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The Albino Woman

Saturday, May 18th, 2013
"The Albino Woman" By: J.A. George AKA; The GYPSY

“The Albino Woman” By: J.A. George AKA; The GYPSY

This Print Is For Sale At:

http://artist-alley.artistwebsites.com/featured/the-albino-woman-of-topeka-ja-george.html

While we are on the subject of cemeteries allow me to relate the strange tale of the Albino Woman to you my faithful readers. The story of the Albino Woman is a ghost story that has touched me in the past and will again become part of my story in the future. The cemetery she haunts, Rochester Cemetery, is located on the northwest outskirts of Topeka, Kansas and is the final resting place of my family as it will also someday be the final resting place of my wife Debbie and I.
This ghost story has its roots in the life of a strange albino woman who wandered her north Topeka neighborhood at night and glared at children on their way to school during the day. As a child she had been mercilessly teased by her classmates. That taunting had followed her to adult hood as the neighborhood children would call her names and yell insults at her. After the friendless woman died in 1963 of mysterious circumstances residents began reporting a glowing white female figure walking in the area after dark especially along Shunganunga Creek.
Often the sightings were near Rochester Cemetery where the woman was buried and near which Shunganunga Creek flows. To this day employees of the nearby Goodyear Tire Factory claim to see her regularly, and some neighbors see the apparition as often as once a week.
It was August of 1964 and I was trying on clothes in the dressing room of the children’s department on the second floor of Pelletier’s Department store which my Grandmother was Manager of. It was time for me to get my new school clothes. School was going to start soon and I would be entering the second grade.
Suddenly the door to the dressing room flew open and there stood a tall veiled woman dressed entirely in black. her red eyes were visible through the dark veil as she reached out a gloved hand towards me. As the arm came closer I saw with horror the pale almost bluish flesh of the arm between her sleeve and glove. I let out a scream and she froze in her movement. Appearing behind the tall frightening figure was the small stature of my Grandmother. Summing up the situation quickly my Grandmother forcibly ordered, “Leave! You are not welcomed here!” The veiled woman slowly turned as I crouched back against the wall. I heard my Grandmother repeat, “You are not welcomed here.” She then ordered, “Now leave!” The tall figure with the red eyes and bluish skin silently glided past my Grandmother and towards the stair well. I ran to my Grandmothers arms and watched, along with the employees that had come running when I screamed, the frightening figure descend the stairs and quickly disappear.
I was to learn later that this was the Albino Woman who had died the next year. I was not to learn until four years later why she had sought me out.
The Rochester Cemetery’s caretaker and his wife had a close encounter with the ghost of the Albino Woman late one night in 1968. As they pulled their car into the driveway they saw a figure scurrying among the gravestones. Thinking it a child playing a prank, they aimed the car’s headlights at the figure, which was then kneeling before a grave. When the caretaker got out of the car, the ghostly figure stood up and glared angrily at him and walked deeper into the cemetery. The caretaker was so upset he called the police but the officers found nothing.
The ghost’s route was so regular that one resident began watching for it as it strolled across his lawn on clear nights. Eventually, he claimed, the figure began to pause and gaze at his house as though it wished to speak to him. It began to pass closer and closer to the house until one night it stood at his children’s bedroom window and watched them as they slept. The man was badly scared, but the apparition never harmed his children.
This was not the only house that the Albino Woman looked within the windows. One hot summer evening in 1968 as I lay asleep, my bed by the window to catch what little breeze drifted into the bedroom. We were poor and air conditioning was not a luxury we could afford so a rotary fan moved the stagnant air around the room. I was awakened by a scratching sound at my window. In my groggy, half asleep state I thought it was my cat, Blue Boy, scratching at the screen. “Stop it girl,” I mumbled. That is when my cat hissed. I opened my eyes to see Blue Boy, her back arched, her hair on end and hissing at the window. I rolled over and looked into the glowing red eyes of the Albino Woman who was standing right outside my window glaring at me with an intense stare that was without emotion. I screamed and scrambled out of my bed.
My Mother came running into the room and saw the hideous apparition standing at the window. “Leave us alone, damn you,” my mother screamed, “leave us alone!” My mother grabbed my arm and shoved me from the room. “I am sorry, OK?! I am sorry! Now leave us be!” My mother yelled as she exited the room and slammed the bedroom door close.
I found out that night that the Albino Woman had lived in a house in my mothers childhood neighborhood. My mother and her friends had taunted the poor hapless woman everyday as they walked to and from school.
I have not had an encounter with her since the night my Mother apologized almost 40 years ago now. But it is said that she still walks along Shunganunga creek and prowls the interior woodlands of Rochester Cemetery at night. Do me a favor will you? If you are ever in Rochester Cemetery and you meet a tall woman dressed in black with piercing red eyes and pale bluish white skin, don’t tell her that you know me or that you know where I live. I’ll have a word with her after I am laid to rest there.

-The GYPSY-
“Art must evoke an emotion in order to be art. If it only creates indifference then it is not art, it is garbage!”


Whore’s In The Alley Smoking Their Lucky Strikes

Tuesday, January 1st, 2013

Whore’s In The Alley Smoking Their Lucky Strikes By: J.A. George – Oil and Acrylic on 18″ x 24″ Gallery Stretched Canvas.

 This Painting and Prints For Sale At

http://artist-alley.artistwebsites.com/featured/whores-in-the-alley-smoking-their-luck-strikes-j-a-george.html

A TURN OF PHRASE

A few years ago my friend and fellow artist the Baroness Ampersand posted a Blog entitled; “THE ARTIST’S LIFE– A BOSS VALENTINE’S DAY” The Blog was about restoration work that the Baroness was performing on a banister inside the old Buford Hotel in Bartlesville, Oklahoma.

The Baroness filled her Blog with worded images of the old hotel and it’s past glory but one paragraph stood out among all the others and caused every single creative juice within me to explode into a fountain of glorious inspiration. It was a moment that the artist lives for it is, in the end, what truly drives us: The inspiration to create that which has never been created, that which has never been thought of before, that which comes up from the deepest and darkest depths of our soul. We bring it into the light and breath life into our creation, our inspiration.

I emailed the Baroness and told her that her words had inspired me. She asked if it was the sentence; “I hear gun belts hitting the floors in some of the rooms, the snap of a shoe shine boy’s chamois below me, and sobbing from the walled up staircase.” I told her that, no it wasn’t, though in and of itself inspiration can be gleaned from a sentence such as that. I told the Baroness that she would just have to wait and find out what had inspired me at the same time everyone else did.

Now is the time to reveal the paragraph that created what I like to refer to as “A mental erection that ejaculates creative juices all over the place”, the paragraph that flipped my switch and turned on my brain on was;

“A series of narrow doors, painted green, still line the side of the building, and if you don’t look too closely you can see the whores leaning on the door frames, smoking Lucky Strikes, backlit by the dim light of the interiors, calling out into what was an alleyway.”

I could explain what I wanted to accomplish with the surreal world that my brush has created but that is not my job. My job is to paint the scene your job is to discern it’s meaning. So without any further ado I present here, with all due thanks to the Baroness Ampersand, what I was able to create:

“WHORES IN THE ALLEY SMOKING THEIR LUCKY STRIKES”

-The GYPSY-
“Art must evoke an emotion in order to be art. If it only creates indifference then it is not art, it is garbage!”