BEST OF SHOW

On New Year’s Eve, Big Bore and I went to a water colors exhibit in the big city. Since neither of us can draw a straight line, we enjoy attending art shows and being amateur critics. We always try to agree on a Best of Show, and the picture above was our winner the other day. I forget what it's called, or who painted it, or how much money one would have to spring to own it---most of the 79 paintings in the show were in the $1,500-$3,000 range. Gulp!

We liked the details of the leaves in our champion painting, the reflection in the water, and the overall soothing look it had. It was actually something we would hang at home, had we expansive empty wall space and expansive bank accounts to match. For pure realism and clarity, our runner-up selection was this rodeo water color. Definitely not what I’d have hanging around the house, but the skill is amazing. It looks like a photograph.

When I was a kid, we budding grade school artists coveted a long black tin of watercolors that I think were called Prang Paints. They were just basic colors, maybe seven at the most. I’d mix ‘em with water that I’d put inside a jar lid and slash that paint brush onto paper like there was no tomorrow, slopping down some green at the bottom to represent grass, then slopping some blue at the top for the sky, and then dabbing in some red and yellow in the middle for flowers. Exquisite!

Sadly, Mama Bore never saved any of my water color masterpieces, probably because the paper curled up into a watery roll; however, she did keep a number of my crayon creations. This one below I call “Walking Down the Street on a Windy Day” (surprise), done when I was six years old. I think I must be the smaller of the two girls because if you examine the picture closely there is a bandage on one leg, obviously representing the aftermath of a battle with my big brother Beans.

If there is ever an art show around here that calls for really bad, old crayon works, I have a load of these babies ready to enter, including “Hanging Out Clothes,” “Happy Nostril Girl,” and “Why Doesn’t She Love Me?” a weeping boy wearing glasses. The Flaming Bore was quite a romantic, even at six. Although I’m sure the art connoisseurs of the world would be ripping at their wallets to whip out a few thou to own my precious artwork, I’d have to put “Not For Sale” on each of them. In my skewed mind, they’re priceless.


P.S. to Literary Diva: Are any of our paper doll dress designs still in existence? Just think--we could have been the next Donatella Versace. Damn!