Prompt: The Artist’s Eye
Two of the framed artworks that hangs on the walls of this home got here in rather strange ways.
One I purchased at a silent auction— it is a large abstract piece with a compact multi-coloured blob in the centre in shades of fuscia, green, and royal blue, which you could say compete with the other colours in the living room (warm reds, woods, muted yellows). You could also call it …imperfect. Yes, that’s the word. It ended up on my wall because as I cruised the silent auction goodies, I noticed that no one had bid on this imperfect work of art, so lovingly created and so generously donated by the artist to a good cause. So I entered my bid. Sometimes silent auction items need a kick-start.
Naturally mine was the only bid, and I don’t buy art and put it in the garage. So there it hangs, just around a little corner so it’s not always in view, which is fine with me.
The other work of “art” was discovered by some builders in the old garden shed of the old house that used to sit on this property. This is an oil painting, a landscape in muted, muddy colours with a mountain and a tree, no doubt the masterpiece of previous owners. While the contractors were busy with the renovations, they placed this painting on the mantle of the fireplace.
When we had our house-warming party, all the builders and tilers and tradespeople were invited (they did a splendid job) and as a kind of inside joke, we framed and hung this sincere painting on a prominent wall. They just loved it!
Yet years later it still hangs there, in a gilded gold frame, flanked by two lovely watercolours. Why? I don’t know. It reminds me of the excitement that surrounded the building of this new house, and the thrill of the first few days and months in a house that was all ours and with no notion of pulling up roots ever again.
Imperfection and sincerity. There could be worse words in an art critic’s vocabulary.
Related to art and the artist’s eye, may I present a few of my favourite cartoons?
See you tomorrow for Throwback Thursday!
Today I pressed the pedestrian walk button at a busy intersection, just so the poor SUV waiting to make a left turn would not die while waiting. Was that an act of kindness? He thought so, and will go back to Texas with the impression that Canadians are kind and decent people.
Whatever we do, we represent. Whether we are white, First Nation, female, male, tall, short, Canadian, Mexican… how we behave reflects on others of the same tribe. Is that fair? No. So I pick and choose which tribes to represent and which I would rather not, and under which circumstances. I don’t care how my whiteness is interpreted— it’s too large a tribe with too many assholes. As a woman I can’t say I represent all feminists, just this one here tapping at her laptop. As a Canadian… well, I will forever help to the best of my ability any Texans who are driving around small town Canada.
May I now present a few of my favourite cartoons, the first one cynically relating to today’s self-prompt, kindness?
When I was a child of nine, I broke the big mirror on the bedroom dresser I shared with my sister– a mirror which partly covered a window– when I tried to open that sticky window. It shattered into a thousand pieces and took me and my mother a long time to clean it up.
My mother knew it was an accident and wasn’t angry, though every extra expense was problematic for my family in those days.
I wasn’t worried about the expense or my mother’s reaction. I was nine: I knew for sure that breaking a mirror meant seven years of bad luck. I did the math: my life would be a living hell until I was sixteen.
What happened was that I did think about it for seven more years. I fretted a little. I thought I recognized catastrophes related to the broken mirror. But mostly, I realized that superstitions are stupid AF.
I understand that this is not a brilliantly intelligent revelation, but it was to me as a child. I didn’t have to believe things. I could be critical. I could make up my own mind. After years of avoiding cracks on sidewalks, being repulsed by the thought of walking under a ladder, and touching wood with great solemnity, I was finally free!
Well, I throw salt over my shoulder if I spill it, don’t know which shoulder it should be but I do it anyway. And if it rains, I blame my partner for washing the car.
In the spirit of Wednesday’s prompt, broken, may I present a few of my favourite cartoons, only the first of which is related to the theme?
See you tomorrow for Throwback Thursday. Have a wonderful week!
Don’t you hate it when people make assumptions about you based on your gender? As if your dangly or not bits define you as an individual? I know as a woman that many of us are frustrated about it all the time– are you gentlemen also uncomfortable when you are called shallow or unmanly because you don’t live up or down to sexual stereotypes?
We are all a little sexist, but doesn’t take a lot of effort to challenge yourself. Just pause when you make an assumption about whether the doctor or author defaults to being male. Think twice before assuming that all women are natural nurturing caregivers and men are not. Take a breath.
In the spirit of assumptions, may I present a few of my favourite cartoons, the first of which only is connected to today’s prompt?
Just a pile of old skulls. It would comfort me for sure.
Dear Wednesday, and dear Mama,
Today’s birthday girl and the Daily Prompt, Laughter, couldn’t have been been more brilliantly matched.
Happy Birthday, Mum. I love you. I miss you every day. You had a difficult life, a struggle, that culminated, I hope, in a wonderfully happy marriage and four non-criminal children. You certainly deserved all the happiness that came to you, finally.
One of of my favourite memories of you is your laughter jiggles. You kept many emotions to yourself, but oh, how you loved to laugh. So when you laughed, your whole body vibrated, and your laughter was entirely silent but contagious and irresistible. You taught me that laughter was valuable and important, and that has been a positive and hugely meaningful influence my entire life. It’s impossible to overestimate the importance of finding joy in all the hidden corners of a life, especially during the hopeless, difficult times.
I’ll post a few of my favourite cartoons, as it is Wednesday, then withdraw to think about my mother and the joy she brought!
I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair
Borne, like a vapor, on the summer air;
I see her tripping where the bright streams play
Happy as the daisies that dance on her way…
The above is a lovely, sentimental song written by Stephen Foster, which was eventually punned to this:
My mother’s name was Jean, and I think of her whenever I hear either the song or the TV series theme song, and also when I hear this:
I miss my mother, and do dream about her.
And in lieu of getting all weepy, may I present a few of my favourite cartoons, only the first one of which is related to the daily prompt, “genie”?
Have a happy, sunny week!