As a boy, Horace Pippin hung around the race track at Goshen, N. Y., sketching the trotters on odd scraps of paper. Later, as a husky moving-man, he used to ask for the job of crating people's paintings, so he could touch and study the oils. When a German sniper's dumdum bullet ploughed out a big hunk of his right shoulder in October 1918, after he had served 14 months in front-line trenches with his Negro National Guard company, Horace Pippin was invalided home as a total disability. But still he kept wanting to paint. Unable to raise his right hand...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
