I have a painting hanging in my house that I don't like. I used to hate it but a few months have gone by and now I don't really even see it.
(Kind of like that pair of dirty work socks my husband left underneath the coffee table a few nights ago. Not picking those up.)
We bought the painting on a cruise. Well "we" didn't buy it. I was at the spa and my husband was at the free all-you-can-drink champagne art auction.
I showed up when the auction was almost over and he showed me a copy of what he had purchased, for over $1,000, and I almost gagged on my glass of free champagne. Neither was my taste.
The picture was a still life with a bottle of white wine and some orange lilies in a vase. I don't like lilies and I don't like white wine.
Why do men feel the need to purchase pseudo-artistic renderings of things: racing horses, fake wooden family crests, poker-playing dogs, or a still life of a bottle of alcohol? Give me a beautiful landscape, a black-and-white portrait, or a piece of marble sculpture any day.
The painting was delivered to our house a few weeks later. We took it out of the box together. It measured 3.5' x 2.5'. And when it was unveiled in all of its glory, I just looked at my husband and shook my head. And he took it straight up to the guest room where it lived for a couple of years, facing the wall.
Fast forward to a few months ago when we were out to dinner with another couple. My husband mentioned that he had a beautiful painting that he wanted to hang up. I just looked at the wife and she shook her head. The international sign of solidarity of women whose husbands have no taste in art.
But after a few bottles of wine, she and I found ourselves watching two inebriated men trying to figure out where to hang that beautiful painting from our cruise. In a place of prominence, of course.
Like I said, I don't even see it anymore even though it's the first thing in my line of sight when I come downstairs in the morning to have my much needed cup of coffee.
Marriage is a compromise. And I've come to accept the painting. Much like he's come to accept the too-large marble table my deceased grandfather made with his own hands. But trust me, we will never own any black velvet paintings of teary-eyed clowns.
Has your husband ever purchased artwork that you disliked?
Image via Jennifer Cullen