In Which We Are Arty

 

When we were in Paris in April (and I love any story where I'm able to casually mention I was in Paris recently. Ooh la la.) anyway, when I was in Paris recently, Diane von Austinburg and I went to this huge exhibit of Mark Rothko.  He is my favorite artist in the world, bar none. His big canvases of brilliant shimmering color just thrill me. 

I think that is sort of the point of abstract art, it wants to bypass the rational part of your brain and strike straight into your emotions.  It doesn't want to tell a story or force you to figure out what all the bits mean.  You don't have to think "what does the sheep symbolize?" "Where are the shadows coming from?"  "Why is that guy got a horns on his head?" Even the most straightforward, realistic painting has an immediate effect on your emotions. The colors are bright or they're drab and dark and you respond to that, then you can get down to figuring out why Jesus is pointing the way he is.  Abstract art just does away with all that homework.

So anyway.  I really wanted a poster from the show since I will never be able to own an actual Rothko. We stopped in at the gift shop and Diane asked the cashier about the poster.  In that very snooty way that Parisians have and which I am convinced they are taught in school, she just sneered "No." So no poster for mrpeenee.

After a few weeks of brooding, I realized I could just make an end run around the the disdainful clerk and buy one on the internet.  I'll show her.  But when I went shopping, there were posters but none were for sale.  Haughty French bitches win again.  But while I was digging through all the results, I ran across a painter who would create copies of Rothkos.  She wasn't forging them or trying to pass them off as the real thing, it was just a copy, painted with acrylic on a canvas just like Mark boy did. 

Of course I bought one and it got back from the framers yesterday.  It's gorgeous.  The guy delivering it installed it for me, thank God, and also moved a mirror which was previously hanging where I wanted the Rothko.  I have now reached Maximum Art Capacity, there is simply no empty space on any wall for any more art.  If I ever buy another painting, it will have to go in the shower.

I tried to take a picture of the painting on the wall, but it's in the front hall and I couldn't get an angle that would work, the hall is too narrow and the picture too big.  So just for you naughty pusses, I took it down, hauled its big ass into the living room to take the picture at the top of this post, but trust me, it actually looks better in the hall with the full light from the pic window across from it and on a white wall (above.)

Guys who would also look good installed in my apartment:

Naked cooking gives me second-hand creeps.

Hit the beach while it's still hot enough to run around nekkid.

Blonde and studly Matt Dubbe.

I gotta go, my ride's here.

What is this guy looking at over his shoulder like that?

If you're bad, mrpeenee has no choice but to make you stand in the corner.

Everybody loves beefy boys.