I have little input on the décor of our abode. Sk enjoys decorating. Who am I to deny her that joy? When I am asked my opinion, I fully give it my best shot. That’s usually when sk giggles and tells me it’s okay, she’ll figure something out. And she always does. Twelve hours later, when she’s figured out exactly where to place that vase, the room seems to come together. Even after she changes her mind four more times in a 48-hour period. Each and every time she moves that vase, the room still looks beautiful. We’re both minimalist and tend to lean towards the same color palette so in general, we agree on most aspects when it comes to the appearance of our home.
Then came the day when sk visited the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) to view the Pablo Picasso exhibit which included paintings from his own personal collection. Sk does not like reproductions but apparently she made an exception this day because she came home with a poster of Two Women Running on the Beach or what I call, Floppy Boobs.
She told me the history and meaning of this piece. She explained to me how she views the women and what they represent to her. All I see are flopping boobies. She wasted no time in framing and hanging up the print. That’s when I had to voice my displeasure.
There happens to be a space in the hallway directly across from our bedroom that is perfect for hanging a piece of art. The lighting is very good and there is just something about that spot that screams “hang something here.” So that’s where she put Floppy Boobs. Each morning I would wake up knowing that I would have to look at that print. As soon as I opened my eyes, there they were, the boobies.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I like breasts just as much as the next lesbian. In fact that is probably the highlight of being as short as I am; when I hug women, I’m either in their cleavage or very very close. Hug away, ladies! So why do I have such an aversion to this Picasso? I’m not sure. I find it too graphic and I can empathize with those women. Running anywhere without proper support is painful but a man wouldn’t know or understand that aspect of the floppy boob. But that’s what I thought every day when I said good morning to the two ladies on my way into the washroom.
After several troublesome mornings, sk asked me if I had an alternative we could try in place of the Picasso. Why yes, absolutely! I just happened to have a print of my own, already matted and framed that would fit perfectly in that space, The Dugout by Norman Rockwell. What’s more Americana than Norman Rockwell? What’s more Chicago than a scene that suggests the hapless Cubs and their struggle to win a World Series? I adore it. Sk tolerates it.
Somehow The Dugout still hangs at that very spot to this day. Due to its location, the fact that the piece does not match any other wall hanging is hardly noticeable and besides, few people see it. This is the one work of art I enjoy the most, based solely on the memories I have of being at Wrigley Field. Over the years, while watching the Cubs play, I’ve experienced every emotion depicted in that painting and yet I still root for them. Each year, my friends and I had hope for the new upcoming season. Attending Opening Day became a tradition and we went to as many games as possible throughout the rest of the season, no matter where the Cubs were in the standings. This one painting brings all that excitement, those memories and that hope to me, every morning. And it makes me smile. If I want to see floppy boobs. . .well, I have my own.