263 Views
4
View In My Room
Philip Leister
Fine Art Paper
6 x 12 in ($40)
White ($80)
263 Views
4
Artist featured in a collection
Midnight, one more night without sleeping Watching till the morning comes creeping Green door, what's that secret you're keeping? There's an old piano And they play it hot behind the green door Don't know what they're doing But they laugh a lot behind the green door Wish they'd let me in so I could find out What's behind the green door Knocked once, tried to tell them I'd been there Door slammed, hospitality's thin there Wonder just what's going on in there Saw an eyeball peeping through a smokey cloud behind the green door When I said "Joe sent me" Someone laughed out loud behind the green door All I want to do is join the happy crowd behind the green door Midnight, one more night without sleeping Watching till the morning comes creeping Green door, what's that secret you're keeping? Green door, what's that secret you're keeping? Green door ‘The Green Door’ by Jim Lowe Songwriters: Bob Davie / Marvin Moore "The Green Door" (or "Green Door") is a 1956 popular song with music composed by Bob "Hutch" Davie and lyrics written by Marvin J. Moore. The song was first recorded by Jim Lowe, whose version reached number one on the US pop chart. The lyrics describe the allure of a mysterious private club with a green door, behind which "a happy crowd" play piano, smoke and "laugh a lot", and inside which the singer is not allowed. "Green Door" was backed by the orchestra of songwriter Davie, with Davie also playing piano, and by the vocal group the High Fives. The track was arranged by Davie, who added thumbtacks to the hammers of his piano and sped up the tape to give a honky-tonk sound. Released by Dot Records, the single reached #1 on the Billboard charts for one week on November 17, 1956, replacing "Love Me Tender" by Elvis Presley. Outside the US, Lowe's version reached #8 on the charts, in the United Kingdom. The singer cannot get any sleep each evening, due to the sound of the music coming from the club. He tries to go there by knocking once on the green door, trying to tell the person behind the door that he had been there before, only to have the door slammed immediately ("hospitality's thin there"). Then, through the keyhole, he tries to say the possible secret password "Joe sent me" (the password for Hernando's Hideaway), which only results in laughter as he is again rejected admittance into the private club. Source: Wikipedia
2020
Giclee on Fine Art Paper
6 W x 12 H x 0.1 D in
11.25 W x 17.25 H x 1.2 D in
White
Yes
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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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