Donald Trump overshadows his Democratic opponents everywhere he goes, and he’s doing it again, this time in Franklin.
This time he’s outside the downtown Toad Hall art gallery. There, with Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders in the background, as usual, Trump’s image is unmistakable, pieced together with car parts by Joseph Kildune of Gilford.
Trump’s distinguishing characteristics stop you in your tracks, forcing the two Democrats into their supporting roles. Love him or hate him, he’s bigger than life, a car wreck on the freeway, unfiltered like a Camel cigarette, the perfect fodder for late-night monologues, the rebellious spirit so many voters seem to need these days.
It all depends on how you view Trump, but one thing is certain: You can’t look away.
“The man is a character, he’s just a character,” Kildune said. “The way he holds his mouth when he speaks – and the hair, of course – and the orange skin.
“If anyone had told me that he’d have these numbers later after he was stumping in New Hampshire, I would have dismissed it,” Kildune continued.
“Today, oh my God, this is overwhelming. I’m totally surprised by his numbers. These are scary times we live in.”
Obviously Kildune is no fan. He voted for Sanders in the primary.
Yet that’s irrelevant when it comes to the many layers connected to Trump, how often we talk about him, what we say about him, how much, in a sense, we need him.
His look and demeanor jump into our living rooms, every day, all day, and have for months.
It helped Kildune capture the Trump look, more than he was able to do with Clinton and Sanders. They’re part of his amazing display of sculptures, which include bugs, people, fish, skeletons and more.
But with the presidential race being white hot, Kildune chose to move the trio of political heavyweights outside the gallery, greeting a city that needs an economic jump start, not to mention a little humor.
“These bloody things have gone viral,” said Kildune, who lives in Gilford. “This thing, it ain’t football and it’s not basketball. It’s politics.”
Kildune’s art is as unique as the artist himself. He grew up in blue-collar Lawrence, Mass. His parents were mill workers. He needed to be creative to add gifts to his Christmas wish list.
“I’d look at the branch of a tree and knew I could make a Kentucky long rifle out of it,” Kildune said. “Sometimes we had to make our town toys.”
He uses the British adjective “bloody” a lot, and there’s no trace of an “R” in any of his words. He calls what he does “ott work.” About 90 percent of the pieces he uses are “cah pahts.”
Through the years, Kildune painted, designed vinyl prints on car seats and wall coverings at casinos and restaurants, created pen and ink sketches, and drew editorial cartoons for a daily newspaper in Beverly, Mass.
He works for his family-run car dealership in Tilton, but his passion, which is relatively new, is attaching things to make other things. He’s part of the recent revitalization of Franklin, bringing his colorful personality and creations to the city.
He’s 63, slight and wiry. He wore skinny jeans and a black shirt, with his glasses attached to a thin strap around his neck, a big belt buckle and boots.
He said his daughter was involved with the Occupy Wall Street movement a few years back in New York City, where she was in college.
“I raised her to be too much of a bloody anarchist,” Kildune says. “But corporations got greedy and mean.”
Kildune, who’s divorced, sleeps in a bed downstairs, near the boiler room, when his sculpting takes him late into the night.
The gallery showroom includes a giant grasshopper, a lantern fish and Ray Charles, complete with dark shades and keyboard, all made from plastic and metal bumpers and front-end grills, all connected with zip ties, all painted when necessary.
Only a close-up view and conscious effort to break down the work reveal the stuff Kildune has salvaged from dumpsters and where ever else he can find discarded car parts. He uses a jigsaw and drill to shape things like eyebrows and strips of hair.
Viewed from a few feet away, though, with a suspended sense of reality, and the figures blend together and begin to breathe. Kildune says he sold one piece for $13,500, another for about $6,000.
Mostly, though, they sit in the Toad Hall gallery, shocking people and making them wonder how in the world Kildune took a boring slice of everyday life and gave it a heartbeat.
He’s satisfied with Hillary’s look, with her big smile and blue suit jacket. Bernie? Not so much. “I missed him,” Kildune said. “I don’t think I nailed him.”
But it’s the incredible likeness of Trump, the figure closest to Central Street, ahead of the other two, that brings the scene into sharp focus, that of three presidential candidates in search of the White House.
Trump’s piercing eyes, known to vaporize granite, glare sideways. His skin and hair are orange. His mouth is open, as though he’s verbally assaulting a political rival or member of the press.
He looks angry, and Kildune sees Trump as the poster child for America today. Kildune remembers 1968, when Robert Kennedy and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. were assassinated, and the Democratic convention in Chicago grew violent.
“This is not too far from the 1960s; it’s tragic,” Kildune said. “We’re in this period of time where people take this a little too seriously.”
That changes when you walk past the gallery in Franklin, an otherwise serious city, with its empty storefronts. It’s the type of city the candidates speak to when they talk about jobs and wages.
Trump is out front on that message, a billionaire who’s made voters believe that an increased socioeconomic standing is waiting for them, just around the corner, if they vote for him.
He’s out front in the GOP race, inching closer to the nomination, something no one thought possible just a few months ago.
And he’s out front of a local “ott” gallery, displayed more prominently and depicted more accurately than his competition.
“He’s easy to do,” Kildune said. “He just looks like a character.”
(Ray Duckler can be reached at 369-3304 or rduckler@cmonitor.com or on Twitter @rayduckler.)