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The Ballad of Curtis Loew Painting

Philip Leister

Painting, Gouache on Canvas

Size: 60 W x 72 H x 1.5 D in

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About The Artwork

Well I used to wake the morning, before the rooster crowed Searching for soda bottles to get myself some dough Brought 'em down to the corner, down to the country store Cash 'em in and give my money to a man named Curtis Loew Old Curt was a black man with white curly hair When he had a fifth of wine he did not have a care He used to own an old dobro used to play it across his knees I'd give old Curt my money he'd play all day for me Play me a song Curtis Loew, Curtis Loew Well I got your drinking money tune up your dobro People said he was useless, them people all were fools 'Cause Curtis Loew was the finest picker to ever play the blues He looked to be sixty and maybe I was ten Mama used to whoop me but I'd go see him again I'd clap my hands stomp my feet, try to stay in time He'd play me a song or two then take another drink of wine Well play me a song Curtis Loew, Curtis Loew Well I got your drinking money tune up your dobro People said he was useless them people all were fools 'Cause Curtis Loew was the finest picker to ever play the blues Yes sir On the day old Curtis died nobody came to pray Ol' preacher said some words and they chunked him in the clay Well he lived a lifetime playin' the black man's blues And on the day he lost his life that's all he had to lose Play me a song Curtis Loew, hey Curtis Loew I wish that you was here so everyone would know People said you were useless them people all were fools 'Cause Curtis you're the finest picker to ever play the blues ‘The Ballad of Curtis Loew’ by Lynyrd Skynyrd Songwriters: Ronnie Van Zant / Allen L. Collins

Details & Dimensions

Painting:Gouache on Canvas

Original:One-of-a-kind Artwork

Size:60 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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