I spent my childhood in Memphis, Tenn. It was the 1950s, and Elvis was “King.” In those days he was not just any king, he was Louis XIV, The Sun King, and Graceland was his Versailles.
Our next-door neighbors, Sue Ellen and George Hall, had gone to school with Elvis and had many stories to tell. In high school, they, along with others, made fun of him because he was poor and wore blue jeans to school.
Years later, they took their two small boys to view the grounds of Graceland. Elvis happened to see them from an upstairs window and invited them in. He gave the children stuffed animals and treated them warmly. (At that time one of his big hits was “Let Me Be Your Teddy Bear.”)
There are so many stories about “The King” and his generosity, but this is the one that defines his character for me. A lesser person would have gloated about his success, or perhaps found a way to return the snubs of those very painful teen years, but not Elvis. This, in my opinion, raises him to the status of nobility.
My friend, Eddy Green, has asked me to paint several portraits of Elvis on velvet. He thinks they will sell well in his offbeat “junque” shop, Coop’s Place. It is in Burns Bottom, near the Hitch Lot, and only open on Saturday mornings.
This request presents a huge challenge. Although my degree is in fine art (painting), I am not a portrait artist and have never painted on velvet. That surface presents unique challenges.
However, I am quite excited about this project. I love the subject and want to do a great job. Eddy assures me that he is not expecting “Glamour Shots.” His idea is for a more funky interpretation of Elvis.
I am envisioning perhaps a gold-leaf crown, or a frame of broken records. Images of guitars, blue suede shoes or hound dogs might be cool additions. My subject was anything but subtle, so this mission requires extremes and exaggerations.
Elvis died 34 years ago, a sad and bloated caricature of himself. But, I still see him as handsome and young, before fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and embellished jumpsuits, and drugs. I remember him from my childhood, when the whole world seemed very fresh.
Faded, shredded jeans are all that rock stars wear these days. They pay hundreds of dollars for the opportunity to look like a child of poverty from Tupelo, Miss. There is a karmic symmetry in the idea of putting Elvis on such an elegant fabric as velvet. I hope I can do you justice, sire. The king is dead. Long live the king.
Adele Elliott, a New Orleans native, moved to Columbus after Hurricane Katrina.
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