![\"CRACKHEAD](\"https:\/\/victorhugocollection.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/08\/0EdCHJMAsk.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\nIT IS NO WONDER THAT PUBLIC TRUST IN NEWS MEDIA IS ALL BUT EXTINGUISHED WHEN JOURNALISM IS FUNDAMENTALLY DISHONEST IN REPORTING EDITORIAL OPINION AS FACT AND TRUTH.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n The New York Times has thrown out standards and violated all journalistic integrity in favor of echoing the\u00a0Whitehouse and Hillary Clinton campaign.<\/p>\n AMERICAN FLAG VICTOR HUGO VACA II<\/em><\/strong><\/p><\/div>\n The New York Times echoed the false premise of weapons of mass destruction, spoon-fed by Colin Powell\u00a0and the Bush Whitehouse, to careless New York Times editors who published articles encouraging war in Iraq, without fact checking.<\/p>\n MODERN-ART-GONZO-JOURNALISM PAINTING, “THE THREE SOLDIERS” REPORTED THE WAR IN IRAQ AS BOTH AN INVASION AND A FARCE, BEFORE IT WAS CHIC, AT THE 2006 “CONTINUE TO DESCEND” EXHIBIT FEATURING WORK BY JEFF KOONS AND\u00a0MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II, AS NOTED IN THE NY ARTS MAGAZINE ARTICLE BY KATE HICKEY.<\/i><\/b><\/p>\n History will tell that bad reporting by The New York Times was partially responsible for the United States Invasion of Iraq and the continuing quagmire that exists in the Middle East, which is now bleeding heavily into Europe and on American soil.<\/p>\n “GOD SPOKE BUT INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISTS WERE ALL LAID OFF, SO NOBODY LEARNED A THING.” MODERN-ART-GONZO-JOURNALISM STORY BOARD DRAWING BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n Instead of using investigative journalism to confirm facts properly before publishing content as a beacon of news and information for public\u00a0trust, The New York Times, Miami Herald and Fort Myers News Press, to name a few, appear to be practicing copy and paste journalism that makes modern-art-gonzo-journalism seem more like Jon Stewart’s, “The Daily Show”, to cultured Millennials.<\/p>\n IT IS ESTIMATED THAT BETWEEN 6-10% OF REVENUE, ACTUALLY GOES TO CHARITY, IN “THE CLINTON FOUNDATION”, EVEN LESS IN FLY BY NIGHT CHARITIES, THAT EXPLOIT HANDICAPPED CHILDREN, WOMEN AND VETERANS FOR POLITICAL FAVORS AND PERSONAL ENRICHMENT.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n “I mean, honestly, the question, I think, now for the Clintons is, \u2018What else don\u2019t we know? What don\u2019t we know about your donors? What don\u2019t we know about the conflicts of interest that those donors represent when Mrs. Clinton is serving as Secretary of State?\u2019 We are now finding out that\u00a0so<\/em>\u00a0little of those charitable donations actually go to charitable works.” –\u00a0Republican presidential candidate Carly Fiorina<\/p>\n 2013 ANNUAL REVENUE OF THE CLINTON FOUNDATION WAS $149 MILLION OF WHICH $9 MILLION OR 6% ACTUALLY MADE ITS WAY TO CHARITY IN GRANTS, ALLEGEDLY.\u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n To be fair, according to Katherina Rosqueta, the founding executive\u00a0director of the Center for High Impact Philanthropy at the University of Pennsylvania,\u00a0\u201cThere is an important distinction between an operating foundation vs. a non-operating foundation; An operating foundation implements programs so money it raises is not designed to be used exclusively for grant-making purposes. When most people hear \u2018foundation\u2019, they think exclusively of a grant-making entity. In either case, the key is to understand how well the foundation uses money \u2014 whether to implement programs or to grant out to nonprofits.”<\/p>\n THE UNDECIDED VOTER<\/em><\/strong><\/p><\/div>\n Katherina Rosqueta, The Undecided Voter notices, is suggesting the Clinton Foundation is an \u201coperating foundation.\u201d<\/p>\n “THE GONIF INSIDE” MODERN-ART-GONZO-JOURNALISM STORY BOARD DRAWING BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n The Clinton Foundation allegedly spent 12 percent of its revenue on travel and conferences and 20 percent of its revenue on salaries.<\/p>\n GONIFS COLLUDE WITH JOURNALISTS TO BAMBOOZLE DO-GOODERS INTO EXPLOITING THE FEEBLE MINDED AND WEAK IN SACRIFICE OF PUBLIC TRUST.