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Surviving the Game Painting

Philip Leister

Painting, Acrylic on Canvas

Size: 72 W x 48 H x 1.5 D in

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About The Artwork

Burns: Life's true pleasures are so unpredictable. I'd say cherish the moment for it is. Observe your food, smell it, touch it, put your mind into it, and you're finally ready, consume it slowly. Jack Mason: Hmm, you do your way, I'll do mine. Jack Mason: You're a doctor? You don't look like one to me. Doc Hawkins: I'm a psychiatrist. Jack Mason: A shrink? Doc Hawkins: What, does it surprise you? Jack Mason: No offense, but somehow you don't seem like the type that fucked-up rich people shell out money for, just so he'll sit around and listen to their personal shit. Doc Hawkins: I work for the Company... You know, the CIA. I know these gentlemen's "personal shit" completely. 
 Cole: Man, I've been through rough times. Jack Mason: Like what? Your Jacuzzi broke? 
 Griffin: You took my shot Senior, don’t ever take my shot again. 
 Doc Hawkins: [has the upper hand against Mason, in a life-or-death brawl right outside the hunting lodge, which is now on fire] ... I like my meat RARE! Jack Mason: [suddenly tricks Hawkins and throws him into the lodge's trophy room, which is stocked with "flammables." A second later, the room explodes and the entire lodge follows suit] ... Try well-done, Bitch! 
 Cole: Don’t you see these tracks? Stevie Wonder could follow these tracks! [For Once in My Life I can easily track someone.] Doc Hawkins: I know more about you than even you think, Mason. Jack Mason: Probably so, but I don't know jack about you. Doc Hawkins: Then ask me something. Ask me anything you want. Jack Mason: All right... How did you get that fucked-up scar up your eye? Doc Hawkins: I refer to this as my birthmark. On my eighth birthday, my father brought me a fat little bulldog. I named him Prince Henry Stout. He was strong. He chased my pet turkey, he chased squirrels up the tree, he chased everything. I raised him, I trained him, I groomed him, I fed him, I took care of him. I loved that dog; more anything in the world, I loved that dog. Then my father gave me a handful of cherry bombs and M-80s. He said: "You're gonna train this dog to be a protector". So, every Saturday afternoon, I got behind a little dummy that my dad built. I tossed cherry bombs and M-80s at the dog - BOOM, BOOM! The dog was scared at first, but after awhile he got angry and charged the dummy. [He mimes PHS rushing and attacking] Doc Hawkins: He ripped it apart. The head was off, the shirt was gone... So, thirteen years old, birthday time. My father got me a twelve-gauge shotgun. "We're going hunting!" I was so excited. We went out to this clearing in the woods where my dad laid his gun down, then took my gun and laid it down. He said: "Son, today you're gonna learn to control your emotions. You're gonna do things that some men are unwilling and unable to do. Follow me". My dad and I passed through this grove of trees, to where he'd built a corral. There was Prince Henry Stout chained in the middle of the corral. My dad took out a pocketful of cherry bombs and put them in my hand. He said: "Get in the corral. Here's a Bic; I want you to light those cherry bombs and throw them at the Prince. You're gonna face manhood. You're gonna fight that dog to the death. Either he's gonna kill you, or you're gonna kill him... NOW!" [He mimes lighting the cherry bombs, their explosions, and PHS growling] Doc Hawkins: He was on me, like flies on shit. I had one chance - I got my arm up in between his teeth and my neck. Then we were down in the mud, rolling over and over. That dog was baying and snarling and biting, while I was crying and screaming. I grabbed him and stood up, then fell on him with all my weight. I heard his neck break. He was dead, not biting, not even breathing. I was covered with blood. I stood up, wiped the blood off, and licked it. Then my dad said: "Welcome to manhood!" That's why this is a birth mark. [He indicates where PHS bit him] Jack Mason: ...Do your patients know this story? Doc Hawkins: No. But *you* do. 
 Burns: Alright. Let's get the turkey! 
 from ‘Surving the Game’ (1994) Starring Mr. Ice-T (Tank Girl), Rutger Hauer ("I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time... like tears in rain... Time to die."), Roc Emerson (Alien: Cubed), John C. McGinley (Brooks’ Mother), Jeff Corey (Dustin’s Little Big Man), William McNamara (Aspen Extreme), Bob Minor (Sully’s Commando), with Gary Busey ("Listen to the shit I've had to put up with: 'In the past few weeks, Commander Krill has become increasingly hostile to the crew, possibly due to anger over my last reviews of his performance. I recommend he be given a psychological evaluation before taking over his next assignment!'"), and F. MURRAY ABRAHAM ("There are still faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric slaughterhouse that was once known as humanity... He was one of them. What more is there to say?"). Written by Eric Bernt (Aaliyah’s Romeo & Juliet). Directed by Ernest R. Dickerson (Tales from the Crypt: Demon Knight). 
 
 Surviving the Game is a 1994 action thriller film directed by Ernest R. Dickerson and starring Ice-T, Rutger Hauer, and Gary Busey. It is loosely based on the 1924 short story "The Most Dangerous Game" by Richard Connell. The film revolves around a homeless man accepting a businessman's offer to work in a remote cabin, only to be tricked into being bait for a hunting game, and the conflicts they have afterwards. Surviving the Game garnered negative reviews from critics and was a box office flop, grossing $7.7 million against a production budget of $7.4 million (not including advertisement and distribution costs).
 
 Source: Wikpedia

Details & Dimensions

Painting:Acrylic on Canvas

Original:One-of-a-kind Artwork

Size:72 W x 48 H x 1.5 D in

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I’m (I am?) a self-taught artist, originally from the north suburbs of Chicago (also known as John Hughes' America). Born in 1984, I started painting in 2017 and began to take it somewhat seriously in 2019. I currently reside in rural Montana and live a secluded life with my three dogs - Pebbles (a.k.a. Jaws, Brandy, Fang), Bam Bam (a.k.a. Scrat, Dinki-Di, Trash Panda, Dug), and Mystique (a.k.a. Lady), and five cats - Burglekutt (a.k.a. Ghostmouse Makah), Vohnkar! (a.k.a. Storm Shadow, Grogu), Falkor (a.k.a. Moro, The Mummy's Kryptonite, Wendigo, BFC), Nibbler (a.k.a. Cobblepot), and Meegosh (a.k.a. Lenny). Part of the preface to the 'Complete Works of Emily Dickinson helps sum me up as a person and an artist: "The verses of Emily Dickinson belong emphatically to what Emerson long since called ‘the Poetry of the Portfolio,’ something produced absolutely without the thought of publication, and solely by way of expression of the writer's own mind. Such verse must inevitably forfeit whatever advantage lies in the discipline of public criticism and the enforced conformity to accepted ways. On the other hand, it may often gain something through the habit of freedom and unconventional utterance of daring thoughts. In the case of the present author, there was no choice in the matter; she must write thus, or not at all. A recluse by temperament and habit, literally spending years without settling her foot beyond the doorstep, and many more years during which her walks were strictly limited to her father's grounds, she habitually concealed her mind, like her person, from all but a few friends; and it was with great difficulty that she was persuaded to print during her lifetime, three or four poems. Yet she wrote verses in great abundance; and though brought curiosity indifferent to all conventional rules, had yet a rigorous literary standard of her own, and often altered a word many times to suit an ear which had its own tenacious fastidiousness." -Thomas Wentworth Higginson "Not bad... you say this is your first lesson?" "Yes, but my father was an *art collector*, so…"

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