​​​D E L  B A X T E R

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Del Baxter is David Bryant’s alter ego, his other self.  Del Baxter is the man we aspire NOT to be.  He is Mr. Nobody who only gets traction in failure, who is only at ease and comfy when he is falling into an abyss of losing.  If our lives had subtitles, Del’s would be this alternative to David Bryant’s: “Del Baxter…Born to Cry.”

​While David keeps plugging along, pretty upbeat, making his so-called art, “Mr. Nobody,” Del Baxter would be the anti-David,  tied to a world where failure is the norm.  David has been told, “Oh I get it, Del Baxter is sort of a parody of you, your life, but in a darker place.”    Sorry, not much parody, more fear in what we

D A V I D    B R Y A N T    S T U D I O

 

would be, who we’d become if we were undirected, really unlucky, and abandoned as a teen or even younger.  But there’s no parody here.  Not much wit either, just the outline of the chapters of a life showing the clumsy efforts of a defeated soul living out life in a minimalist, poverty stricken series of briefly hopeful moments or events turning sour, bringing him back to the numbing reality of a terrifying truth - some people are doomed.  Del is doomed, more than most, locked into failure.

Regardless of race, religion, genetics, culture, persona, resume, or diet, these few - who start as any child would - are eventually sprinkled around the globe in climates hot and cold, wet or dry.  It matters not their circumstances nor their efforts. These people are doomed. Del Baxter is one of them.

The doomed can get their homework in on time, pay attention in school, embrace the beliefs of family and neighborhood, taking Sunday school or Hebrew lessons in stride.  All for naught.

They can walk a neighbor’s dog, help somebody’s grandmother across the street, share their Halloween candy, never lie, minimize sugar in their diets, speak well of the nation’s political leaders, salute the flag, think about military service, limit their TV watching, attend community meetings extolling the new diversity, avoid greasy foods, never smoke, refuse to ingest or inhale drugs while turning in those who partake, participate in a community watch, fill a bird feeder, learn a new language, contribute funding to the arts, education, healthcare, or homeless shelters, maybe volunteer their time and labor to help kids, the sick, the elderly.

They might build or volunteer at animal shelters, historical societies, film preservation groups, or simply package and send DVDs to service personnel.  These unlucky few can follow current affairs.  If Amish, they can build a barn or drive a buggy to a doctor to assist a sick neighbor. 

In an American suburb, they might rescue a child left in a pool, unattended, make sure little children have access to clean water in filthy places, be shown with sleeves rolled up to help tornado victims, harvest clothing and food for flooded towns, direct traffic when storms take down power lines, learn to ice skate to heroically guide other skaters back to land if a warm spell softens a pond, never scalp a big league ticket, even in the playoffs, only gamble in ways that turn reckless risk into tax dollars that will help educate students in poor school districts.

These are the people who are too polite to hang up on telemarketers.  They are the people, gentle as can be, who only want to be helpful, have sublimated their egos and are bound by good thoughts, deeds, and closely held values but, nonetheless, are doomed.  Doomed to darkness and failed art in the case of Del Baxter, an alter ego with no ego. 

David admires and roots for Del Baxter.  He sees Del beginning with great spirit and drawing ability that placed him at the top of his class in kindergarten, but fading grade by grade, year by year until finally finishing high school at age twenty one, with little accomplished but time spent in chairs and gym and metal shop and drafting class with no friends and no awards.  Only sufficient D’s to cover the E’s and F’s that added years to Del’s K-12 experience, turning it into a lonely graduation aiming toward an unnoticed life where ideas never work and dreams are dashed.

Del Baxter is the boy, now man in David Bryant’s imagination whom he would have become had he not pressed on with an earnest life of showing up on time and never getting fired. 

While Del, his is the alternate life of a boy who wandered through time, was wounded by its passage, aged as if the process was a trip and fall lawsuit with occasional sparks of pleasure and accomplishment that built an adulthood spent at the Salton Sea, California’s largest body of water, below sea level, inhabited by forgotten people who look out at a stinky body of H2O full of chemicals from fertilizer run-off leading to scarcity of oxygen and tons of dead tilapia.

So if the David Bryant Studio is generally bright and upbeat, flooded with color and sawdust, metal chips and the spirit of, “Hey, I want to make another fish or robot…” Del Baxter’s world is the opposite.  It’s a little appropriated peapod trailer. Del is a squatter.  His tiny home is aluminum and wood, barely has windows, limited to a small view of the Salton Sea out of its mostly broken windows.

The book about Del Baxter, “God Bless My Camper” being written by David Bryant is a tribute to the life that, so far, David has avoided.  But you never know what can happen next.  As for the  title, “God Bless My Camper,” Del would add, “I took a chance, buying the camper and hoping God would bless it.  Like everything else, he ignored it, eventually it burned up and was gone.  I have my doubts about God and that fire didn’t help.”

“God Bless My Camper “ will be a disjointed tribute to Del’s folk art, not crafted in a studio with power tools and spray paint but fashioned from junk and debris.  It will make for fun reading for all ages and serve as a warning.  Work hard and stay lucky because there is a Del Baxter in all of us!