It's hard to tell if this is a genuine Mayes cross.
I've seen images of crosses with a similar typeface attributed to him. Those were older, and given the bad paint job and the time frame, this might be one of those older crosses, painted over by someone who “took care” of the cross.
Another interesting fact about this cross is, that the official Ferris print I found, has a slightly different angle, with visible buildings in the background. And it got cropped in the bottom. The photo used in the Lucinda William album is basically from the same shot. Unfortunately, I couldn't find the credits for the photos, but it's by William R. Ferris.
"Get Right With God" road sign, Indiana, Mississippi, March 1977
William R. Ferris (American, b. 1942)
https://www.artworkarchive.com/profile/van-every-smith-galleries/artist/william-r-ferris
Lucinda William - Essence (Album Inlay)
https://www.discogs.com/release/13035213-Lucinda-Williams-Essence
Here as a reference, hand painted wooden crosses.
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honestly no wonder harrow forced ianthe to lobotomize her so she could save gideon. listen…LISTEN…if i was a secret-war-crime cult nunlet princess worshipped by my entire planet and the only person that (barely) kept me in check was my childhood nemesis—a butch a year older than me, towering over me in stature and physical prowess, and so hot it made my teeth hurt from how hard my jaw clenched in her presence, who wielded a two-handed seven-foot sword and had irritatingly huge biceps and told very lewd stupid jokes and also learned how to wield an entirely new weapon and be my bodyguard with startling accuracy in three months—only to have us finally learn to trust each other because we got invited to a magic murder mystery and then before the bubble burst i spilled the worst secret about myself that i was born because my parents murdered an entire generation and tried to Kill Her along with them and she just wouldnt die, and i told her this expecting a swift death i believed i deserved, only for her to fucking cradle me in her big butch arms and kiss me on my forehead with her soft butch mouth and just. forgive me for a shameful weight ive carried my entire life and then MAKE AN ACTUAL NECRO/CAV VOW with me despite every evil thing i have done to her……to have her tell me, in the end, bleeding and broken after putting up the most beautiful and glorious fight of her life, that she understands purpose and she understands duty and she knows loyalty more fiercely than ever now, that she knows who she is to me, that there is no her without me….to have her backed into a corner and make the ultimate sacrifice…..for me…..to recite scriptural wedding vows of eternity to me in her last wisps of soul-consciousness…..if i thought there was even a snowflake’s chance in the pyre that i could save her by turning myself into her very own locked tomb, i’d be begging ianthe tridentweirdius to crack my skull open and turn me to mush too, goddamn. i understand you harrowhark girl you don’t have to explain a thing to me. god said you couldn’t undo the lyctor’s bond bc it’d kill you. you told god and his angels that not even a lyctor’s bond could outshine the power of female spite and lesbianism and they didn’t listen. they didn’t believe you. but i heard you loud and clear and i was 17 and hormonal and hopelessly romantic not too long ago unlike those fucking dinosaurs and i’m saying it’s valid it’s what i would have done and really everyone should be thanking you for not being worse and more wretched about it, all things considered
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Batkids playing any kind of board game but make it extra competitive because whoever wins gets to choose what Bruce wears for the next gala.
Bruce, in a sparkly top and skinny jeans:
Reporter: Ah, who chose your outfit tonight, Brucie?
Bruce: That'd be my eldest, dear!
Dick, behind him, full into the gala persona: Flattering, isn't it? He should wear it more often, don't you think, sweetheart?
Reporter, flushed: Oh, absolutely.
Bruce (to Dick): Get a new fashion style. Please.
Dick: Never.
Reporter: Who would be responsible for your wardrobe tonight, Brucie? It's certainly a statement.
Bruce, head to toe in a pink suit and Hello Kitty accessories: Gorgeous, isn't it? All the credit will have to be given to Jason, though, I'm afraid.
Reporter: Your second son, if I'm not mistaken?
Bruce: The very one.
Jason from across the gala hall, trying to not cough up his drink with laughter:
Tim, next to him: He's pulling it off, though. Little spins and everything.
Jason: Still ridiculous. That's Batman right there, Timbo.
Tim, snickering: The Dark Knight, huh?
Bruce, dressed in a collared white shirt, sweater and skirt, looking like he just came out of a light academia novel:
Reporter: Wow, Brucie. Who do we thank for that wonderful outfit choice?
Bruce: Ah, flattering, is it not? Tim's choices when it comes to fashion are wonderful, if not a bit simple.
Tim, nodding from behind him: Only the finest satin skirts. Charming, right?
Tim, to Bruce: Don't call my style simple, Mr. all I wear is black.
[Jason handing Dick $10 in the background because Bruce does, in fact, pull off a skirt.]
Reporter: Oh lord, what a gown! Who influenced your fashion choice tonight, Brucie?
Bruce, in a long green and black gown with gold accessories, nothing short of royal-looking: I fear only one person I know could choose an outfit as gorgeous as this one.
Damian, proudly next to him, in a smaller, matching gown: Only the most exquisite. You lot in this flimsy country cannot compare.
Bruce: Yes, Damian has a fine taste in fashion. He gets it from his mother.
Damian, quieter: Well certainly not from you.
Bruce, dressed in an elegant white dress shirt, long black pants and a corset with red accessories, a fan in his right hand:
Reporter: What an entrance! Anyone to give credit to for the wardrobe, Brucie?
Bruce: That'd be my daughter, she certainly shines with her choice of clothing.
Cass, grinning with a matching fan: Very pretty.
Bruce: Thank you, Cass.
Reporter: Woah, that's certainly new. Any reason for this choice of clothes, Brucie, dear?
Bruce, in a snapback cap, loose jeans and a band t-shirt, complete with rings and a chain around his neck: Well, all of my children are creative, but... Duke might just take the cake for this one, love.
Duke, losing his absolute shit next to Jason, Dick and Tim: You look great, B.
Steph doesn't usually go to galas, but she participates in the game nevertheless. If she wins, god help Bruce, because it's a gamble with her. He either ends up wearing a gorgeous outfit with eccentric and trend-setting accessories or literal checkered pyjamas. Worst yet, he has to say he picked it himself, since he can't directly blame Steph.
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