What started out as a quiet life of making the leather trinkets for the local of Pentecostal preacher quickly turned into donning a mask made out of human skin and murdering pesky teenagers. And so a legend was born. But through it all Leatherface never felt artistically fulfilled, and his inner voice called out to him to be more than a footnote in the annals of maniac serial killers. And with no logical place to turn, Leatherface turned to the one thing place where logic does not exist, the art world.
And it was here, where Leatherface grew from penniless no one with a chainsaw to the art scene’s darling with a chainsaw, lining up commissions along the way faster than the artist could carve a possum from a Texas Blackgum tree.