Years ago, friends and I rented a house at 39 Paige St in Amherst, MA when I was finishing college, just out of the Marine Corps. In my room, with the Hobbit paperback in hand, and borrowing from the book covers, I endeavored to paint Middle Earth across three full walls of the room — both in Day-glow paints for under black light at night or when you’re stoned…, and in regular pastels for daylight.
It was a masterpiece, if I do say so, correct in every minute real and imagined detail. The art dept. held a field trip. Others just toked up and had a trip.
25 years later, when a huge organic farm in Amherst invited me to manage their operation, I returned to 39 Paige St., and inquired about the painting at the room at the top of the stairs. The lad asked if I knew about the painting. “Yeah, I painted it.” I said. He almost wet his pants.
I walked up, tuned the corner, and there it was, meticulously restored and intact. Nobody lived in the room anymore; it was simply dubbed “Middle Earth.” on the door.
Made my day.
It was a masterpiece, if I do say so, correct in every minute real and imagined detail. The art dept. held a field trip. Others just toked up and had a trip.
25 years later, when a huge organic farm in Amherst invited me to manage their operation, I returned to 39 Paige St., and inquired about the painting at the room at the top of the stairs. The lad asked if I knew about the painting. “Yeah, I painted it.” I said. He almost wet his pants.
I walked up, tuned the corner, and there it was, meticulously restored and intact. Nobody lived in the room anymore; it was simply dubbed “Middle Earth.” on the door.
Made my day.
