Pickles by Brian Crane for August 13, 2024

My mom liked to paint. She was okay, I guess. She was painting an oil of a harbor scene and one day my dad, who was an excellent sketch artist in charcoal, “touched up” her painting when she wasn’t around. Only he was severely color blind and used clashing colors. She about killed him.

yadda, yadda, yadda⠄⠄⠄

where’s Roscoe?

LOL !

Clean it up quick, Roscoe might like “soul food”!

Nice of him to volunteer some help…

“The Reverend Henry Ward Beecher / called the hen an elegant creature. / [something something something involving the laying of an egg] / And thus did the hen reward Beecher.

I leave it to the reader as an exercise to look up the part I did not memorize.

Maybe holding the palette level would stop the mess. I’m just sayin’.

And just where has the precious Roscoe been ?

Where is your soul dripping?

The only time I dropped a bit of my soul on the floor, it involved a woman…

“I’ve suffered for my art. Now it’s your turn.”

Marshall Crenshaw

Oy! Earl! That went right over your head…..

It’s called “performance art,” Earl. . .

She must LOVE having a critic breathing down her neck…..

Don’t get your soul in the dripped paint Opal.

Now the carpet is “abstract.” (Could be worth millions in the hands of a patron who’s gullible enough!)

According to some societies, Opal was supposed to give all that “culture” stuff (like painting,literature, etc) when she married Earl so she was supposed to live “just for him” and not have any life at all. Believe me, this is what some circles in this country think!

How on earth did Opal get to be so literate all of a sudden?

hey rockie—- watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat!!! (2 eggs) ooops- wrong hat!

She may have several unopened boxes of them.

evidently there’s a whole lotta confused, conflicted artists out there then…

Tee Hee!

Opal needs a bucket of water to wash off her paint brush, like Bob Ross used to have.

Now a good studio has a rough wooden floor, and the spills and smears are art all by themselves.

Don’t sweat it, Opal. I’m sure Bob Ross had this problem too.

“This is the sound of my soul (drip drip drip)…”

- Spandau Ballet