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n Mainstream media news outlets inability to serve public trust, inspired the following chapters\u00a0from the\u00a0copyrighted screenplay of the feature length version of \u201cCrackhead Jesus: The Movie\u201d\u00a9, a seven part series, inspired by the modern-art-gonzo-journalism, \u201cDiary Of The World On Canvas\u201d\u00a9, screenplay storyboards by Victor-Hugo Vaca II. \u00a0Though inspired by actual events it is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author\u2019s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.<\/p>\n PROLOGUE<\/p>\n Mr. Bill was a friend of mine. When he needed shelter, I housed him. When he needed food, I fed him. One day, Mr. Bill called to ask a favor of me.<\/p>\n \u201cThe All Stars are getting together again, would you like to be part of the reunion?\u201d He asked.<\/p>\n I recalled the thrill of being on stage, in front of thousands of cheering fans in Fort Myers, Florida, using my gift of synesthesia to interpret wavelengths and frequencies of music in color on canvas, with rock & roll legends, who collectively, sold over half a billion records worldwide.<\/p>\n \u201cIs it going to be like the first time?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n “ALL STAR MAMM JAM” BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d He answered. \u201cOnly this time, it will be to benefit handicapped children. My girlfriend\u2019s son has autism. He attends the Able Academy in Naples. I wondered if you\u00a0wouldn’t\u00a0mind working with them the day before the\u00a0show at the school. The band is going to be there and so is FOX News. At the concert, I\u2019ll make sure the stage is set up properly. If you don\u2019t mind, we\u2019ll bring the kids up and let them paint with you during one of the songs. You can stay with the band at the beachfront mansion I rented and I\u2019ll cover your travel expenses. What do you say, can you do it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure.\u201d I answered.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, and after we perform for the children in Naples, we\u2019re scheduled for a gig in Fort Myers, at the opening game of spring training for the World Series champions, the Boston Red Sox.\u201d Mr. Bill paused before continuing. \u201cSo, you\u2019ll be there too, right?\u00a0 You can create three Modern Art Music Movement paintings to commemorate the All Star weekend.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, sure, no problem. I\u2019ll be there for all three MAMM Jams\u201d<\/p>\n After hanging up with Mr. Bill, I got a phone call from my best friend Todd in New York, a huge Orthodox Jew that looks like an albino gorilla wearing a yamaka. He\u2019s a wrestling champion, nicknamed, \u201cThe Hebrew Hammer\u201d, who plays the harmonica with chutzpa and soul.<\/p>\n \u201cMy friend just invited me to a VH1 Fashion Week Party full of notable celebrities, he\u2019s one of the performing artists, so it\u2019s going to be VIP all the way, you want to come? VH1 gave him a suite at the Times Square Marriott, there\u2019s plenty of room, you can be my guest.\u201d Todd said.<\/p>\n \u201cI would love to.\u201d I answered, before realizing that the dates conflicted with the bond I had given to my friend Mr. Bill for sake of the children at the Able Academy. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you join me in Fort Myers for an All-Star MAMM Jam with former members of Boston, Steely Dan, The Doobie Brothers, Third World, The Wailers and The James Brown Band, to benefit mentally handicapped children? I\u2019ll tell Mr. Bill I\u2019m bringing you as my guest and you can stay with me at the beachfront mansion he\u2019s renting for the band.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou sure it\u2019s going to be alright, remember, I\u2019m Kosher, what about Shabbat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c Dude, they\u2019re rock legends, not anti-semites.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAlright, I\u2019ll buy my ticket to fly down to your Labyrinth of Creativity on the beach near Miami. I\u2019ll rent a big car for us to drive across Alligator Alley together, as long as you make sure I can celebrate my Weekly Holy Day.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou got it, Todd. I promise.