PROPHET AS ARTIST

Photo/Dale Guldan

Here's an article worth pondering.

Prophet sells his art for $100 or $1,000 but sets no price on reading people's souls
Posted: April 4, 2002 - by Crocker Stephenson
SOURCE: http://www.jsonline.com/story/index.aspx?id=32387

The first time I visited the prophet, it was maybe three years ago.

I had seen him, in the dead of winter, out on North Ave., not far from the Oriental Theatre. He was wearing several hats and several coats, as was his custom, and he was standing in front of a fence. Leaning against the fence were three or four of his paintings, the paint on them not yet dry. He was asking a hundred dollars apiece for them.

I knew that in a gallery, a painting by Prophet Blackmon could cost well over $1,000, and I knew that sometimes, when he was out of money, Prophet Blackmon would go into the galleries, pull his paintings off the wall, and sell them in the street for whatever anyone was willing to pay him.

I stopped at his place the next day. It's a tattered old tool factory on the north side. It's surrounded by a chain-link fence, the fence topped with barbed wire and always padlocked, even when he's inside.

"Prophet Blackmon!" I called.

A few minutes passed. Then the door opened, and Prophet Blackmon stepped out. His face was covered with soot, and black smoke billowed out from the door behind him.

Before he became a full-time street preacher and a part-time artist, Prophet Blackmon was a full-time street preacher and a part-time shoe repairer.

Between coughs, he told me he had run out of lumber for his three wood stoves, but God had provided him with plenty of extra shoes, and, cold as it was, shoes were what he was burning for heat.

"Shoes make a good fire," he told me, "but they make a lot of smoke before they get going."
Last year, someone opened a lumberyard beside Prophet Blackmon's place, so I haven't had to worry about how he's keeping warm. But I still stop in to see him from time to time. Usually, we walk a few blocks west to Jake's Deli on North Ave. A lot of local movers and shakers eat lunch at Jake's, including Commissioner of Baseball Bud Selig.

There's a sign behind the counter with Bud Selig's picture on it. It says: "This is the Only Bud We Serve."

Prophet Blackmon is 81 years old. He shuts his eyes tightly when he talks, opening them only at the end of his sentences. He enjoys the corned beef sandwiches at Jake's; he can turn a single sandwich into a couple of meals.

At lunch the other day, Prophet Blackmon leaned out of our booth and toward a woman across the aisle.

"Somebody in your family is sick," he told her.

The woman came over to the table and emptied her heart. Four people in her family were ill. As she spoke, Prophet Blackmon smiled and comforted her. Before she left, he plucked four paper napkins from our table's dispenser, blessed each of them, and told the woman to tuck them in the beds of her sick loved ones.

He jotted his address down on a card and gave it to the woman.

"Here," he said. "If you feel led to send me something, send it here. Also, if you know anybody who would like a painting, tell them about me. I am an artist."