HAUNTED HOTEL © 2012, David Alan Dickens I did not patronize the small donut-shop for its food or drink. I am a bourbon man, and nothing less than a 20-oz sirloin and a glass of Kentucky rye works for me. Rather, I was at the coffee house to study the building adjacent, just across the street, a building which held my deepest fascination. I immediately withdrew my pencil and art-pad and began to sketch. The enormous hotel must have been the center of attraction back in the Roaring-20s, and it seemed that the rest of the town had erected itself around it, only now to ignore that it ever existed. This fascinating building had distinguished corners of carved granite, and deep-set windows which rose to a sandstone entablature, atop which was a torn canopy whose fabric was long gone, but whose rusty steel carriage remained. My fingers immediately made a series of graceful movements, eager and natural, capturing the exterior of the art deco edifice. The graphite-tip of my pencil brushed softly the pad to connote the sunken window sills and ornate entablature, each of which seemed assigned to a castle. Drawing a deep breath now, and holding it, I etched the rusty marquee onto parchment, careful to capture the baroque of each letter towering above me: H-O-T-E-L…
Posted on: Sun, 30 Mar 2014 00:40:52 +0000