\u201d<\/p>\n So began my covenant with the Able Academy kids and my friends, never realizing that my commitment would lead to a series of events that left me afraid of charity and suffering Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).<\/p>\n CHAPTER ONE: THE SPECIAL ARTIST FROM NYC<\/strong><\/p>\n The day before meeting the Able Academy kids in Naples, I was scheduled to appear on WRPBI-TV, which broadcasts out of Boca Raton, Florida, to promote the All Star event in Fort Myers. Prior to my interview, on a show titled, \u201cOut Of The Haze with Bryan Hayes\u201d, I was introduced to Snow, a Canadian Reggae Musician, whose song, \u201cInformer\u201d, has been recorded twice in the \u201cGuinness Book Of World Records\u201d as the best selling reggae single in U.S. History, as well as the highest charting reggae single in history, after spending seven consecutive weeks at Number 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1993.<\/p>\n I signed an autograph for Snow\u2019s daughter talked to his manager, invited them all to the event in Fort Myers and next thing I knew, I was being asked intimate questions about my career as a \u201cmaverick artist\u201d on a soundstage, in front of a television camera. According to Todd, who watched the show on a monitor backstage, the half-hour interview was \u201cperfect\u201d.<\/p>\n Outside, the weather was beyond nasty, torrential downpours and lightning strikes peppered the day and were forecast deep into the night. My trip across Alligator Alley to Fort Myers would be a dangerous journey. Thunder struck as Todd and I exited the television station, making a mad dash for the rental car, through deep puddles, under umbrellas that failed to keep us dry. Soaked, we began our adventure to the west coast of Florida, in the name of charity.<\/p>\n Halfway over the treacherous road that cuts through the Everglades, I received a text message from Mr. Bill advising me that Skunk Baxter, formerly of the Doobie Brothers and Steely Dan, had arrived at the Fort Myers beachfront mansion with his grandchildren, which meant there was no room for Todd and I.<\/p>\n There are no U-turns or exits on Alligator Alley, it\u2019s one- way in and one-way out so, we had no choice but to stay the course. The weather was grave, as we drove cautiously through the darkness of night with little road visibility, in spite of glaring high beams, that only shined light on our immediate predicament. I could not respond to Mr. Bill\u2019s untimely message in the midst of such severe weather because of our remote location, in the middle of the Everglades, which offered no cell phone reception.<\/p>\n After a grueling five and a half-hour road trip, Todd and I made it to Mr. Bill\u2019s home near the Henry Ford and Thomas Edison estates in Fort Myers. My cell phone battery was dead, so I knocked on the door and asked Mr. Bill\u2019s housekeeper to notify him of our arrival. I smiled at Todd, when I noticed the framed painting of, \u201cCristomujer\u201d, which I had personally signed and gifted to Mr. Bill when he last stayed at my home as a houseguest, hanging prominently on his living room wall. Todd and I looked at framed photographs of Mr. Bill standing side by side with every single United States President since Richard Nixon and other notables in the music and entertainment world, as his voice carried over the cell phone speaker of his house-keeper.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t send them over to the beach house.\u201d Mr. Bill said, unaware that he was on speakerphone.<\/p>\n \u201cShall I set them up here?\u201d The housekeeper asked, with an embarrassed look on his face.<\/p>\n \u201cNo! Let them sleep in the fixer-upper.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut, there\u2019s no beds or furniture, there\u2019s no hot water or locks on the doors. Are you sure? There\u2019s plenty of room here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t want them staying at the house, do what I tell you.\u201d Mr. Bill said firmly before ending the call abruptly.<\/p>\n \u201cI thought you said this guy was your friend?\u201d Todd asked.<\/p>\n \u201cHe is.\u201d I said, with a confused look on my face, as I dripped onto Mr. Bill\u2019s wooden floor in front of his housekeeper, who looked back at me with pity.