Von Who?

[Texsox]

Even those who admire Von Dutch don’t call him a nice guy. No, they use words like bitter and racist and violent. They describe someone who was jaded young and spent much of his life hiding from the world. His name was a reflection of that, the very symbol of his obstinacy, anger and distrust of the world.

 

So is it ironic or just cruel that his name wound up co-opted by what Mencken called the booboisie, stitched onto hats and baby doll T-shirts worn by an army of pretty girls like Britney Spears, Gwen Stefani and Ashton Kutcher? Is Von Dutch doomed, as one admirer put it, "to be forever remembered for his name in 4-inch letters on someone’s ass"?

 

He was Von Dutch, uh-huh, that guy, that name. He was one of hot rodding’s wise men, up there on a stinky, toxic lacquer cloud with painter George Barris, the late customizer Ed "Big Daddy" Roth and artist and hot rodder Robert Williams.

 

Starting in the 1950s, Von Dutch reinvented automotive pinstriping, turning each paint job into a painting, doing way-out takes on woodland creatures and scenes of the day—then making up stories to explain them. He was a superb craftsman who made his own knives, guns and motorized roller skates.

 

He’s most famous for two images that, while perhaps not wholly original, have sent art aficionados and marketing whizzes to the auction blocks. One is the stylized version of the nickname he adopted for himself, Von Dutch. Some say it bears an interesting resemblance to the Norton motorcycle logo, but virtually everyone agrees on its significance. The other is the flying eyeball, Von Dutch once said originated, sans wings, with the Macedonian and Egyptian cultures 5,000 years ago.

 

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