The guy was a genius. He burned. Brightly.
Everybody knows the famous novels: Black Spring, the Tropics, The Rosy Crucifixion. All good. But I’ve recently come to the conclusion that one of his lesser known works, The Air Conditioned Nightmare, is, in fact, that mythical object … the ‘Great American Novel’. Or, ‘The Great American Road Novel,’ in any case. It encapsulates the true face of this country I was born into in ways nobody else has ever approached, and does so in that inimitable Henry Miller style – long, wild tracts of colorful language and startling imagery used to strike down to the very marrow of any given issue he’d choose to address.
This was painted one night in late January, ‘09 – between the hours of 1am and 2 am. It’s just now dried enough to attempt a scan.
Oils on 8″ × 10″ canvas panel.