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s a mattress in the garage. The garage is full of junk. If you guys help me, we can take the mattress out, put it in my truck, and you both can sleep on it over at the fixer-upper.\u201d<\/p>\n An hour later, after wiping cobwebs and spiders off a stained mattress in the middle of a thunderstorm, we arrived at what appeared to be a crack house near the Edison Estate in Fort Myers. There were no blinds, shades or window treatments for privacy. Puddles riddled rooms in fluid Rorschach shapes from leaks in the ceiling. A blood red stain covered the kitchen floor in the manner of a human body drawn by Keith Haring, which made the place appear like a crime scene.<\/p>\n “You’ll have to climb through the window.” Mr. Bill’s housekeeper announced before exiting through the dank garage.<\/p>\n “I thought I heard you say there was no locks on the doors.” Todd interjected.<\/p>\n “Well, I don’t have keys for the padlocks used to secure the front and back exits, so, you’ll have to climb through the window if you really got to get out, otherwise, just come and go through the garage.” Mr. Bill’s housekeeper said in visible breaths that sliced through the pungent smell of mildew permeating the carport. “Doors broke, so it’s always open.”<\/p>\n “Are you serious?” Todd asked, looking at me sternly.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, and the toilets don\u2019t work.\u201d Mr. Bill\u2019s housekeeper paused before adding, \u201cAnd, I\u00a0wouldn’t\u00a0drink the water either, it\u2019s brown.\u201d<\/p>\n Todd and I were out of there, back into the storm, without a place to rest, hours before I was supposed to perform for handicapped children in Naples and thousands of classic rock and Boston Red Sox fans in Fort Myers.<\/p>\n After Midnight, we showed up at the beachfront mansion, where we were initially supposed to stay. I called Mr. Bill, to let him know we were outside but he\u00a0didn’t\u00a0answer the phone. Minutes later, he responded\u00a0with a text message that read, \u201cYou can\u2019t stay here. Don\u2019t ring the bell, you\u2019ll wake the band\u201d.<\/p>\n Todd and I stared in disbelief, through buckets of rain being scattered by windshield wipers, at a huge RV that could easily sleep a dozen people, parked outside the beachfront mansion, while I contacted my manager to explain the situation.<\/p>\n \u201cCan you find us a hotel?\u201d I pleaded.<\/p>\n Half an hour later, my manager called back to say that all hotels in the Fort Myers area were booked. She said she would try to find us a hotel within a hundred mile radius and call back once she had secured a room for us.<\/p>\n In that time, Todd received a call from his friend, who had just finished performing at the VH1 fashion show in New York City, he was on speakerphone, so I could hear every detail of how awesome the event was and how amazing the star-studded after-party was going. I slumped into the seat as Todd stared down at me. I felt like such a shmuck.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy don\u2019t you guys fly over on the red eye? There are hot models everywhere! I\u2019ve got a suite at the Marriott Times Square for the weekend, the party\u2019s just begun!\u201d<\/p>\n Finally, around 2 a.m., my manager called with reservations for a hotel in Naples, not far from the Able Academy, where I was supposed to arrive at 8 a.m. to rehearse for my 9 o\u2019clock performance with the All Stars in front of FOX News cameras and a roomful of handicapped children. The hotel was about two hours away, according to the GPS. It would cost me $287.00 to rest my head for a few hours, or I could hop on a flight with Todd and be in Manhattan, cavorting with A-list celebrities and models all weekend.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s up to you.\u201d Todd said. \u201cI can drive us to the airport or to the hotel. Mr. Bill doesn\u2019t sound like a very good friend and I don\u2019t think he\u2019s going to honor his word. Let\u2019s cut our losses and get out of here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, but I promised these kids. My manager says they\u2019ve been studying my work for weeks and are looking forward to meeting me.