Eight seconds is the whole job. Bronc and bull riders either make it or they do not, and the giant 8 crossed out in red above his head says which way it went.
He slumps on the horse, the two of them half in the dark and half in whatever light is left. The Post Rodeo Motel burns down the block. Weekly rates, A/C, cable. That is not a sign you read on a good night.
The black wall with cadmium yellow coming up from behind it could be the motel, or a highway, or the hill he cannot seem to get over. Upside-down horseshoes scatter across the paper, luck running out of every one of them. In the lower right corner there is a compass with no markings on it at all. He is pointed somewhere. Nothing in the painting tells him where.
48 × 36 in · Latex, oil pastel, acrylic, bleach and coffee on paper mounted to cradled wooden panel · 2026
Eight seconds is the whole job. Bronc and bull riders either make it or they do not, and the giant 8 crossed out in red above his head says which way it went.
He slumps on the horse, the two of them half in the dark and half in whatever light is left. The Post Rodeo Motel burns down the block. Weekly rates, A/C, cable. That is not a sign you read on a good night.
The black wall with cadmium yellow coming up from behind it could be the motel, or a highway, or the hill he cannot seem to get over. Upside-down horseshoes scatter across the paper, luck running out of every one of them. In the lower right corner there is a compass with no markings on it at all. He is pointed somewhere. Nothing in the painting tells him where.
48 × 36 in · Latex, oil pastel, acrylic, bleach and coffee on paper mounted to cradled wooden panel · 2026
