Robert Ariail has done a poster for the upcoming Carolina Cup, and prints are for sale:
The good folks at Camden’s National Steeplechase Museum commissioned me to create a cartoon poster commemorating The Carolina Cup’s 80th anniversary. This is what I came up with: a New Yorkeresque cartoon contrasting the race goers’ styles from the 1930s to today. They have printed only 80 copies which I have signed. The price is $50.
Anyone interested should Google Carolina Cup and you can order a poster online.
The posters are large- 18 x 24 inches.
Hurry, before they’re all gone
The original watercolor and ink cartoon is also for sale. Contact me atrobert@robertariail.com for more information.
Whether you’re in the market or not, I thought y’all would enjoy seeing it.
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Is that you on the left?
The looking at the iPhone part is like me, but in terms of fashion — the burly guy on the right is dressed more in accord with my tastes.
The guy on the left reminds me of a line from Happy Gilmore. Happy was deriding everything about golf, and he pointed to the loud pants on one of the fans and said, “Hey, if I saw myself in clothes like that, I’d have to kick my own ass.”
… although I do have a jacket vaguely like that. It’s partly made from bamboo. You can see me wearing it here…
I just noticed he was wearing a bowtie and jacket, and looked vaguely like you, in a cartoony sort of way.
Vaguely, I suppose. In case you’re interested, this is what I look like when Robert actually caricatures me.
The glasses are too small.
And they’re not sunburned.
Also the booze-filled giant plastic cups and beer bottles are missing. The young couple looks far too sober and pleasant, so they must have just arrived. I haven’t been in a looong time, but you used to see lots of tables set up with jello shots. Some high school and college acquaintances who were hard-drinking Cup devotees back then are alcoholics now. And probably back then, too.
I prefer the Colonial Cup with the Jack Russell Terrier races in the infield.
It’s funny how I’ve never felt the need to go to that, any more than I ever, ever want to attend a USC football game.
The idea of fighting those crowds, being trapped in a place far from my car and from civilized bathroom facilities sort of horrifies me.
And yet I always look forward to the State Fair, and to St. Patrick’s Day in 5 Points, and put up with those inconveniences with a good will. Perhaps I prefer the more plebeian entertainments.
Also, why would I want to go somewhere where everyone else is wearing a bow tie?
I meant that in Robert’s caricature of Brad, he missed the large spectacles.
I’m not a festival-goer, but working one can be fun. To deal with crowds as a form of having fun–no, thanks. I’m glad everyone else goes, though.
There is lot’s to recommend the Cup. Both of them – Carolina and Colonial.
Maybe it’s the Yankee in me, but I enjoy the Southern hospitality and conviviality. You should go; it’s not anywhere as overwhelming as 86,000 people crammed into Williams-Brice – which is still good fun of a whole other sort.
I went to the Aiken Trials once when I was in high school. It was okay.
I”m not much on being out in the sun in the middle of the day, and tailgating seems like something to do out of necessity, not for fun. I’d rather take the money I’d spend and enjoy several lunches at Motor Supply or the Hampton Street Vineyard. So much more comfortable than balancing plates of food in a parking area. I’m a bit like Fran Lebowitz–there are never enough comfortable chairs. If I’m outdoors, I want to be walking in the woods.
If I’m outdoors, I’m looking for the portal that will let me back indoors, especially if the sun is out.
I’m not bragging; I’m criticizing myself. People who prefer to be outdoors are healthier, more positive, generally more admirable people…
Once, when (for whatever insane reason) smoking was allowed indoors, I had a motive for going outside. Now, that’s where the smokers are…
Nothing beats walking outside in nature (unless it’s horribly hot), but otherwise, I need to stay out of the sun…..I also have no reflection, and shy away from garlic.
The primary appeal for me was getting a new dress and a big hat, because most women just don’t wear hats anymore and I LOVE them.
But I only went a few times. Then I got a Jack Russell and discovered the Colonial Cup. Some 200 yapping, snapping, snarling, barking, howling and yodeling Jacks all in the infield, in a Tasmanian devil frenzy to chase those fake foxtails down the course and over the hurdles….I’ve made myself cry. I miss my dog!
Brad, I have to agree with you. I wouldn’t want to stuck forever in traffic, except if it was for the last in a lifetime experience.
2012 is the year that I photograph in black & white. I think this would be a neat event, or November, to shoot in B&W. I am looking for more events to photograph besides my two projects for 2012: 1) Equinox & Soltice Sunrise; 2) Moon Project (Full Moons)
About boties, I have a few ties that were designed based on paintings from Jerry Garcia from the Grateful Dead. I don’t know if bowties are available based on Garcia paintings.
“The idea of fighting those crowds, being trapped in a place far from my car and from civilized bathroom facilities sort of horrifies me.”
So I’ll take it you weren’t a Boy Scout.
Actually, I was, but not for all that long.
I was really active in a troop in Ecuador, made up of expatriate gringo kids. We went on one camping trip, to an undeveloped beach near the town of Salinas.
There were zero facilities. We carried in our own water in canteens, and washed our mess kits in the surf, scrubbing them with sand. We had brought along some ice and some new metal trash cans. We put our water and perishable food in the garbage cans, and buried them up to the lids in the sand just above the high water mark.
That night — the darkest night I’ve ever experienced (no moonlight or starlight that I recall, and definitely no manmade light) — we lay in our tents and told the scariest stories we could make up (I was a big Poe fan at the time). The one that stuck in my mind as I tried to get to sleep, listening to the unseen surf, went like this — a ghost ship of undead Vikings lands on our stretch of beach and hacks us all to death before slipping away, and NO ONE ever knows what happened to those Boy Scouts…
Any, during the night, some jerk went to the garbage can and dumped out a lot of people’s water, including mine.
The next morning, I participated in my five-mile hike requirement for my Second Class badge. We marched out along the beach to a distant point sticking out into the sea, and back. In the equatorial sun. Without water.
It had rained slightly during the night, so I had a hard time cooking my lunch, and finally gave up because between the heat I was able to generate with the coals and the sun beating down on my back, I was about ready to pass out.
On the long drive home that afternoon, I got a bad case of the runs. The van we were in would pull over to the side of the road (facilities? in the third world?) and I would assume the position right there with my fellow scouts watching.
When I got home, I was clinically dehydrate, with my skin starting to wrinkle up here and there.
Later, we moved to New Orleans, where our troop leader often didn’t show up, and I never could get the paperwork done to get my Second-Class badge I had earned in South America.
I retired from the scouts as a Tenderfoot.
And my enthusiasm for camping never really recovered from that experience.