…thinking about and talking about and writing about drinking. Or not drinking. Let’s talk about art.
Lauren and I went to Jim Draper’s Opening at KORK yesterday. Mark George was there, and Jeff Whipple and as we were talking, one of them turned to Lauren and said, “I think we were bad influences on you.”
During Lauren’s formative years, Kim and I owned an art gallery, and there was always a handful of art guys hanging around. My children learned how to be adults, by surreptitiously watching the art world antics, the way other children sit on the stairs and watch their parent’s cocktail parties or arguments. It was an unorthodox upbringing to be sure, but as I’m sitting here and thinking this morning, I can’t say it was anything but positive.
Get ready – I’m going to generalize – artists tend to be open to all things, and they are good conversationalists, and funny, and irreverent. They never talk down to children. When Lauren and Jon Jon were young, my house had this wonderful, changing landscape of paintings on the walls and sculpture in every niche. The kids referred to Igor Avramenko’s moon or Draper’s palm tree or Hager’s nudes with the same familiarity as a Dr. Seuss book.
Many of our family inside jokes come from the “art days”:
So, who’s got the blow? This was the question Steven asked as he got into the limo we hired to drive us home from a gallery opening – significant (and funny) because the only passengers at the time were my children and their friends – all under the age of 10.
Don’t believe everything you read. Words of wisdom from Paco, when a 12 year old Lauren told him smoking was bad for him.
Remember the cookie incident? This comes up every Christmas as we dress the tree, harkening to the time an artist (who shall remain nameless) got so drunk at the gallery Christmas party, he ate an ornament that looked like a cookie.
I feel overdressed. I said awkwardly to an 11 year old Jon Jon, as we watched Shannon and another performance artist writhe seductively, and with precious little clothing, in a kiddy pool for The Hurricane opening.
During Lauren’s formative years, Kim and I owned an art gallery, and there was always a handful of art guys hanging around. My children learned how to be adults, by surreptitiously watching the art world antics, the way other children sit on the stairs and watch their parent’s cocktail parties or arguments. It was an unorthodox upbringing to be sure, but as I’m sitting here and thinking this morning, I can’t say it was anything but positive.
Get ready – I’m going to generalize – artists tend to be open to all things, and they are good conversationalists, and funny, and irreverent. They never talk down to children. When Lauren and Jon Jon were young, my house had this wonderful, changing landscape of paintings on the walls and sculpture in every niche. The kids referred to Igor Avramenko’s moon or Draper’s palm tree or Hager’s nudes with the same familiarity as a Dr. Seuss book.
Many of our family inside jokes come from the “art days”:
So, who’s got the blow? This was the question Steven asked as he got into the limo we hired to drive us home from a gallery opening – significant (and funny) because the only passengers at the time were my children and their friends – all under the age of 10.
Don’t believe everything you read. Words of wisdom from Paco, when a 12 year old Lauren told him smoking was bad for him.
Remember the cookie incident? This comes up every Christmas as we dress the tree, harkening to the time an artist (who shall remain nameless) got so drunk at the gallery Christmas party, he ate an ornament that looked like a cookie.
I feel overdressed. I said awkwardly to an 11 year old Jon Jon, as we watched Shannon and another performance artist writhe seductively, and with precious little clothing, in a kiddy pool for The Hurricane opening.
He’s got some “splaining” to do… When Tony tattled on the other Tony who was caught looking at “Hairy Bears” on-line during work hours.
I could go on, but I think I’d have to start talking about drinking again, and revisiting the concept of bad influences on my children… They turned out FINE, people.
