I usually eschew working the location into a poster. Proof? My only Red Rocks sheet shows a scene from New York City. 

For folks who only buy posters of local shows they’ve attended, it feels like a potential bummer to have a collection dominated by the same city-specific tropes.

As a Texan, I sure wouldn’t want to have a ton of posters with cowboys or funny takes on the Capitol Building.  Some folks are clever enough to make that approach great. Examples that stand out are Mathew Jacobson’s Jack White DC poster (or any of his Vegas work) or Lli Tuffy’s Devo poster for Austin.  Generally, though, I’m not clever enough for it.

I relented here as it seemed the unique venue demanded it, like doing something baseball themed for a Fenway jam.

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Here are some select mental marbles that clacked for this poster beyond locale:

1. As a kid in the 80s, I would read CARtoons, a Mad-style humor magazine based around custom car culture.  Each issue featured a misadventure with gearheads Krass & Bernie that resulted in some bombastic automotive Frankenstein.

2. In high school, I made an Oscar Wilde themed license plate for the front of my car. I entertained getting a vanity plate reading WILDE 1, but I didn’t like the idea of having an easily remembered plate number, i.e. I wanted to keep my hit and run options open.

3. Past enjoyment at the Foo’s repeated tender trolling of Westboro Baptist Church protesters. If unfamiliar, look up some videos. It’s usually the fellas on a flatbed playing tunes unlikely found on any WBC members' playlist.  A musical drive-by engendering a spirit of “Can’t we all just get along?”

4. I designed this car pretty much in my head years prior for the Raconteurs “Su-Yi Studios” series of posters. It would have been for the Patrick Keeler based speedster kid. I uncharacteristically worried it looked too much like a dick.  Instead, I wound up creating a weird amphibious air-ship, “The Copperfin”, but I kept a look-out for an opportunity to finish off the cast-off mental design,

5. Opportunity to showcase brand sponsors Oscar supported in his lifetime. Many of them still exist today and loudly tout their ancient association.  Trust they weren’t shouting about it in 1895 after the second trial.

6. An Alice in Chains “Angry Chair” shirt I wore in college featuring this same engraving of Wilde. His image was the only reason I bought the shirt.  

This one came about relatively easy.  Credit to Chris Everhart for color suggestions based on some vintage Daytona programs. If Oscar had a car, it would likely be grabber green. However, if he meant to troll folks, then yellow made more sense. In Victorian times it was the color of bright rebellion meant to challenge the era’s oppressive morality.  Publication of “The Yellow Book” epitomizes this association, a periodical associated with the aesthetic movement that held Oscar as its champion.

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Hardest thing about this poster was what to christen the car.  I asked plenty of folks who I thought had Wilde interest but discovered I’m the only quasi-expert in my circle. Not to misrepresent myself, I’m a million miles away from being a true scholar of the man.

I briefly considered Oscar's departed sister, Isola. He kept a lock of her hair with him his entire life, but it felt too incongruous to the image’s frivolity. “Bosie” seemed obvious, the pet name for his spiteful lover Lord Alfred Douglas…. but fuck that guy.

I landed on “Á rebours”, a book by Joris-Karl Huysmans holding heavy influence over Oscar. It roughly translates to “Against the grain”, a phrase fitting Oscar to a T and best illustrated by the beginning of 1997’s biopic “Wilde”. The film opens on a trudging wave of grey-clad Victorians while a pink-clad Stephen Frye in the eponymous role confidently cuts through them in the opposite direction. He parts that dull sea like an erubescent Moses.

Show versions, per direction, were printed on bright gold foil.  I have 25 of those. The living always think gold can make them happy, so I asked to print my copies on French Lemon Drop Pop-tone paper for a bolder yellow. 

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Fun fact, I got trolled by the Westboro Baptist Church once. They protested the Grammys when I attended. Most were near the entrance of the theater, but one sole Orange County Chopper looking bruiser stood behind a corridor of railing ahead of the main group. He was leaning over calling the ladies ahead of me whores of Babylon or some shit.  Like Frye, I was wearing a pink suit.

Waiting for it, I found Billy buzzcut curiously silent and studying the ground.  

“Nothing for me?” I asked. 

He barked, “Buddy, you’re beyond help.”  

I responded with something vulgar because…fuck that guy.