\u201d I answered, not sure why I cared, since, I don\u2019t have children of my own and I much prefer partying with women than I do playing with kids. My instinct told me to get on a plane to New York and live like a party animal for the weekend but my heart told me to do the right thing and stay for the youngsters at the Able Academy.<\/p>\n Darkness shifted from crimson to amethyst before turning azure in the heaven above, shining a bright light in my eyes through the window shades, as the alarm went off, two hours after falling asleep. Todd stayed in bed; there was no waking him up. My brain was mush from lack of rest and my body ached from being trapped in a car for over ten hours. When I arrived at the Able Academy, the director of the school told me that Mr. Bill had just called to inform her that the All Star Band was not coming and since the band had cancelled, FOX News decided to abort the affair as well.<\/p>\n I had never worked with handicapped children before in my life. Without a clue, I told the director of the school to follow my lead and we would make something special happen for the rising generation. I determined the disabled kids would get a MAMM Jam, with or without Mr. Bill and his All Star Band.<\/p>\n \u201cThe show must go on\u201d, I thought, through all the confusion. So, I grabbed some canvas, paints and brushes, out of the trunk of my car; found a radio and some strobe lights and hustled into the Able Academy as a text message from my manager came in, reminding me not to be late for the \u201cBoston Strong MAMM Jam\u201d , honoring victims of the Boston bombing at the Boston Red Sox Spring Training opener in Fort Myers at noon.<\/p>\n I told the school director that I only had two hours before having to rush over to the stadium. She said it wasn\u2019t enough time to spend with all the kids and that they would be disappointed because they had spent weeks examining my work in anticipation of my arrival.<\/p>\n I suggested doubling the number of youngsters I would work with at a time and she said that would be impossible because mentally handicapped children could be uncomfortable and unpredictable in large groups. She warned me that even with the most experienced of teachers and professional counselors, they could get violent or unruly. I told her we didn\u2019t have a choice and so my spontaneous adventure in art therapy with the special kids at the Able Academy began.<\/p>\n CHAPTER TWO – BOSTON STRONG<\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cAll interesting artists are autodidacts.\u201d<\/em>\u00a0\u2013 Massimiliano Gioni<\/p>\n In\u00a0some Italian provinces, the word \u2018artist\u2019 is a synonym for dunce.\u00a0 An artist must walk a tightrope between being perceived as \u00a0an \u00a0illustrious nobody or a famous intellectual by critics disguised as cultural sycophants in an arena filled with smoke and mirrors. Being a creator is not a career for fragile egos, so to be a virtuoso, one must have thick skin.<\/p>\n I have been called all sorts of things by critics, not all of them complimentary, but I survive and my work will live on, long after my corporal being exits this plane of existence, in the expanding multi-universe.<\/p>\n In 2005, after performing a MAMM Jam with Rhythmm Epkins, drummer for \u201cThe English Beat\u201d, and founder of \u00a0the R&B \u00a0funk \u00a0group, \u201cMind, Body & Soul\u201d, \u00a0to \u00a0raise \u00a0money \u00a0for \u00a0the \u00a0mentally handicapped, at a sold-out show in Bakersfield, California, where the first five rows were reserved for the mentally challenged, who were the most appreciative audience I have ever had the pleasure of performing \u00a0in \u00a0front \u00a0of, I became known, by some critics, as, \u201cVictor-Hugo: The Artist of Retards\u201d.<\/p>\n When I performed MAMM Jams during 2009 Art Basel Week in Miami, Florida to sold-out, standing room only crowds attending the infamous, \u201cCrackhead Jesus: The Second Coming Art Exhibition\u201d, at the \u00a0\u201cBuck 15 Gallery Lounge\u201d \u00a0on \u00a0Lincoln Road, \u00a0a large group of women from Weight Watchers joined me onstage while I painted the unique moment on canvas, at which point, I became known, by some critics, as, \u201cVictor-Hugo: The Artist of Fat Chicks and Retards\u201d.