Shane Decoteaux Bates was born in the Berkshire Hills, amidst the faded remnants of America’s Gilded Age. He received his education within schools that had the names of Indians, and, when he was a younger man, he and his brother would scratch patterns on the rocks that lay under the railroad tracks. In the evenings, he enjoys flailing on the assorted instruments in which he claims proficiency, while during the days he scribbles out incomprehensible stories that he refers to as “texts.” He also draws and paints occasionally (papier-mâché gives him a rash), but refuses to do so without develo...

Shane Decoteaux Bates was born in the Berkshire Hills, amidst the faded remnants of America’s Gilded Age. He received his education within schools that had the names of Indians, and, when he was a younger man, he and his brother would scratch patterns on the rocks that lay under the railroad tracks. In the evenings, he enjoys flailing on the assorted instruments in which he claims proficiency, while during the days he scribbles out incomprehensible stories that he refers to as “texts.” He also draws and paints occasionally (papier-mâché gives him a rash), but refuses to do so without developing an arbitrary and esoteric mythos to explicate his doodles. His few friends have learned to indulge his ramblings with good-humor; these fits almost always pass within a week, at which time he returns to his gardening. Though he has been picked up a few times, nothing ever stuck, and so he holds little faith in organized government. He claims the greatest influence on his work has been that of the fictional Baroque artist Monstro Settembrini, who, according to Mr. Bates, was the most accomplished maestro of two-dimensional frescoes in the West. When confronted with what are patent similarities between his work and the Aztec Codices, Mr. Bates is inclined to storm off into the forest with a chainsaw. As of yet, he has never carved a tramp-art bear, being of the opinion that some tasks are better left to the professionals.