Viewing page 50 of 73

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

My favorite cowboy, Roy Rogers, had been in a lot of gunfights. TV shows filmed cowboys pulling their guns from holsters and making a clean shot into the bad guy's heart. I knew cowboys could shoot and never miss. The guy wearing the tall black hat died quickly without loosing blood. Roy Rogers ended each 30-minute episode by getting out his guitar and singing, "Happy trails to you", I lived in the west but I knew this was no cowboy show that I could fast forward.
Jesse was proud of his bullet hole. The clean familiar shirt went over his face and I lost my chance to see where the bullet made the shattered exit out of his back. I do know the exit wound is what can kill you and I started to think of my own escape. I took refuge under the blanket of an Arizona sunset. I covered myself and walked into the desert without water and found my way out. My mother grew tired of her cowboy and returned him to the streets of Phoenix where he found other lives to rope.
I've traced the design of my old ranch house and used it as a template for my artwork buried in symbols of three-dimensional assemblage art using wire, wood and glass. The stored detritus of my childhood became my working palette. Used materials and experiences hold a second chance to be reincarnated and given a new life. I know where to look and assign value to meeting a cowboy without a horse. I watch the bullet penetrate Jesse's skin with its twists gaining velocity as it exits into the void of empty space.

Janice Lory  January 23, 2006 Feb 14, 2006 Feb.15

4