<\/p>\n Some \u00a0call \u00a0me, \u00a0\u201cThe Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo\u201d others \u00a0call \u00a0me, \u00a0\u201cThe Maverick Meatball\u201d. Whatever \u00a0the \u00a0case, \u00a0I\u2019m \u00a0happy. \u00a0However, as I am an artist\/activist birthed from a business background, \u00a0I’ve \u00a0come \u00a0to \u00a0notice \u00a0that artists are often treated like \u201cThe-Retards-of-the-Business-World\u201d instead of sober-entrepreneurs, \u00a0by \u00a0some \u00a0ignorant \u00a0top \u00a0brass. Though, thankfully, not all influence makers exploit an artists\u2019 passion, those who choose to dim the light instead of fueling the soul, manifest dark energy that fills the multi-universe, all this, in spite of knowing that entertainment is, in fact, like any other business, an industry that must flow perpetually, in balance of soul currency, to exist infinitely.<\/p>\n Art is not cheap to create. \u00a0It \u00a0takes \u00a0effort, \u00a0ingenuity and time and since time is money, if I had a Bitcoin, for every time someone, like Mr. Bill, told me, \u00a0\u201cWhy don\u2019t you perform for free, it\u2019ll be good exposure?\u201d or, \u201cHow about giving me one of your paintings, for free, to hang in my mansion, so all my filthy-rich friends can see your work, while smoking weed?\u201d\u00a0 I\u2019d be a tycoon of Rothschild proportions.<\/p>\n Do these unenlightened moguls ask Doctors to perform surgery for free or ask lawyers to satisfy their legal issues, free of charge, because it\u2019s good practice?<\/p>\n I \u00a0don\u2019t \u00a0think \u00a0so. \u00a0An \u00a0artist \u00a0must \u00a0always \u00a0risk \u00a0failure, \u00a0for failure \u00a0is \u00a0part \u00a0of \u00a0the \u00a0process \u00a0but that\u00a0doesn’t\u00a0mean creators should accept the status quo\u00a0of double-dealing in business matters or any other affairs. An artist has class mobility, for that reason, particularly in a disturbed society, a virtuoso must ask the right questions, open consciousness, raise awareness and elevate minds.<\/p>\n An artist should serve mankind, for that reason, humanity should not become complacent with the profiteering of an artist because a true artist can be childlike forever and the exploitation of children is \u00a0detrimental \u00a0to \u00a0any \u00a0culture \u00a0pursuing \u00a0Enlightenment. \u00a0Some muddled \u00a0people \u00a0feel \u00a0the world\u00a0doesn’t\u00a0need artists because art\u00a0doesn’t\u00a0meet\u00a0our basic needs to survive but that\u2019s bogus; art fuels the soul\u00a0currency of human capital that trumps any banknote or material treasure.<\/p>\n These thoughts raced through my aching head, as I prepared to meet my audience of special children at The Able Academy in Naples, Florida, hours before my gig with the All Stars at the Boston Red Sox Spring Training Opener in Fort Myers, Florida, to honor victims of the Boston Marathon bombing. As if taunting my choice of career, the outstretched, blank canvas, measuring 36 x 71, clipped to the front of a long table turned on it\u2019s side, resting atop another elongated table, stared back at me, screaming, \u201cFail! Fail! Fail!\u201d<\/p>\n I\u2019ve heard people say that animals can sense fear and weakness. I don\u2019t know what experts say about children with autism but I can tell you this, the moment the Able Academy director opened the door, to let kids into the room where I stood vulnerable, feeling helpless and alone in a cruel world, a beautiful boy ran to me, clasped my knees lovingly and looked up at me like a cherub in a chapel. I felt such overwhelming affection from the pint-sized angel holding a tight grip on me that, in an instant, all the negativity and cynicism inside of me washed away like the Great Flood. I fought back tears in that abstract moment that seemed to last a lifetime because I did not want to break down in front of the celestial beings surrounding me.<\/p>\n One by one, frail angels entered the room, coalescing in the ecstasy of colors, dancing freely with paint and brushes in their tiny hands as they guided me through the purity of love being expressed on canvas without shame, guilt or remorse.\u00a0 I noticed one child slumped in the corner with his face in his hands. He beckoned me with magnificent eyes that stared at me through the cracks in his fingers.