"Every child is an artist. The problem is to remain an artist when we grow up."- Pablo Picasso
(and he should know!)
When I spoke at my father's funeral, I focused on what he gave me that mattered most. Among many qualities that I treasured and admired, my father had, until his dying day, a child's delight in the absurd. He was like a comedy detective. Whatever dank coal mine of life presented itself to him, he'd put on his miner's hat and find what was interesting and funny in it, and if there was a toothless guy named "Clem" who worked there who knew where to find the best road kill soufflé in all of Appalachia. As I always say, "Everything in life is funny, and whatever isn't will makes a good story." Dad would have liked that one. In fact, I probably stole it from him.
As a parent, I often try to channel my father. My dad understood Pablo Picasso's challenge, and he met it each day. He was a childlike artist his whole life--not in any medium visible to the naked eye, but in the way he approached life. He was a life artist. If he were around today, you'd say "He wins at life." His artistry was to invent a new life hack each and every day and share it in an impish way with everyone in his orbit. He could squeeze joy from a stone. That was his art.
It is in this esteemed tradition, that I began the breakfast art…what we'll call my "petit dejeuner" period when I look back on this. (It's French for breakfast, and since the FRENCH toast is the primary medium, well, you get it.)
SO….what better homage to my Peter Pan of a father, than to be every bit as impish and immature with my own children, and appeal to their basest humor. OK, so this picture is a bit of a Rorschach test. HINT: If you are a potty-mouthed, bathroom humor kinda person, you will be at a distinct advantage in making the ID on this one. If this were "JEOPARDY", the hint would be: "It is two things that are related." Here's another angle to really make the point of a kind of cause and effect relationship between the two items.
It is a tush. (See the two lumpy "cheeks" back to back to make the crack?). And the longish rectangles plopped on top of each other in a kind of circular fashion below, those things that look like kindling logs in a campfire? They are the work product of the above tush.
I know. I'm sorry. I realize that this is the second unappetizing reference I have made in this blog about food. But I think I've gotten it out of my system now, and everything else will be incredibly dainty, refined, and highbrow.
After a bunch of smiley faces and a heart or two, this was the first piece of the eggy baked ephemera that I documented. In my house, with one person who has Crohn's and another with Ulcerative Colitis, bathroom humor is ever-present and a consistent winner. I wanted to make a splash and the tush ensemble was a triumphant success. My son gave me a beaming, smiling, head shaking, eyerolling tsk, tsk, tsk JUST like the one I used to give my dad. And then he tore into his breakfast…just to try to gross me out right back. It made my childish artist's heart sing.
(and he should know!)
As a parent, I often try to channel my father. My dad understood Pablo Picasso's challenge, and he met it each day. He was a childlike artist his whole life--not in any medium visible to the naked eye, but in the way he approached life. He was a life artist. If he were around today, you'd say "He wins at life." His artistry was to invent a new life hack each and every day and share it in an impish way with everyone in his orbit. He could squeeze joy from a stone. That was his art.
It is in this esteemed tradition, that I began the breakfast art…what we'll call my "petit dejeuner" period when I look back on this. (It's French for breakfast, and since the FRENCH toast is the primary medium, well, you get it.)
After a bunch of smiley faces and a heart or two, this was the first piece of the eggy baked ephemera that I documented. In my house, with one person who has Crohn's and another with Ulcerative Colitis, bathroom humor is ever-present and a consistent winner. I wanted to make a splash and the tush ensemble was a triumphant success. My son gave me a beaming, smiling, head shaking, eyerolling tsk, tsk, tsk JUST like the one I used to give my dad. And then he tore into his breakfast…just to try to gross me out right back. It made my childish artist's heart sing.
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