Dream On: A Journey to Deliverance

Dedication

Without any doubt, I realize that this book project and the content therein would not be anywhere near possible without the love and care of so many. As Isaac Newton said, If it seems that I’ve stood taller and seen farther than others it’s because I’ve stood on the shoulders of giants.

The first giant is my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. From the very moment that I accepted him into my heart, we have been inseparable. A package deal. Creating me, saving me, delivering me, healing me, bringing me, guiding me, sustaining me, rebuking me, loving me enough to chastise me, and so much more. There are no words in the human vocabulary to express my deep gratitude to you, Lord.

Then there are those that you used to bless me: Vernell Saunders, Patricia McClinton, Jackie Dye, Julia Findley, Roosevelt Howard, Linda D. Jones, Norman Floyd, Michael W. Mitchell, Jesse L. Mincey Jr., Sandra Mincey, William H. Walker Sr., Edgar Welden, William Goudy, Bob Truett, Countess Felder, Irma Coker and family, Charles Bumpus, Roy McCaig, Bill Mudd, Anthony Marino,Andrew V. Wyatt, Rodger and Carol Smitherman, Mike Bite, Mal Moore, Nick Saban, Burton Burns, Ambassador Andrew Young, Ozzie Newsome, Kendra Stabler, Doug Williams, Eddie G. Robinson Jr., Kevin and Christine Jones, Greg Calhoun, David Kassouf, Clayton Carper, Allen D. Moore, Artis Mathews and so many others. For your awesome love and unparalleled support, I wish God’s greatest and undying blessings upon you and your families.

To my mother, dad and my big brother, Don, thank you for the ingrained relentless drive to dream on, even after losing you. To my awesome children and grandchildren who have served as a rich source of my eternal inspiration.

Also,, my dearest thanks to those who fought so hard to hinder what God started in my life. Those who spoke so harshly against me and who in pre-judgement decided me unfit for such favor. Those who purposely stated that it would be a cold day in hell before my work would be seen in some of the prestigious places in which they now so exquisitely hang. Those who said I would never sell one piece of art and that my black skin disqualified me from ever being considered for any honor of merit and quality. Those who professed to others that they would rather wait on my competitors’ work instead of accepting that nigger’s paintings.

I want to give you my deepest thanks for it was you who singlehandedly allowed God to use you to teach me—without doubt—that no weapon formed against me would be able to prosper. And if God be for me, who could be against me?

Lastly, to the Devil: Thank you for the time that you spoke clearly and diabolically in my ear after crushing my right hand between those two giant cast iron pipes. And for the night that I swallowed those pills in an attempt to commit suicide. When you whispered in your dastardly way, I’ve got you now. You’ll never paint for God again. I want to whisper in your hellish ear, In the name of Jesus, I’ve got you now! You’ll never stop me as I continue to Dream On.

Steve R. Skipper

Forever Mama, featuring Mrs. Elnora H. Skipper, original pencil drawing on paper. 11 x 14 inches. In the private collection of the Artist.

Forward

By P. M. Skip Taylor Jr.

For over forty years I’ve been able to call Steve (Stevie) Skipper my friend. We first met at Homewood Junior High School, near Birmingham, Alabama in the early 1970’s. It was an interesting time historically. Stevie and I grew up in the shadow of our city’s not-so-finest hour. I don’t remember thinking too much about such matters at the time because Stevie and I were far more interested in playing football, giving our teachers grief and impressing the young ladies.

Upon reflection, even in the wake of all that had gone down in our community a few years prior, Homewood, Alabama was, all in all, a pretty good place to grow up. That was especially true for those of us involved in athletics. For as Jackie Robinson’s Dodger teammates learned once upon a time—as well as the many teammates who have donned the same uniform since then—out there on the field it doesn’t matter if you’re black, white, yellow or purple. It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, handsome or homely. All that matters is that we are all in this together.

Stevie and I continued to grow closer throughout high school because of football. There’s definitely something about those three-a-day football practices in the heat and humidity during the month of August in Alabama that brings young men together. That friendship is forged in heat, bonding us together to some degree for life.

I’ll confess we thought we were pretty cool for by our senior year. We were star players and leaders on what was actually a pretty average team. I now joke with Stevie that for all his work with so many sports heroes over the years--athletes who were literally legends in their own time—he and I were The Skipper Brothers, legends in our own minds!

Folks would even confuse us, calling one of us by the other’s name. I never really understood that because though Stevie’s an inch taller, I was always far better looking.

One thing about Stevie was obvious from an early age; he had a God-given artist’s hand. When in class, it might have appeared that he was taking copious notes during our teacher’s instruction, but he would, in fact, be honing his extraordinary talent. His renderings by that time were so well done that one of his works became the cover of Homewood High School’s Spirit of 76 football program our senior season.

Well, life moves on and comes at you fast. Stevie and I went our separate ways upon graduating. In those days before social media it was much easier to lose touch, even with those you regarded as close friends.

My next memorable impression of him came around Christmas-time, 1985. I was at a local shopping mall, wandering aimlessly, heartbroken. My wife and I had just lost our beautiful baby girl, a precious angel who had died the day she was born, only a few days before Christmas. When I walked past an art store in the mall, a sports painting caught my eye. The painting depicted former University of Alabama and Birmingham Stallions wide receiver Joey Jones. He was all stretched out making an impossible catch against the U. S. Football League’s Memphis Showboats. I certainly remembered the catch for I was at the game and will never forget the All-Star receiver making the amazing play right in front of where I was sitting. Well, as I approached the painting, I noticed the artist’s signature.

