Sunday, June 26, 2005
When I was growing up, my parents had this enormous oversized Norman Rockwell coffee table book. I spent countless hours on my living room carpet looking at all those paintings. Norman Rockwell is probably my favorite graphic artist-I never liked paintings or the like very much; I spose I always just liked music better. (Funny side note: my Dad, the mathematician, or 'mathmagician' as Mands calls him, has a poster that says, "A graph is worth 1,000 sets of data." Jeez, those math nerds.)
I realize that Rockwell wasn't a fabulous artist (insert Bette Davis saying choppily, "I deplore cheap sentiment"), but his combination depiction of pop-culture and human nature is so uniquely American. And endearing. How unfortunate that I am forced to use the word 'endearing'. Next thing you know, I will be a middle aged woman that wears sweatshirts with house cats on them, and evaluate everything on a gradation of 'cuteness'.
And just like I could live the rest of my life solely speaking in Will Ferrel SNL skits, I could live the rest of my life living out Rockwell's paintings. The one for this week is Homecoming. Guess which character I am.