there with his flash very late one night as a storm came thru and went.

it really was a spectacular moment for Ron to be here shooting. If I remember right, Zak saw him downtown with his big camera and he was pointed in our direction. Really awesome guy and these shorts are almost too good to be true. The guy knew his shit and must be some kind of Buddhist or something to be patient as he was.

click thru and look at these shots blown up on Ron’s Flkr page. TELL him how frickin amazing these are!

The Gatekeeper
Blue Moon Rising (aka Bus-ted)

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