THE ARTIST HARD AT WORK: NORMAN WENTWORTH IN HIS STUDIO

Norman put his feet up on the desk so that he could admire his new cowboy boots.  Tony Lama.  The Vaquera Collection II.  Tan, Santa Fe.  So what if they were women’s boots?  They had a nice tapper through the instep, snug heel, narrow across the ball of the foot, and the perfect amount of lift at the toe. Men’s boots were always too wide and clunky for Norman’s taste.  And there was a greater selection of styles in the women’s section.  Tony Lamas were work shoes, the kind of boots you might see out on the range.  Nice, stylish, respectable, but not expensive.

They sent the signal but without much wattage.  They were perfect for the studio, not too distracting but stylish enough to put him in the right mood. Sometimes Norman didn’t feel like the hassle of a boot and so he’d throw on a pair of mules—his Dingo Cactus Wingtips or perhaps his Charlie One Horse Harness mules.  He had a big collection.

But today was a boot day.  Now, if Norman wanted to turn up the heat and cause a sensation he’d throw on a pair of Old Gringos.  Those boots said what needed to be said–impossible to ignore.  Norman believed that the handsome rodeo riders would be drawn to him like 3-penny nails to a magnet if he walked by wearing his green and purple snake skin Old Gringos.  Or better yet, his white leather Vegas Biz boots which had a six-inch shaft so they highlighted his calves and looked great with shorts.  Old Gringos worked magic every time.

Norman wished he could leave the studio right this minute and go to a rodeo.   The smell of manure and all those men with pouches of chew, spitting here and there.  Actually chewing tobacco was gross.  He backed up and erased that image.  Men in hats and tight jeans, all belt buckles and strut.

Norman didn’t feel like working on another diorama; he was sick of making art.  What he wanted to do was to put on his black and white Vencida boots, with the two and a half inch heels, and go out to Ontario where they were holding the PBR bull riding championships.

Currently Norman's Favorites

He wanted to watch men be rag-dolled by angry beasts.  He longed for chaps and leather fringe and the victory dance that came at the end of eight successful seconds.

He wanted blood and broken teeth, big men tossed into the air, knocked unconscious by angry hooves.  He liked how those rodeo riders crossed themselves before and after their turns, the gentleness with which they addressed their Almighty Lord.  But snap shirts and cowboy hats would have to wait for another day.  Norman had a deadline.

He was working on a new series that had to do with the red rocks of the southwest, drought, and the slaughter of fetal pigs.  There was a sound track that fueled these pieces.  The 43:27 minute version of Dark Star by the Grateful Dead, live at the Cleveland Convention Center, December 12, 1973.  Norman was not a fan of the group.  How could he be with those ridiculous lyrics? But something about the absurdity of the music and extended guitar solos transported him into this strange alternative reality.

Last week he finished a series based on another Grateful Dead song called China Cat Sunflower.  The lyrics made absolutely no sense:

Look for awhile at the China Cat Sunflower
Proud walking jingle in the midnight sun
Copper-dome Bodhi drip a silver kimono
Like a crazy-quilt stargown
Through a dream night wind

What the hell did that mean?  Norman had no idea but the song had yielded an entire body of work based on the concept of militarized pools, sparkling water where people killed for the prospect of a single drink.

"Oh, The Water" The Dark Bob

Norman Wentworth passed through worlds.  He was a citizen of nowhere, a nomad in the history of mankind.  He did not identify with a single group or philosophy.  He was spiritually homeless, rootless.  But Norman did not feel lost.  He moved from one idea to the next, rooting and digging, challenging set beliefs, until he’d unearthed a truth that interested him at which point he’d quickly execute a body of work and then proceed to the next idea.  The Grateful Dead had been holding him hostage for weeks now.  It was time to wrap this up.