When I was an undergraduate student, lo, many years ago, I studied civil engineering. As a neared the completion of my degree, I found myself in need of some additional electives, so I decided to take some art history courses. I wasn't particularly excited about taking these classes, since (a) as I general rule, I abhorred history, and (b) I was an engineer, by George! I was all about calculus! And t-squares! And pocket protectors, for heaven's sake! What did I know of art??
Well, as it turns out, my year studying art history was my favourite. I loved everything -- the artists of the Renaissance, the modern artists, the post-modernists. It was in those classes that my passion for art was born. Naturally, years later when I met Marcus, the fact he was an artist gave him unlimited sex appeal points. And once we married, we began collecting art in earnest.
Needless to say, Marcus and I hope to instill this love of art in Alex. And with the garbage on television and radio constantly bombarding us, we figured that we better start early. So when the weather finally broke, and the temperature dropped below 95 degrees, we decided to take a trip to the Bayou City Art Festival, and expose the child to some culture.
We dressed Alex in her most artistic-looking outfit, and off we went. The festival was pretty impressive -- it spanned several blocks (which, trust me, in Houston, is pretty amazing), and some of the artists were astounding. We wandered from stall to stall, admiring the sculptures, the paintings and the jewelry. After the stifling summer, it was really refreshing to get outside for a bit. And Alex really enjoyed it.
(An aside: apparently, Alex enjoyed the day so much, she decided to resurrect her shrieking -- except she added this sort of guttural wail at the end. We'd be wheeling her along, and she'd start off -- first really piercing, ending with this maniacal groan. People would walk around to the front of the stroller, wearing these concerned looks, until they realized that she was happily grinning with her foot in her mouth. It got so bad, eventually I started walking 6 or 7 feet behind them, saying in a loud voice, "Can you believe that kid?? Why the hell doesn't that father control his child??"
Marcus was not amused.)
Anyway, it was a great day (shrieks notwithstanding), and we were feeling pretty smug -- what wonderful parents we were, exposing our child to the fine arts at such an early age.
And then, we approached a very large acrylic painting called "Bad Slice."
There, before us, was a detailed, close-up portrayal of a golf ball nestled in a man's backside.
At this point, Marcus and I did the only thing we could do...
...we immediately turned the stroller around, took Alex home, and plopped her in front of the television. I'm hoping that the violence and inappropriate situations will erase the memory of the painting, because I have no clue how I'm going to explain that.
You got me. Totally didn't expect that! LOL LOL LOL!
Oh, where do you get those cute clothes--and did you ever decide what Alex is going to be for Halloween?
I caved into convention, and my babe is going to be a princess. I already bought the poor girl's dress and tiara. A tiara that I have yet to figure out how I will affix to her practically bald head. Maybe attached to a big pink ribbon tied around her neck?
Someday, she is going to kill me.
Posted by: Brat | Wednesday, October 13, 2004 at 02:06 AM
Oh what a sweetie pie! And an artsy fartsy to boot!
Posted by: afrindiemum | Wednesday, October 13, 2004 at 08:09 PM
I wouldn't worry too much. Chances are at her age, she'll only ask you about it 23 times. Now if she was older...
Posted by: Toni | Thursday, October 14, 2004 at 07:21 PM
Someone already asked both my questions. Is Miss Alex dressing up for Halloween? And where do you find that wardrobe? She's dashing!
Posted by: Robin | Thursday, October 14, 2004 at 10:47 PM