They (whoever “they” are) say that Art Is Where You Find It. All I can say is, whenever we are with Uncle Phil and Aunt Marge, we manage to find plenty of Art. For at their pied-à-terre in Hollywood, Florida, it’s all around us. Their house is a veritabobble treasure trove of Gorgeous Stuff. I won’t even try to be snarky and call it “Gorgeous Crap,” because none of it is crap.
The only other person I know with the same kind of gift for discovering Found Art is the Mistress of Sarcasm. It must run in the family.
Here, for example, is a terra-cotta statue. I call him “Pre-Columbian Dude,” although I strongly suspect he is post-Columbian.
Pre-Columbian Dude.
Next up we have a Portrait in Relief, a fellow I like to refer to as “Cracked Caesar.”
Cracked Caesar.
So many philosophical metaphors you can build with this as inspiration... and so little time.
There’s lots more. Some of it is left over from Phil’s career as purveyor of miscellaneous scientific equipment:
A brace of antique microscopes.
These babies are solid brass, and they are gorgeous. I can almost imagine Louis Pasteur using a ’scope like this.
How about these? Every one a work of Modern-Age Art... but what are they? I’ll provide the answer in the extended entry.
Mystery Art. WTF are these things, anyway?
Maybe a better title for this post is “Home Is Where The Art Is.” As long as we’re talking about Phil and Marge’s home, that is.
Not all the art in Broward County resides with Phil and Marge, though. There’s this fellow we caught up with at the Fort Lauderdale Airport, parked contentedly in a waiting lounge all by himself:
Airport Dude.
I can only guess that his name should be Art... for that is what he is. He’s either a very realistic sculpture or an amazingly immobile ascetic, because he was in the exact same position in the exact same place on two separate days...
The only other person I know with the same kind of gift for discovering Found Art is the Mistress of Sarcasm. It must run in the family.
Here, for example, is a terra-cotta statue. I call him “Pre-Columbian Dude,” although I strongly suspect he is post-Columbian.
Pre-Columbian Dude.
Next up we have a Portrait in Relief, a fellow I like to refer to as “Cracked Caesar.”
Cracked Caesar.
So many philosophical metaphors you can build with this as inspiration... and so little time.
There’s lots more. Some of it is left over from Phil’s career as purveyor of miscellaneous scientific equipment:
A brace of antique microscopes.
These babies are solid brass, and they are gorgeous. I can almost imagine Louis Pasteur using a ’scope like this.
How about these? Every one a work of Modern-Age Art... but what are they? I’ll provide the answer in the extended entry.
Mystery Art. WTF are these things, anyway?
Maybe a better title for this post is “Home Is Where The Art Is.” As long as we’re talking about Phil and Marge’s home, that is.
Not all the art in Broward County resides with Phil and Marge, though. There’s this fellow we caught up with at the Fort Lauderdale Airport, parked contentedly in a waiting lounge all by himself:
Airport Dude.
I can only guess that his name should be Art... for that is what he is. He’s either a very realistic sculpture or an amazingly immobile ascetic, because he was in the exact same position in the exact same place on two separate days...
Toasters!
Yes, indeedy - they’re all toasters. Aunt Marge has a formidable collection of antique toasters, all of which (I believe) are in working condition. Toaster aficionados - yes, there are such people - will recognize the copper number above as a Model 1B14 Toastmaster, a highly popular style that was introduced in 1947 and lasted for seventeen years. (Most people are familiar with the chrome-plated version, the classic image of the pop-up toaster.)
How ’bout that? Utilitarian Art!
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