"I'll give her credit for her art work, though, for I love this land called America, every inch of it, every hill and valley. I'd seen many miles of it before I was sixteen years old, hitch-hiking around the country, setting pens in bowling alleys in Detroit, picking fruit with the Mexicans in California, up and down the highways I went wide open, and it didn't matter which direction I header or how much money I had in my pocket, which was usually none, I loved every minute of it. We had no interstate highway system back then, only two lanes contry roads when you got away from the cities, so around every turn and over every hill you saw a different sight, a one-of-a-kind painting you would never see again anywhere else, each one uniquely beautiful and constantly changing, and even if you took the same road back Mama Nature was there ahead of you, busy redecorating while you where gone.
The interstate highway system destroyed all that, of course, as I'm sure you've noticed as you cruise down Interstate-Whatever trying to stay awake from the sheer depressing monotony of a billion miles of the same scene repeated over and over again.
A painting on the wall may be a pretty sight, all right, but it's like a dead deer head, you have to kill it to paint it. My art is America, alive and changing every second, a deer running through the forest, dogwood tress blooming in the Spring, a thin trail of smoke coming from the stovepipe of a mountain cabin in the wintertime with white snow on the ground, the head of summer when the girls come out of their clothes, a dog barking in the distance, Kathleen Vinson's pink panties hanging on a clothesline panting in the hot summer sun — what could be more American than that? "
William G. Baker - Alcatraz-1259