Chapter 1 

I knew a man who rode a horse. He was an artist. He sat up on the saddle dressed in cowboy outfits and looked like an aging Jack Keroauc. He called himself The Master and would have large gatherings full of weird pranks and mischeif while showing his newest paintings. These performances were something out of dadaism and featured members of his family in different roles.

Beyond evertying he hated the artist Andy Warhol and much of his time was spent writing diatribes against the painter, complaing that there was an Eastern bias in the art world that lifted up Warhol and marginazlized himself.

David Eide
January 24, 2014