Big Balls

You know how things to tend to surface when you begin a major cleaning project? Hopefully, some things that I've been searching for ever surface, and they usually don't, but things tend to and add my feelings about these items often surprised. The image I have posted is one such item. The sculpture I don't know what else to call it. Obviously, somebody probably a cowboy with way too much time on his hands I imagine something he did over the winter season while the little doggies stayed on the end's warm in the barns. This was an item which I first noted in my mother's collection stuff and she had quite a collection stuff. By the time that I became aware of its existence by mother had gotten a hold of the sculpture, which I'm sure was rusted with age, washed it and either sends it it down or had my father do the job then gold spray-painted the object. When I first saw the cowboy with big balls

I thought the whole thing was a bit gauche. Aside from the fact somebody went to great effort to balance the balls so that “Tex” would stand perfectly balanced like a high wire walker forever on whatever he was placed. That part of the sculpture fascinated me like one of those weird birds which drink forever once you tap the birds that putting the bird in motion(of course not real, a toy bird).

I don't know how I became owner of the sculpture. Mr. big balls must have migrated down from article when mom moved in with her sister. Anyway, I got the sculpture played with of course for a few days trying it here on the edge of the table or one on a book case but soon became passé in part of the general entropy of my apartment. In I begin to suspect sculpture was toying with me, going out of its way to get into my way and just vex me just just for its pleasure. Eventually Mr. B B ended up on the rack. In the toolbox on the bottom rung this was either outer darkness for things that have no longer relevance or value. Dianne and I noted its occurrence when it surfaced that I played with a little bit and verbalized a commitment to that maybe it was time to get rid Mr. balls. I didn't quite want to throw him away because he is art I couldn't stand thinking of him the bottom of the garbage bag spending eternity in the landfill. We talked about the problem and earlier in the day Dianne had me accompany her with a visit to the manager of my apartment complex, Jennifer. Jennifer had a number of Western motif illustrations and pieces of art scattered around her office. I had noticed this in the past but never paid much attention. In an instant we would realized this was the place for Mr. big balls in Jennifer's competent hands. A placement in Jennifer's office would just be perfect but now that I've made a decision to rid myself of the sculpture I begin looking at the piece with new eyes. I don't know, but may have realized before as I looked closer I realized this cowboy is made out of old time square cut nails.

I don't know how many nails forged together to produce this bizarre piece of art, even the head impact is the end of a square cut or wrought iron nails. This little guy must have quite a history. I gently sat on on my little workbench with new respect. Writing this document today I started building a relationship again with Mr. balls but as I finish I think I realize I've done with Freudian juggernaut…