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Dead Man Painting

Philip Leister

Painting, Acrylic on Canvas

Size: 48 W x 72 H x 1.5 D in

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$2,500

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About The Artwork

Nobody: The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn from the crow. William Blake: If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is: infinite. Train Fireman: Look out the window. And doesn't this remind you of when you were in the boat, and then later than night, you were lying, looking up at the ceiling, and the water in your head was not dissimilar from the landscape, and you think to yourself, "Why is it that the landscape is moving, but the boat is still?” Benmont Tench: Who are you travelin' with? William Blake: Uhm... Nobody. 
 Big George: That's terrible. Sally: It's horrible. Big George: Terrible is what it is. 
 Nobody: You were a poet and a painter, William Blake. But now, you're a killer of white men.
 
 Nobody: What name were you given at birth, stupid white man?
 
 William Blake: What is your name? Nobody: My name is Nobody. William Blake: Excuse me? Nobody: My name is Exaybachay. He Who Talks Loud, Saying Nothing. William Blake: He who talks... I thought you said your name was Nobody. Nobody: I preferred to be called Nobody. 
 Nobody: [seeing William touching his chest wound] Leave that alone stupid white man. William Blake: [as Nobody grints and attends to his wound] Am I going to die? Nobody: The circle of life has no ending. [Hr grunts as he attends him] William Blake: Why are you helping me? Nobody: A bird told me. William Blake: A bird told you? Nobody: A small magical bird with bright blue feathers [He pauses] Nobody: I was following him in your forest, hoping to acquire one of his indigo feathers... and then I lost him... and then I found him again. He was perched on your chest tasting your blood. He looked at me. Then he flew directly west in a straight line - his small beak red with your blood. Nobody: Every night and every morn, some to misery are born. Every morn and every night, some are born to sweet delight. Some are born to sweet delight; some are born to endless night. Big George: By God, I'm hit. Lord have mercy. Burns like hellfire. You son of a bitch. I'm gonna have to kill somebody now. Train Fireman: That doesn't explain why you've come all the way out here... all the way out here to hell. Big George: What's a Philistine? Sally: Well, it's just a real dirty person. 
 Marvin (Older Marshall): You William Blake? William Blake: Yes, I am. Do you know my poetry? 
 Nobody: The vision of Christ that thou dost see, is my vision's greatest enemy.
 
 Nobody: I was then taken east, in a cage. I was taken to Toronto. Then Philadelphia. And then to New York. And each time I arrived at another city, somehow the white men had moved all their people there ahead of me. Each new city contained the same white people as the last, and I could not understand how a whole city of people could be moved so quickly. Nobody: Stupid fucking white man.
 
 Thel Russell: Watch it. It's loaded. William Blake: Why do you have this? Thel Russell: Because this is America. 
 Nobody: Did you kill the white man who killed you? William Blake: I'm not dead. Am I? 
 Nobody: Don't let the sun burn a hole in your ass, William Blake. Rise now, and drive your cart and plough over the bones of the dead! 
 from ‘Dead Man’ (1995) Starring Gary Farmer ("Who’s you favorite Indian?" -- “Nobody."), Bishop (Hard Target), Robert Mitchum (Peck’s Cape Fear), Ed Wood Scissorhands ("Yeah! What are you on? Looks like a frying pan and some eggs to me."), Michael Wincott (Basquiat), Eugene Byrd (Bad Attitudes), John Hurt ("Oh, no… not again."), Iggy Pop (Tank Girl), Jared Harris (The Terror), Crispin Glover (Back to the Future Part II - Wait, what?), Billy Bob Thorton ("It’s the size of Texas, Mr. President."), Gabriel Byrne (Miller's Crossing), Otto Octavius ("Well... I think he prefers the term 'leaf people.'"), and Steve Buscemi ("Oh, I was just thinkin' of this guy I know. Couldn't distinguish a third dynasty sacred scroll from a piece of post-Alexandrian pictogram porn."). Written and Directed by Jim Jarmusch ("You spit it out. Don't swallow, Bill Murray."). 
 
 Dead Man is a 1995 American Western film written and directed by Jim Jarmusch. It stars Johnny Depp, Gary Farmer, Billy Bob Thornton, Iggy Pop, Crispin Glover, John Hurt, Michael Wincott, Lance Henriksen, Gabriel Byrne, Mili Avital, and Robert Mitchum. The movie, set in the late-1800s, follows William Blake, a meek accountant on the run after murdering a man. He has a chance encounter with the enigmatic aboriginal American spirit-guide named "Nobody", who believes Blake is the reincarnation of the visionary English poet William Blake. The film, dubbed a "psychedelic Western" by its director, includes twisted and surreal elements of the Western genre. The film is shot entirely in black and white. Neil Young composed the guitar-dominated soundtrack with portions he improvised while watching the movie footage. It has been considered by many to be a premier postmodern Western. It has been compared to Cormac McCarthy's novel Blood Meridian. 
 Source: Wikipedia

Details & Dimensions

Painting:Acrylic on Canvas

Original:One-of-a-kind Artwork

Size:48 W x 72 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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