‘Panes’ Print
Print details: Giclee quality printed on 8.5”x11“ 330 GSM hot pressed bright substrate with a .25” border using museum grade pigments. Signed and accompanied by a certificate of authenticity, this print comes ready for you to frame.
limited to 25 prints.
This is a digitally rendered piece in preparation for an oil painting of the same subject.
“Panes” is inspired by the below;
In October 2004, near the Iraq-Syria border, our platoon took over an old Iraqi police station, turning it into a makeshift FOB for the ensuing months. The desert’s biting cold intensified under cloudless skies, robbing the ground of the day’s warmth.
Our platoon sergeant, radiating the essence of ruggedness with sun-aged skin and a demeanor aged well-beyond his 26 years, often gave off an aura of seasoned Tennessee wisdom beneath the stench of field stripped Marlboro red butts that filled his cargo pockets. With his characteristic blend of concern and autocracy, he handed us hammers, instructing, “Every piece of glass in this building needs to go.”
Despite the building’s cold, its windows provided a semblance of warmth, shielding us from the chilling and dust filled breeze. Reluctantly, we echoed, “Aye aye, Staff Sergeant,” our voices carrying traces of skepticism and a subtle hint of “task acknowledged, but screw you”. Following orders, we shattered the windows, replacing many with sandbags, ensuring gaps sizable enough for rifles.
Initial discontent stemmed from our yearning for warmth, but the subsequent weeks elucidated his foresight. The risk of secondary fragmentation from SVBIED attacks became evermore apparent. This is but one memory, of one Marine, who I’d follow into the depths of hell.
M.L. Reynolds
Print details: Giclee quality printed on 8.5”x11“ 330 GSM hot pressed bright substrate with a .25” border using museum grade pigments. Signed and accompanied by a certificate of authenticity, this print comes ready for you to frame.
limited to 25 prints.
This is a digitally rendered piece in preparation for an oil painting of the same subject.
“Panes” is inspired by the below;
In October 2004, near the Iraq-Syria border, our platoon took over an old Iraqi police station, turning it into a makeshift FOB for the ensuing months. The desert’s biting cold intensified under cloudless skies, robbing the ground of the day’s warmth.
Our platoon sergeant, radiating the essence of ruggedness with sun-aged skin and a demeanor aged well-beyond his 26 years, often gave off an aura of seasoned Tennessee wisdom beneath the stench of field stripped Marlboro red butts that filled his cargo pockets. With his characteristic blend of concern and autocracy, he handed us hammers, instructing, “Every piece of glass in this building needs to go.”
Despite the building’s cold, its windows provided a semblance of warmth, shielding us from the chilling and dust filled breeze. Reluctantly, we echoed, “Aye aye, Staff Sergeant,” our voices carrying traces of skepticism and a subtle hint of “task acknowledged, but screw you”. Following orders, we shattered the windows, replacing many with sandbags, ensuring gaps sizable enough for rifles.
Initial discontent stemmed from our yearning for warmth, but the subsequent weeks elucidated his foresight. The risk of secondary fragmentation from SVBIED attacks became evermore apparent. This is but one memory, of one Marine, who I’d follow into the depths of hell.
M.L. Reynolds
Print details: Giclee quality printed on 8.5”x11“ 330 GSM hot pressed bright substrate with a .25” border using museum grade pigments. Signed and accompanied by a certificate of authenticity, this print comes ready for you to frame.
limited to 25 prints.
This is a digitally rendered piece in preparation for an oil painting of the same subject.
“Panes” is inspired by the below;
In October 2004, near the Iraq-Syria border, our platoon took over an old Iraqi police station, turning it into a makeshift FOB for the ensuing months. The desert’s biting cold intensified under cloudless skies, robbing the ground of the day’s warmth.
Our platoon sergeant, radiating the essence of ruggedness with sun-aged skin and a demeanor aged well-beyond his 26 years, often gave off an aura of seasoned Tennessee wisdom beneath the stench of field stripped Marlboro red butts that filled his cargo pockets. With his characteristic blend of concern and autocracy, he handed us hammers, instructing, “Every piece of glass in this building needs to go.”
Despite the building’s cold, its windows provided a semblance of warmth, shielding us from the chilling and dust filled breeze. Reluctantly, we echoed, “Aye aye, Staff Sergeant,” our voices carrying traces of skepticism and a subtle hint of “task acknowledged, but screw you”. Following orders, we shattered the windows, replacing many with sandbags, ensuring gaps sizable enough for rifles.
Initial discontent stemmed from our yearning for warmth, but the subsequent weeks elucidated his foresight. The risk of secondary fragmentation from SVBIED attacks became evermore apparent. This is but one memory, of one Marine, who I’d follow into the depths of hell.
M.L. Reynolds
