My Son, the Fidouche.

We took our boys to Final Friday at last week.  They have been to art galleries and museums before, so they know the protocol.  Bucktown is different though…it’s local artists for one thing.  They are selling their stuff.  (Read: you break it, you buy it!) Also, there was chili…which my sons are apt to spill.

So it was with some trepidation that we took the boys to this potentially messy and expensive event.  We decided to divide and conquer in the hope that keeping the boys away from each other would minimize any potential catastrophe’s.  I took son one, he took son two and we went out separate ways.

We met up on the second floor in the Midcoast Gallery.  It’s a collaboration by some young hipster artists in our community (a couple of whom work as art instructors at my day job – DJ from here on out.)  We did a switch, and with son two in tow I wandered around the gallery.

One wall was covered in rough oil paintings of the female form.  The artist was lurking near by chatting up my friend Jean Lake – an artist in her own right, and approached me as I watched son two examine his interpretation of the nether regions of the female form.

“Is this okay, Mom?” he asked.  Forty percent worry, sixty percent delight.

“It’s fine.  He’s not even looking at the paintings.” I answered, much to the disappointment of the shit-disturbing artist in question.

It’s true.  He wasn’t interested in the actual paintings at all.  What caught son two’s attention were the tiny white cards beside the paintings.  You know, the ones that name the artist, the piece, and above all THE PRICE.

I didn’t realize quite how much the trip to Bucktown impacted my child until he showed me these:

There are more – lots more.  Last night I sat him down to talk about fiduciary matters and the value of art.  I selected my favourite drawings and told him that I could not afford to pay his asking price, which added up to more than $100.  (For unsigned work?!) He gladly accepted my counter offer of $5.00 cash money, and extracted from me a promise that he could try to sell them this summer if we have a yard sale.


4 thoughts on “My Son, the Fidouche.

  1. this is too funny. tell him i will buy a piece of art from him next time i see him. if the price isn’t too steep.

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