In Acadia You Weren’t Pregnant and I Couldn’t Draw a Crab in Existence

Crab

Acrylic on Masonite®, 12 x 16″

There you have it! The worst drawing ever of a crab by a man who would sell you a painting with only a slight blush. It’s what comes out of a non-photogenic mind while sketching dreams in a 5 x 7″ travel log. The other night I was called a fauvist at a gallery opening. The woman likened me to Andre Duran, who I never heard of, but told her the name would be easy to remember. Duran—half the name in my wife’s favorite childhood rock band. And André— a cheap New Year’s Eve sparkling wine. I’ll look him up now… Okay, it’s André Derain, and he was a Fauvist, although in the photography, he looks more tame than a collie. I would think a wild beast to look more like this:

Fauvist

Me, pretending to be a steam locomotive.

It was a kind compliment, but dead wrong.

Therefore, to better define my style for the critics, whose silence is deafening, I need to name my movement. I’ll put it into a Romantic language to give it some posh, and hope that most people forking over dough for my work do not speak Spanish.

Los Tontos Aficionados. That is, those of us who paint everyday, over many years time, and never get paid, yet still do it. That is, persisting in our folly, hoping to become wise, but really just persisting in our folly. And some of us think crabs have strands of skin covered sinew with eyeballs bobbling above.

The amateur fools!

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