Moving to a live-work loft between the railroad and the freeway in Oakland from an upscale neighborhood in Portland was a bit of culture shock. Living and working in the same space was old hat to an experienced kitchen table, hallway wall and living room door painter, but the emphasis had changed from living primarily to painting primarily. We had a 3rd floor space directly above the tracks. There were a few tall poles for electricity running between the tracks, the tops of which were at eye level. Fortunately, the wall of World War II era industrial windows were high enough off the ground to protect us from stray bullets rising our way from the frequent gun play in the neighborhood, but they could not filter out the noxious diesel fumes rising from the idling locomotives on the tracks below. Aside from the plain white fence against which crack-dealers collected from crack-whores, our panoramic vista included the exercise yard of a prison work-release facility where sullen orange jumpsuits milled about slowly under the gaze of men in blue. I painted Machine Gun in a very direct and improvisatory style, seeking a pure response to my new surroundings in order to fully experience the culture-shock of the move from Portland to Oakland. The title was lifted from the brilliant Jimi Hendrix work of the same name, which was part of my auditory environment as I executed the painting.