Then I could charge admission. It might be a nice second income, no?
So. E’s brother is an Artist. Okay, he’s also a student at a college out east, but he does treasure his creative self. And he keeps sending us paintings as gifts.
Those of you who have been to my house may remember the painting I like to call ‘Fried Eggs in Space’, which is most likely an indifferent rendering of the sun, the moon in partial eclipse, and a mysterious road that goes between the two. I hate it and have been surreptitiously letting Baxter claw at it.
In E’s room, there is also the one I call ‘Fourteen and on Acid’, which is a painting of a room and the world outside it that is shockingly similar to the ones my friend Rob did when he was, yes, fourteen and on acid. That some of those were hung in the church and actually bought by upstanding members of the community is neither here nor there. They were ugly and so is this painting, which is largely rendered in tones of brown and masking-tape beige.
Today a package arrived, bound with duct tape and padded with newspapers. E’s Christmas present from his brother. It’s a tryptich of a volcano. The wood it’s painted on has been texturized with something to make it rough, like unfinished concrete. The volcano is sort of mole-hilly. It looks as though it was drawn by a nine year old who was told to draw a volcano but had no real enthusiasm for the project. Frame number one is the molecano sitting under cloudy skies. Second frame is the molecano with a wisp of smoke. Third frame is the molecano with a little sploodge of lava coming out of the top: The money shot of the molecano porn gods.
It’s a horrible painting. I love the fact that E’s brother gave us art, presumably from the heart, for Christmas. But it’s ugly and it hurts my eyes.