Everyone said the same thing, “You’re going to Vegas… for nine days?!”

“That’s right” nine days in Vegas.

Two New York City artists, painting The Strip, on-location from our easels; out to capture Hunter’s “American Dream” wrapped in corporate logos.

THE WELCOME SIGN, ONE MORE ARTIST MAKES THREE

And so it began. After two mind-numbing hours of infomercials featuring the muscles formerly known as Carrot Top, artist Ari Lankin and I made our way over to the Welcome to Las Vegas Sign. We painted through menacing conditions of dry heat, blazing sun and multidirectional wind for two days.

For a people watcher, location painting offers a treasure trove of eye candy and conversation. The Vegas Sign was gold. Numerous 4/20 weddings (an ideal date to start our trip). A preggers chick with “Welcome Baby” painted on her belly. Passing the time with Elvis, a dope photographer by the name of Gilbert and Jerry Shawback (an artist friend from Twitter) who asked “can I paint with you guys tomorrow?”

“Of course. Bring a cooler with ice, and beer.”

With Jerry, we became a Three Artist Wolfpack for the rest of the trip. To cap off day two of “The Sign” painting, we joined a group of one-eyed-pirates to see Absinthe at Caesars Palace. Penny’s sock-puppet routine is a must see. “6’O’Clock bitch!”

THREE NEW STREET CREATURES ON FREMONT

Canvas number two began in “The Real Vegas” — Fremont Street (the uncovered portion). We decided to paint the storied El Cortez Hotel, “Where Locals Come to Play” and the slots still use coins.

Hours into day one, a security guard expressed his surprise that we were still out there. “Why,” we asked, “because of the heat?”

“No, because the locals haven’t taken your stuff.”

Regardless of where you paint, unsolicited feedback comes frequently, and will vary greatly. “Dope, I gotta blunt up with you” (excellent), “ohhh, beautiful” (good), “I don’t get it” (average), “you suck bro” (poor).

The Fremont Experience was no different, only here critiques usually started with: “Yo motha fucka, I just got outta Vegas Psych, and you can suck my dick, oh look, artists!”

Fortunately, the El Cortez is well guarded, like a fortress. This was good, because a man behind me drinking an off-brand forty casually noted, “Used to be I could just run over and knock those fuckers paintings right off the easel. Now the cops everywhere.” Sweet, sweet gentrification.

On day two, Easter Sunday in fact, an immaculately dressed gentleman walked by with great swagger, and declared, “those paintings are good, and I should know, I’m a millionaire.”

“Was it Jackie Gaughan?” It was a good question, considering our locale. We never did find out.

BROADWAY BARES, SO DO WE

While at The Sign, Ari painted an “I Heart NV” tattoo on the arm of Sheila Joy — a Criss Angel dancer. She suggested we attend Broadway Bares, a charity event she was performing in. Ari proposed, “we bring our easels to paint the action.” Hours later, we received a call from the lovely Paula Caselton, inviting us to join the show.

There we were, 24 hours later, at midnight, our easels set up in the CHI Showroom at Planet Hollywood, painting the spectacular performances unfolding before us. Holly Madison introduced us, and at the end of the night, our paintings were auctioned off to benefit Broadway Bares/Equity Fights AIDS.

We even met Jerry Mitchell, though he refrained from choreographing our efforts.

THE SAHARA, DEAN MARTIN TO BURRITOS

Sometimes things don’t go according to plan. “Capture a slice of classic Vegas before it’s gone” I thought. Well, three hours into our Sahara paintings, a friendly, but unwavering bike security guard kicked us off of casino property.

Compositionally, shifting locations during a location painting is a disaster. And once we moved, things went from bad to worse. During a massive gust of wind, our easels blew over — violently scattering art supplies across Las Vegas BLVD. Insult to injury, a vagrant demanded during our scramble for paint tubes and brushes, “I want reparations you dirty pigs!”

The Sahara. Once home to Dean Martin, now their claim to fame is now a “six pound burrito, literally, the size of a newborn infant”.

A DAY OF REST. LOOK THE PART, GAMBLE, IMBIBE

We couldn’t be all work in Vegas. It was time to play. So we dressed in the standard artist’s ensemble of dark shades, a fedora and the faux leather blazer  — channeling enough ambiguous, reality-star level fame to trick the bouncer: “ignore the filthy shoes, skip the labels, let us through”.

Once inside, it’s all business. A bloody mary in the left hand, a cigarette dangling from the lips, pulling the robotic arm of glittery fortune, looking like a burnt out hipster from the Murder She Wrote, Dynasty era of prime time television.

Bliss.

INTO THE PERPETUAL NEON SUNSET

Though it can shoot a light beam into space, it has no wireless internet. Despite this dubious connection, we decided to finish off our trip with a painting of the Luxor. One last go on Vegas BLVD, three easels, a cooler of Tecate, and the late 1990’s addition to the Vegas skyline straight out of popcorn flick: The Mummy.

Remember Brendan Fraser?

In total, we collectively painted seventeen canvases — two went to charity. Now, back in Manhattan, I can close my eyes and relive the American Dream, wondering what to paint on the next trip to Sin City.

Borbay (www.borbay.com) and Ari Lankin (www.arilankin.com) are professional artists living in Manhattan. Jerry Shawback is a professional artist residing in Los Angeles, CA, and Las Vegas, NV. They share their painting adventures real-time on Twitter (@Borbay), (@JShawback) and (@AriLankin). PS: Jerry, somehow, posed in exactly zero pictures during this adventure — to be rectified.)