Yes, it was Steve Skipper.

That was the only time I remember smiling during that year’s Christmas season.

A few weeks later, I was at the funeral of a mutual friend’s father. God, as He so often does during times of mourning, brings old friends back together. Still grieving my own daughter’s loss, it certainly was comforting to get one of Stevie’s bear-sized hugs. I told him how his work had lifted my spirits recently and how proud I was that he was developing his talent and that he was sharing it with the world. And I told him how especially proud I was to call him my friend. I also remember that when we were leaving the funeral Stevie promised, I’ll be praying for you and your wife.

I appreciated him saying that but did not think much of it. In the Bible Belt it’s just something we grow up saying.

Then, the following week, my wife and I were driving home from work one day when she remembered to tell me, That tube in the back seat came in today’s mail for you.

When I opened it, the enclosed note read, It was great to see you, brother, even under not so great circumstances. Thanks for your kind words and affirmations regarding my painting. I am praying for you and your wife. God bless you. Stevie.

Enclosed in the mailing tube was a personalized, signed, and numbered full-sized print of the painting I had so admired in the art store at the mall. I’ll never forget it! God was using an old friend to apply a generous dose of healing salve upon my broken heart.

From that time on I no longer regarded Stevie as just my friend. I truly considered him to be my brother. Through the years since then, God, the Ultimate Artist, has continued to work on both Stevie and me. The Master Potter has continued to mold his beloved subjects, conforming us evermore to the likeness of his Son. In that regard, both our journeys have been similar. Though the Master has allowed us to progress in significant measure in our work and our walk, there have been times in which God, in His mercy, has had to crush us upon his potter’s wheel in that effort to remake us.

Through deep personal loss, time and again over the years, God has allowed both Stevie and me to turn to Him as well as to one another. The wisest of Israel’s kings, Solomon, once wrote—at the behest of God’s spirit—A friend loves at all times but through adversity a brother is born

Through all the years we have known each other, and especially in the last several, what with the advent of instant communication and social media, Stevie has become a go-to brother. It is even more special because I know that he has also walked with God through the fire and that he has come out on the other side all the better for the journey. That makes him a brother who has walked through the burning furnace alongside me, dousing me along the way with the refreshing, life-giving water of God’s word. I know without a doubt that when I go to Stevie for counsel, he will not only encourage me, he will always exhort me, directing me to the truth.

Finally, for whatever reason, God has allowed me a few honors over the years. Perhaps the greatest was when Stevie asked me to introduce him and give the benediction before a standing-room-only gathering of dignitaries and historical living icons at the unveiling of his masterpiece, Through Many Dangers, at The Birmingham Civil Rights Institute. The commemorative painting depicted fifty years of the Civil Rights Movement, was commissioned by the City of Birmingham, Alabama, and was introduced to the world upon the movement’s fiftieth anniversary at the famed and hallowed institute in the fall of 2013.

Stevie’s masterpiece transcends and has garnered him international acclaim, yet he humbly maintains that the painting is actually The Master’s Piece. He readily reminds everyone that it was God’s hand that guided his brush all along the way.

That, of course, is an allegory for Stevie’s remarkable life. The Master took a self-proclaimed wretch like him and transformed him into a masterful work of art, taking him to the pinnacle of his profession. God has graciously and abundantly blessed Stevie through his work. Throughout history, great artists have been forced to live hand-to-mouth, to literally starve for their work.

Well, you don’t have to be around my brother for long to see that he is not starving. Praise God!

Now, good folks, I am going to encourage you to do yourself the favor of diving into the story up to this time of God’s journey with Stevie. Allow it to encourage you and spur you in your own journey through life. In addition, treat yourself to a blessing that keeps on blessing and do as I and so many others have done. Anoint your home with one or more of Stevie’s divinely inspired works. Then sit back and watch your friends and family members inevitably start the conversation when they see what he—with our Lord’s help—has created.

And in conclusion, I want you to know this: God’s very best is always ahead for God’s children.

With that truth understood, as Stevie so often says, Stay tuned, folks!

P.M. Skip Taylor, Jr. is a retired business development professional, an author, a development consultant, a well-known public speaker and currently a Christian missionary serving in Central Asia.

Preface

Writing the story of how God blessed me to be in the Fine Art business is kind of a strange thing to me. It has always been hard for me to explain what I don’t understand myself. The mysterious way that He taught me. The way God took and touched me. That is something that still astounds me today.

Sitting here right now writing this preface and thinking of not only what God did but how He did it still blows the strongest part of my mind. Looking past my faults and sins and entrusting me with a piece of His creative heart is more than I and ten thousand of my best friends could have ever imagined. For Christ to dare then to take me out of my studio and in front of some of some of the most powerful dignitaries, famous athletes, and largest corporations on earth to share my gift abundantly exceeded anything that I could ever ask or think.

No formal training. No college education. Simply saved and anointed by a true and living God and destined to bring glory to Him through the witness of my two hands and what He can do through a nobody like me. Living proof that obliterates the excuses and fears I might have just as He can do for anyone who is scared to use what God offers, no matter how inferior you might feel because of your past or your background.

Yes, you can. Dream on!

I am His witness and your proof. One of God’s examples to get you out here walking on water with Jesus toward the awesome destiny for which He chose you.

Come on out. The water is fine.

Steve Skipper’s painting of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Remembering the