SueAnn Porter

Every morning when I wake up, your painting is the first thing I see. I’m really not a fan of your work; I prefer Norman Rockwell. If you want to make “an impression” I wish you would not be so vague about it.

That woman there, in the hat—is she waving at you? At me? Adjusting her hat? Giving you the finger? Giving ME the finger? I wish you would be more clear about what she means, unless of course, you don’t know yourself. And maybe that’s your point? Maybe you are trying to say that women are a mystery to you? Well, maybe that’s because you don’t LISTEN. We’ll get to that another time.

Norman Rockwell’s work can truly be labeled: Every Picture Tells a Story (Don’t it?) How about the one with the soldier peeling potatoes with his mom? You see the pride and relief on mom’s face that Sonny-Boy is home safe for the holidays. Sonny himself has grown into a man who appreciates a simple moment of being home with mom, doing a menial task. I’m sure he was the same boy just ten years ago who complained that it was “woman’s work” and gave her a hard time. Now that he’s seen some of the world, including the proverbial good, bad, and ugly, he knows just how awesome it can be just working in the kitchen. And that’s just my first impression.

Of course the fact that I’m still sick with this bug/virus/flu, isn’t helping your case much, Monet. I’m stuck in this bed for the better part of the day. Yes, I’m thankful that the “running quickly to the bathroom” phase of this illness is over, but I’m still dizzy, weak, and unable to even think about eating anything with any flavor. See how you feel after a week of Rice Krispies and toast. You’d be a little grumpy too.

Add to this, Monet, that I am not allowed to have my room-darkening curtains on my windows, which would block out the light necessary to view your picture. The house has been perfectly staged to HGTV standards, so that my bedroom has “lots of natural light.” This is what the brainwashed masses want to see when viewing a house. In reality, I like my bedroom DARK, thank you. I sleep better in the dark. Isn’t the bedroom about sleep? Did I miss the memo? Humans have been sleeping at night for a reason. But no, I must have light, airy curtains on my window because at any time, with an hour’s notice, the right buyer might come by to view my house. And they want natural light in their bedroom, because the television told them so.

But back to you, Monet. Why the weird looking trees? Hey, I just noticed a couple way in the back. And then some other “lines” that might be people, might be trees, but I guess you were not sure yourself, so how can I know? Why are you giving me all these extra problems to figure out? Don’t I have enough to do: trying to keep the house clean for perpetual showings, feeling guilty that I can’t go help my friend who’s mom started chemo because I don’t want her to catch this virus that I’m wrestling, trying to figure out how to buy Christmas presents with no money? But no, I’ll just lie in bed and stare at your picture and try to figure out what you’re trying to say with tree people and the lady with the hand gestures. Because apparently, that’s what art is to you: a way to piss off people who already have more than enough on their plates.

Eventually, I will feel better. Eventually, my house will be sold and the bills paid off. Eventually, I will “accidentally” drop your painting and I won’t have to look at it anymore.

Then I’ll be able to buy myself a Norman Rockwell.

And close the curtains.

#BeingSickSucks  #Art