Pop Art and Tarts

My oldest son, our very own budding Salvador Dali, has just completed a highly detailed portrait of Vincent Van Gogh. He was originally instructed to reproduce a B+W sketch of the above image. Now personally I think portraits are really difficult stuff, especially for a kid. It took three weeks solid to complete and I think it is pretty darn good, although everyone reckons it looks like his Dad, rather than ol’ Vince. (Does this mean Rich looks like Van Gogh? Scary.)

Anyway, it’s a great piece of art for a kid, but his Hogwarts Art Professor has now told him that she intends to heavily crop it, and has also instructed him to haphazardly colour it in very vibrant colours a-la-Pop-Art. Kind of Vincent Van Gogh becomes Andy Warhol.

My son (who loathes Pop Art) is utterly horrified. “She can’t crop it. It’s not meant to be cropped. I didn’t draw it that way. And she can’t make me convert it to colour. That wouldn’t be art. It’s meant to be Black and White. It’s my art. She can‘t ruin it. I refuse!”

Oh dear. More art politics. That’s all I need.

Modifying a piece of art might be normal in a teaching context, but is it fair, bearing in mind how many hours (about fifty) it took to complete this portrait? Is it acceptable for an artist (even a young one) to have his creative vision cropped and the style completely changed according to the ever-changing whim of the person who commissioned the art-piece? Damned if I know the answer. All I know is that the topic of art has become horribly complicated in our house nowadays.

My son also casually mentioned tonight that one of his paintings has been exhibited in the city cathedral for the last week or so.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” I squeaked excitedly. “WOW! This is HUGE!”
He shot me that slightly embarrassed “Oh God you’re being impossible Mother” look that only teenage sons can give and said impassively, “I knew you’d react like that.”

“How am I supposed to react?” I said, confused.

“I dunno. But it’s no big deal. Really it‘s not. Anyway, I forgot.”

Hmm. I honestly wonder how overly proud mothers are supposed to cope with moody hormonal teenage sons. Jumping up and down like an over-excited rabbit on wacky-backy apparently is not acceptable behaviour for a Hogwarts mother. I must be quiet, dignified, a Lady Who Lunches. I must remain casual and cool at all times. Above all, I MUST NOT BE EMBARRESSING. Oh dear. Clearly I have blown it big-time.

Teenagers are aliens. If anyone knows how to handle them can they please let me know?

other 902

This is not Rich-a-la-Vince (who is stashed at school, awaiting death-by-cropping.)

It is a tart.

It was baked by my remarkably extrovert nine-year-old son (a complete polar opposite of his older brother) who wants to be a VERY FAMOUS T.V. CHEF when he grows up. This little lemon meringue tart took him 3 hours to prepare. Perfectionism runs in the family.

(BTW, I'm not going to eat it. It’s so darn pretty that I'm just gonna look at it.)