This is a snapshot of the Chicken. It is acrylic on canvas, 6 feet high
by 8 feet wide. I painted it in the '80s, when I had a studio in the old Odd Fellows Hall, now Merlino Art Center. It began as a simple composition of a Court C scene, with the (then) Sheraton Hotel in the background.
I painted it to peddle to any insecure middle-management types in the newly built Financial Center. When I was on the board of Allied Arts and met frequently in the nose-bleed offices of the Frank Russell building, I noted that the higher the floor, the more expensive the art. Russell Co. had a woman on staff who did nothing but buy art. I knew she wouldn't even look at mine, but maybe some loser in the Financial Center would buy it to make people think the company had done it for him.
When I got RIF'ed at the News Tribune in '86, when the Californians took over, I moved it to my living room to finish it. The Chicken came to town about then. I had liked the composition of the Court C scene, but after staring at the painting for six months, I didn't know where to go next. After I got laid off, I figured, what the hell, don't take it so seriously. So I slapped in the chicken, and then the people.
My son, then in his teens, pointed out it seemed to be an outlet for my suppressed anger at corporate world for the layoff--he pointed out the briefcases I gave to everyone but the janitors in the foreground and the bum sitting near the trash cans. As usual, he was right. As far as I was concerned, the Chicken could have eaten damn near everyone downtown, and I wouldn't have minded one bit.
I had the finished painting in an art show at the Tacoma Convention Center (now owned by the Sheraton); it hung off the balcony railing over the main lobby. I priced it at 700 bucks; it didn't sell. I had it in two more shows, raising the price each time. The last time it didn't sell for $1,200, but as you can see, its value was on the rise. Riiiiight!
There used to be an avante garde coffee shop in the Odd Fellows Building, at the far left. It was the backdrop for their Lenny Bruce-type open mike for a good number of years. Later I moved it to a coffee shop on St. Helens, down the hill from Honan's. When he closed, I moved it to a gallery above Broadway, where I rescued it at the last moment after the whole building shut down, the year they killed Antique Row.
I've hauled it to and from downtown Tacoma and to and from Seattle on foot, tied to the side of my old stepvan (the one on which that late Larry Larson had painted a replica of his Porche 386 on the curb side, sharing its wheels) and atop a couple of ladders tied atop my Bobmobile cargo van. And one time my son and I hauled it home from downtown on foot; if the wind had been any stronger, we'd have been parasailing.
I'd like to sell the damn Chicken. It fills the one wall in my house that is big enough to hang it, and I'm weary of the old bird, with that suit in its bill, glaring at me. It makes me think I'm next.
