There Were No Horses Playing Poker

Oh, y'all.

Tonight we spent a significant chunk of time looking at Western art. By Western, I mean Wild West.

Cowboys, Indians, sunsets, horses and snakes. 

For dramatic effect, there was even a python swaddled around some poor zookeepers arm on the way in. Many of the other event attendees were all excited and getting closer to see Mr. Python (or maybe it was the Mrs.) in all his (her) glory.

I however, not-so-discreetly scooted to the other side of the staircase and hightailed it right inside to the comfort of a glass of wine. Call me cynical, but I just don't trust snakes. (You know, Eve.)

We were invited to view a private collection of some gazillionaires super fancy art. Many folks from Brad's work were there, just loving this exclusive opportunity to view these paintings that most of the public has never seen.

When Brad took this new position, I knew there would be a lot of entertaining clients, business partners, etc. For whatever reason, I was led to believe that a lot of this entertainment would take place in sporting arenas.

Give me a football, baseball, or hockey stadium with peanuts on the floor and I am comfortable. I'll talk nickel-package defense, the cheapening of the American League due to the designated hitter, and even icing. 

But art? I am scared to pronounce the names of anyone I've heard of, which is all of Picasso and Norman Rockwell. Give me Fukudome anyday and I might sound semi-coherent.

It was very hard to pretend that we were fascinated, just fascinated, by all of this painting and excitement(!), and Real Art and hoity-toityness that was second to none.

I saw more Indian (or more accurately, Native American) burial rituals and various other gory depictions of war and strangled horses than I ever dreamed.

Since I've never dreamed of Indians being wrapped in burial clothes and hoisted onto tree branches while their horses await death tied up to the tree trunk below, it was all a bit much to take in. 

There were three entire floors of bumper-to-bumper paintings. None of this one-painting-per-room nonsense like in that Famous Paris Art Joint. I think I even saw a Native American Mona Lisa and a Native American Jesus. Those interpretations were...creative.

Brad and I politely interacted with other patrons, trying desperately not to talk about the art because our knowledge was so pitifully limited that we could only be made fools if we spoke. After nodding, smiling, and trying to talk about sports, we'd move on to the next fabulous section(!) and pretend to admire the intricacies of dying cowboys and broken-down railroads.

Our home base was the painting by Georgia O'Keefe.  I've totally heard of her! I think she is Big Time! 

We would be all, "Don't you just love Georgia O'Keefe? She is super awesome at painting with colored paint. And flowers. And stuff."

I'm pretty sure we made a grrreat impression on the co-workers.

Oh, and for good measure, we picked up Taco Bell on the way home. Even the food was way beyond our simple palettes. 

After all, nothing says "fine art" like a bean burrito.