My second announcement is that I intend to start work this fall on my second art car: a Spanish Galleon on wheels. I saw myself on the news in Fargo the other night in dark sunglasses and this puffy white shirt, Duke's Titanic luggage tower in the background and all of it glowing in the warm sunlight of late afternoon, and I thought, "My God, you're a pirate, McKinney." You're the very image of the romanticized, Disney pirate's of the Caribbean rogue that you always wanted to be. You're Long John Silver in a pirate ship with four wheels, taking just enough gold to keep you on the road. So, though Duke has elements of buried treasure and ship's windows, next it'll be the real thing.

My final announcement is more of a challenge really. I think there should be an art car caravan next year that begins either in Houston or sets out from Westfest pointed in some direction on the globe with the intent of reaching that point by the turn of the century and joining in celebration with the people of whatever country we wind up in. I'm thinking the tip of South America, where it would be summer in December.. Just a thought.

And now for the poem...

Build it and they will come. Build it and they will look at you whether you like it or not.

Paint it and they will see your art for all its glory or madness or both, and they will react and often they will speak out whether or not they know a damn thing about art. And that's good. It's called dialogue.

Glue upon it and they will test the strength of your glue. Oh, yes. Especially the little ones. Yank! Yank!

Tweak it and they walk up to you and talk to you like children under a spell and they will honor you with their attention no matter what they think or say.

Weld it and craftsmen will give you the time of day and though they might say "There's a guy who's got too much time on his hands," what they'll really be saying is "I envy you all the time you have taken to craft something you love."

Carve it, melt it, pelt it with toys and little girls and little boys will screech with joy at the sight of one adult who won't tell them not to write with crayons on their boring white suburban walls. And once in a while when you get a child who hates your car... pray for that child. Pray for their already squashed creative soul.

Built it bigger and wilder and crazier than anything they've ever seen and they will introduce you to their 96-year-old grandmother in the RV across the parking lot and when you ask her if she's ever seen anything like it in her long life she'll reply with a wry smile that she has one just like it in her basement.

Create it with love and they will empty out their change purses for you.

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Last update April 1, 2004