<\/p>\n \u201c\u201dWould you like to paint with us?\u201d I asked, as I knelt down before him.<\/p>\n \u201cArt has power.\u201d He said, letting his guard down.<\/p>\n \u201cYes, it does.\u201d I said as I placed a brush in his hand. \u201cShow me what you can do.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBelieve in your greatness and it will be the death of your creativity.\u201d He said, taking my hand in his and leading me to the canvas where we melted into the void of color alongside the other offspring.<\/p>\n The joy was so intense, time flew by the way magic moments do and before I knew it the unique experience was over. I said goodbye to the kids, packed my equipment, called Todd, who was patiently waiting outside the hotel after having checked out and assured him I was on my way to get him for the hour-long journey to Fort Myers.<\/p>\n He reminded me that we were running late.<\/p>\n Before leaving, the stunned school director asked me how I had managed to get the catatonic child to speak. \u00a0She \u00a0said \u00a0it \u00a0was \u00a0a \u00a0miracle \u00a0because \u00a0the \u00a0juvenile \u00a0never \u00a0spoke \u00a0to \u00a0anyone. \u00a0I \u00a0told \u00a0her \u00a0I communicated with respect and dignity. The innocent confided in me that the adults\u00a0didn’t\u00a0understand them and\u00a0didn’t\u00a0pay attention,\u00a0which\u00a0frankly, was no surprise to me, since out of the mouth of babes comes truth and most adults can\u2019t handle the truth, which is why some adolescents choose to stay silent.<\/p>\n Traffic was at a crawl, leading up to the stadium in Fort Myers.\u00a0 It seemed all of creation had come to cheer for the World Series Champions at the Spring Training Opener. My manager had coordinated for the Boston Red Sox to sign the painting created with the Able Academy children, for the artwork to be auctioned off in their benefit but when I got to the stadium, \u00a0Mr. \u00a0Bill \u00a0chastised \u00a0me \u00a0for \u00a0my manager doing so, claiming she had overstepped her bounds, \u201cIt\u2019s my show, damn it!\u201d\u00a0 He stated indefatigably before adding, \u201cHurry up, you\u2019re late! The band goes on stage in 10 minutes.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThis is your friend?\u201d Todd said, looking at Mr. Bill with disgust and me with sympathy, as Mr. Bill\u2019s girlfriend Melissa approached me with open arms and a huge smile.<\/p>\n \u201cOh my God! I heard you got my son to speak, I wish I could have been there.\u201d She said holding back tears.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy\u00a0weren’t\u00a0you?\u201d I thought to myself, sinking into her warm embrace\u00a0while Mr. Bill stared back at me with contempt that I could not explain.<\/p>\n One by one, the All Stars embraced me before going on stage. I was reunited with members of Bon Jovi, Boston, The Doobie Brothers, Steely Dan, The Wailers, Third World, The James Brown Band and Foster Child, none of which were aware of the harrowing experience that had preceded our moment in time before the Boston Red Sox fans in Fort Myers. Like the victims of the Boston bombing, I was determined to carry on, undaunted by adversity, and so I did, creating \u201cBoston Strong\u201d alongside music industry titans, in front of a live audience on February 28, 2014.<\/p>\n The painting, \u201cBoston Strong\u201d, is signed by\u00a0Bon Jovi\u2019s bass player, Hugh McDonald ; Fran Sheehan, the former bassist and original member of the band Boston; Barry Goudreau, guitarist and original member of the band Boston; Leroy Romans, former keyboard player for Third World and The Wailers; Robert \u201cMousey\u201d Thompson, drummer for the late James Brown; Danny Beissel of the band Foster Child; B.A.M. (Bad Ass Musician) and Maverick Artist Victor-Hugo.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n“THE HAPPY ART SERIES” BY MAVERICK ARTIST VICTOR-HUGO VACA II EXAMINES THE HYPOCRISY OF PHILANTHROPY AND WEAK U.S. NEWS MEDIA.<\/em><\/strong><\/h3>\n
\u201cThe Rock & Roll Legend of American Vinyl All Star Band Rep. Bill Johnson, His Girlfriend Melissa And Her Son From The Able Academy For Handicapped Children\u201d<\/a><\/h3>\n
<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\nChapter 3-\u00a0Hypocrisy Of Philanthropy<\/a><\/h3>\n