Falcon
oil on canvas
11" x 14"
When I was fifteen, I did what most fifteen-year-old Midwestern boys do...
I made a weekly trip to the corner gas station to pick up a free auto trader magazine. The thrill of potentially owning any of the "cool" rust buckets featured in those semi-transparent pages far eclipsed the realization of a driver's license or reliable vehicle. I found the car of my dreams cunningly tucked between images of Corvettes, Cadillacs, and other desirable classics. It was a 1962 Ford Falcon Convertible. It was sea foam green, sort of, with a beautiful rust and dirt patina. It cost $1800.
I probably don't have to tell you...I never got a Ford Falcon. I can't remember how the conversation went, but my parents were quick to extinguish my aspirations of cruising town a la Rusty, Danny, and Tess with Benedict's bodyguards in pursuit. It was probably for the best. On the plus side, my dream car isn't a Hemi 'Cuda.
