![](\"https:\/\/www.dropbox.com\/s\/a7ssspzvkm418q5\/Leonard%20Knight.jpg?raw=1\" "\\"\u201cI")
<\/a>\u201cI just believe that God really built this mountain. I didn\u2019t.\u201d \u2013 Leonard Knight<\/p><\/div>\n
The anarchist trailer park of \u2018Slab City\u2019 sits a half hour\u2019s drive from the Salton Sea \u2013 Self-proclaimed as the \u201clast free place in America\u201d it\u2019s home to \u201cSalvation Mountain\u201d creator Leonard Knight, an agnostic ex-Korean War veteran who found God in San Diego during a visit to his sister\u2019s.<\/p>\n
Midnight. I find inspiration staring at a photo of an abandoned motel, and let my mind wander as I immerse myself in the desert aesthetic and all its sublime quirkiness for my new series of paintings.<\/p>\n “I Reserve The Right To Disappear” – Exhibiting at “A Gallery” – Palm Desert, CA<\/p><\/div>\n I hadn\u2019t been to the Salton Sea in years. Not really sure why. The fact it\u2019s located directly over the San Andreas fault line isn\u2019t entirely the reason. One thing I am certain about is the California desert long ago twisted its spiny soul into my psyche, and to a nomad like me, it\u2019s a perpetual gold mine of noir material.<\/p>\n If you aren\u2019t familiar with that part of the world, perhaps the best introduction to the once thriving 60\u2019s resort is filmmaker Chris Metzler<\/strong><\/a> and Jeff Springer’s<\/strong><\/a> 2004 documentary, \u201cPlagues and Pleasures of the Salton Sea.<\/a><\/strong>\u201d Narrated by John Waters, it\u2019s a surreal and thoroughly mesmerising journey into this post apocalyptic wasteland and the people who still call it \u2018home.\u2019<\/p>\n Venture two hours north into the Mojave and you\u2019re in Twentynine Palms \u2013 or is it 29 Palms? What a great name, but why 29? I could Google it but decide it\u2019s more interesting left unknown.<\/p>\n The dog-eared copy of \u201cGrievous Angel,\u201d Gram Parsons\u2019 sad biography leers at me from the corner of the room as I focus on my drawing, while fantacising a midnight drive to Cap Rock to listen for the ghostly conversations he shared with Keith Richards, searching for ashes long blown away and hoping to catch a glimpse of Jim Morrison\u2019s Shelby Mustang \u2013 a blue hallucination.<\/p>\n Gram Parsons RIP 9\/19\/73 – Joshua Tree, CA<\/p><\/div>\n <\/p>\n Joshua Tree Inn – Room No. 8<\/p><\/div>\n I think of a scene in Lynch\u2019s \u201cWild at Heart\u201d and search the \u201cC\u2019s\u201d for Chris Isaak. All my music is arranged by first names, so I\u2019m constantly finding things I didn\u2019t know I was looking for \u2013 music always directing my compositions.<\/p>\n Anthony Bourdain did a \u2018No Reservations\u2019 episode a few years ago with local boy Joshua Homme. I remember he wore a funny sweater. On Joshua Tree he mused,<\/p>\n “I feel lucky to be in a place where there’s nothing. There’s something that’s overpowering, grander than you.”<\/em><\/p>\n I remove Chris Isaac and put on \u2018Into The Hollow\u2019 as I contemplate titles for my new piece.<\/p>\n 1 a.m.<\/span><\/p>\n Titles are always slippery. Sometimes a title can steer me straight into the heart of a great painting, but title as afterthought can lead to hours of frustration. Thesaurus must have taken the night off, no help here at all.<\/p>\n 2 a.m.<\/span><\/p>\n Alibris Books, a flickering icon on my desktop briefly morphs into Alibaba\u2026the result of impaired vision in my right eye\u2026<\/p>\n before settling itself into ‘ALIBI’<\/p>\n “Alibi Inn” – sketch<\/p><\/div>\n 3 a.m.<\/span><\/p>\n I decide on \u201cAlibi Inn\u201d because it\u2019s late, or because it’s early, or because Elvis Costello told me to, or because it\u2019s noir – but let\u2019s face it, there\u2019s nothing more convenient at 3 a.m. than an alibi.<\/p>\n 4 a.m.<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019m watching the second hand chase the moon from the sky – palm trees keeping sentry like effete matchstick men.<\/p>\n I\u2019m searching for desolation \u2013 the kind that only those who have spent time in the Mojave can understand. I rashly decide one palm tree must be broken, sacrificed for the conscience of the painting. I reach for the kneaded eraser; or maybe it reached for me?<\/p>\n I then decide this crippled palm contains all the sorrows of the world \u2013 a heavy burden.<\/p>\n \u2018Something grander than you.\u2019 Joshua\u2019s right \u2013 you feel it here.<\/p>\n I\u2019m running out of time as sunrise threatens my solitude. I need a silent witness for my alibi. In the window he closes the blinds \u2013 a crime committed or on the verge? She’s not sure yet.<\/p>\n 5 a.m.<\/span><\/p>\n A veiled sunrise catches the edge of a tattered vintage postcard taped to the wall. It reads \u201cJoshua Tree National Park\u201d \u2013 a 50-cent reminder I\u2019m still in love with this place.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t turn away from Love, Sailor\u201d – \u2018Wild at Heart\u2019<\/p><\/div>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/p>\n<\/p>\n<\/p>\n<\/p>\n<\/p>\n