For no particular reason at all, today I feel compelled to celebrate a very special artist and the man who created the insignia for my latest guerrilla enterprise,
Wyrd War. If there’s any justice in the world or any integrity
whatsoever remaining in the music and fine art industries,
Joe Petagno will retire a wealthy
man and a monolithic middle finger shaped runestone will be hoisted in his
honor on the day he finally rides that white line to the vanishing point. At
the very least he should be celebrated as a national treasure here in the U.S. with
all the dubious fringe benefits that might come with such a distinction. Problem
is, he split California for London in 1973 – eventually settling in Denmark
where he resides to this day – and anyway most Americans are too dazed to
recognize the intrinsic value of anything that doesn’t turn a quick buck. Not
that Joe’s fantastic artwork hasn’t turned a quick buck. If the average biker rally
and shithole dive bar are any indications, his work has certainly lined more
than a few pockets over the past four decades. His snarling “Dog Face Boy” for
Motörhead, probably his most well-known creation, has
inspired generations of malcontents to find their voice and experience life on
their own terms – bleeding ears and bruised knuckles be damned! Consider how
insipid and wimpy your own flesh would be if it weren’t for that gnarly Snaggletooth
tattoo which at some point in your life has a) gotten you laid, b) gotten you a
complimentary Jack & Coke or c) gotten you fired from your bullshit job.
The man and the beast are
everywhere!
That’s probably because the beast in man is everywhere. Joe’s iconic Snaggletooth
prevails as an abominable insignia of the Wolf Age, conveying in a single glance
the primeval paradox of the enflamed death head cock poised on the precipice of
the cunt throat abyss. The luminous glare of the werewolf antihero is a
challenge to stand up, hold fast and push forward. The fearful hesitate and are
swallowed in the gaping jaws of disintegration. The rest of us march on. Force
conquers inertia with a few measured slashes of the maestro’s brush, ere the
world crumbles. The bastard son of eternal war is in your face...FOREVER!
