I just bought this print from 20×200. I’m going to hang it with Greg Allen’s Marlboro Man print. I find myself fascinated with these classic American images, maybe because—even though I’ve lived in the US most of my life—I am still not from here.
Elvis and I share a birthday: January 8. I don’t know if I can call myself a fan but I’ve always felt weirdly connected to him because of our birthday. I would very much like to make the trip to Graceland one day and stand in line with the legions of his fans.
I can’t help but wonder which moment, of the many moments of which his life was made, was the one that turned him from a boy singer enjoying the heck out of life to a man who couldn’t get through his day without booze and alcohol. Who couldn’t reconcile the ravaged man in the mirror with the voice that stayed strong and uncowed. I am also fascinated by what I can only call the cult of Elvis—the flocks of impersonators, the fans who swarm Graceland to mourn his passing, the conspiracy theorists who whisper about the mistakes on his gravestone.
p.s. You get beaucoup cool points if you can identify which song boasts the lyrics I used for my title!