The art of collecting art…
Barry and I love artful things. We love being surrounded with things in our home that are beautiful or whimsical or inspiring or memorable or just plain fun. We’ve spent both more money than we should have and less money than a cup of coffee on artful things we’ve brought home.
A few years ago, Barry and I stopped at the always beautiful Wickford Art Festival in downtown Wickford, RI. on our way to the beach. We went from tent to tent enjoying all the talented artists and their creations… with no intent what-s0-ever to fall in love with anything.
Well, that thought fell off like a bikini bottom in a big wave when we saw this, by artist William Cantwell…
Barry and I were instantly drawn to the vibrant colors, the characters, the clothing, the shoes!, the conversation, the FUN. We felt IN the room with these fabulous ladies, and we HAD to bring them home with us. We did. We chatted with Mr. Cantwell, too, and felt a discovery of art fabulousness that has made us happy every day since.
Just a few months after our purchase of “Sisters”, Barry and I were walking around the grounds of the famous autumn art festival in Rhode Island, Scituate Art Festival, when we spotted Mr. Cantwell. OK. How could we NOT take these prints home…
And, to give equal time to the men…
We framed these 4 smaller prints and gathered them, art gallery style, in our bathroom… where fabulous art should hang and attract the attention of, well, grandkids.
During the holiday season, “Wild Turkeys” bumped off the wall as I was cleaning this particular bathroom, shattering the glass and busting the frame. Just this week, Barry and I replaced the frame and got “Wild Turkeys” back up where it belongs.
But grandchildren don’t miss much, especially in the world of art.
Yesterday, I was sitting at a local Newport Creamery ice-cream spot with my 4-year old grandson Henry. I was ordering. The waitress was scribbling. Henry was thinking.
But Henry wasn’t thinking about ice-cream. No, siree.
Henry was thinking about art when he asked, “Grandma, where did all those naked men in your bathroom go?”
I just kept on ordering.