A Banker's Dozen turns an eleven-dollar windfall—or lack thereof—into a layered abstract painting of luminous greens, buried marks, numerical references, and visual fragments. Humor and memory hover beneath a weathered surface that rewards a closer look.
Years ago, when I managed Guerrilla Graphix, we maintained three bank accounts. A few years after I sold the company to its employees, the bank called to tell me I’d neglected to close one. Since they wouldn’t reveal the balance over the phone, I drove over imagining a forgotten windfall. A grand or two, perhaps?!
Inside, Mr. Dubois, the bank officer, handed me the paperwork. As I signed, I leaned toward him conspiratorially and whispered, “So how much money are we talking about here, Doc?” He checked his monitor, leaned toward me, and—mocking my whisper—replied, “Exactly eleven dollars.”
Unable to hide my disappointment, I sneered, “Oh, you mean a banker’s dozen.” He winced. I chuckled and shoved the cash into my shirt pocket.
That eleven-dollar fortune eventually became A Banker's Dozen, where the number 11 appears, disappears, and resurfaces among translucent greens, scratches, symbols, and partially buried marks. Like the memory itself, the painting reveals its punch line gradually.
- Medium: Acrylic paint and crayon on birch cradleboard
- Dimensions: 36 × 24 × 1.5 in.
