“I don’t know why your daughter asked us to meet here; this isn’t anything like that expensive Van Gogh’s stuff we saw earlier. I can appreciate that stuff; if you bought early, you could’ve made a killing.” Ralph said as he checked his cell for messages.
“Now dear” Martha replied, “I’ve allowed Shelia to go to some expensive, French art schools and despite her laziness, she’s won a couple of prizes, so she probably knows what she is doing. When she comes, be nice… don’t spoil our honeymoon.”
“How can I be nice, when I see shit painted on teeth?” Ralph complained. “They would never allow that in Oklahoma by god; but I must admit it does make you think. Why would someone do that? Are they saying everything tastes like shit, or has a shitty texture, or maybe everything that comes out of your mouth is shit?”
“And then the panel where he’s painting the whole globe blue, except for the States; that is so disrespectful.” Continued Ralph, “No wonder Americans don’t travel when they get insulted like that. I can’t see why everyone just can’t be like us, we’ve got the best system, were rich… The French just don’t understand… we saved their ass in World War 2, and now they’re just so ungrateful.”
Martha, always with an opinion, contributed “What about that panel of the man and woman with that razor blade on their tongues, what does that mean? Are they degenerate druggies ready to share a coke line?”
“I cringe when I think of a razor blade sitting on my tongue…” replied Ralph, “but they both seem to be almost worshiping it… Why would they do that together…?”
Martha continued, “Is he saying they have razor sharp tongues? are always cutting each other up? … The stupid artist wasted his time on that one.”
“Well, at least the meat and bones means something to me.” Martha went on, “I’ve got something like that in my favourite cookbook, ‘Joy of Cooking’, but there it’s for beef, not a human. I guess the stupid artist is saying that we’re just meat and bones… and nothing else… and that may be true for the artist, but it definitely is not true for me.”
“Oh, here comes Sheila now, be nice Ralph, she is my only daughter.”
As Sheila came over, her mother gave her an air kiss, and then introduced her to Ralph. Shelia and Ralph shook hands and then she turned to face the art work and asked, “So what do you think?”
Both Ralph and Martha were silent for a minute and the Ralph said,” Well, it’s different. At first I thought it was some garbage graffiti … and there are a lot of strange ideas here, but it certainly made me think. I wouldn’t want it in my house, and it I’m sure I couldn’t sell it for much, even if the artist was dead…”
“What about you mom, what do you think…”, Sheila said.
“Its nothing I’ve ever seen before… Its not pretty like Van Gogh’s sunflowers… but yes, it does make you think…”
“Who is the artist?” Ralph chimed in, “has he done something small? Something decent and pretty, I could buy and put on a wall?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you, these modern art pieces are mine”, Sheila responded, “I’m the artist.”
Author’s Note: This picture was taken in the fall of 2016 at the Luma Arles, Parc des Ateliers. During the “SYSTEMATICALLY OPEN?” exhibit. I do not know who the artist is, but I have taken the liberty to write this fictions story about it. (My apologies to the real artist.)
For more information, see http://www.luma-arles.org/