Rasta at the Barbary Coast
This piece takes me straight back to late ’90s Wilmington, outside the Barbary Coast Bar, where the music was as raw as the vibes. You’ve got a Rastafarian just sitting there, strumming his guitar like it’s the most natural thing in the world, because, man, it was. Circa 1999, this kind of scene wasn’t staged—it just happened.
Look at the colors here. The golden glow of the guitar feels like it’s pulling all the sound straight out of the universe, while the background is this trippy mix of tie-dye chaos, pirate flags, and Deadhead energy. You just know this guy could hold a crowd on a sidewalk better than most bands can on a stage. The brick wall, the stool, the scuffed boots—it’s all so effortless, so real.
This isn’t just a painting of a musician. It’s a vibe, a moment in time when music and life blended together on a random street corner outside a bar. Makes you want to grab a drink, lean against the wall, and just let the music carry you.
Because 1999 Wilmington? It had soul, man. And this guy? He was part of it.
This piece takes me straight back to late ’90s Wilmington, outside the Barbary Coast Bar, where the music was as raw as the vibes. You’ve got a Rastafarian just sitting there, strumming his guitar like it’s the most natural thing in the world, because, man, it was. Circa 1999, this kind of scene wasn’t staged—it just happened.
Look at the colors here. The golden glow of the guitar feels like it’s pulling all the sound straight out of the universe, while the background is this trippy mix of tie-dye chaos, pirate flags, and Deadhead energy. You just know this guy could hold a crowd on a sidewalk better than most bands can on a stage. The brick wall, the stool, the scuffed boots—it’s all so effortless, so real.
This isn’t just a painting of a musician. It’s a vibe, a moment in time when music and life blended together on a random street corner outside a bar. Makes you want to grab a drink, lean against the wall, and just let the music carry you.
Because 1999 Wilmington? It had soul, man. And this guy? He was part of it.
This piece takes me straight back to late ’90s Wilmington, outside the Barbary Coast Bar, where the music was as raw as the vibes. You’ve got a Rastafarian just sitting there, strumming his guitar like it’s the most natural thing in the world, because, man, it was. Circa 1999, this kind of scene wasn’t staged—it just happened.
Look at the colors here. The golden glow of the guitar feels like it’s pulling all the sound straight out of the universe, while the background is this trippy mix of tie-dye chaos, pirate flags, and Deadhead energy. You just know this guy could hold a crowd on a sidewalk better than most bands can on a stage. The brick wall, the stool, the scuffed boots—it’s all so effortless, so real.
This isn’t just a painting of a musician. It’s a vibe, a moment in time when music and life blended together on a random street corner outside a bar. Makes you want to grab a drink, lean against the wall, and just let the music carry you.
Because 1999 Wilmington? It had soul, man. And this guy? He was part of it.
