Regifting? Merde!

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HolidayDigest

x-chatlin_merde-sculptureIt wasn’t always like this. Once I had my place au soleil—admired, bringing Americans what we French call “joie de vivre.” After all, my provenance traces back to the master sculptor, Rodin. My image appeared in Le Monde as an international icon. Although I am merely a multiple or duplicate, I was no less admired by the discerning eyes of art connoisseurs.

However, here in America, my acceptance always balanced on the whims of the bourgeoisie. Salvation came the day I was rescued from a garbage dumpster behind a brownstone on Beacon Hill in Boston. Appreciating my artistic assets, a mutual admiration society of young professionals adopted me. My debut appearance highlighted a wedding at the Parker House overlooking the Public Gardens.

A bookshelf in a colonial home on Bunker Hill offered stability for several years. Until one afternoon, after being carefully gift-wrapped, I was presented as a guest of honor during a garden wedding celebration on Martha’s Vineyard.

My new installation cite became a beach cottage fireplace mantle on Cape Cod. Years later, set on a glass tabletop in a Manhattan loft, I became the object of derision during a cocktail party when an inebriated art critic pointing at me proclaimed, “Even Rodin made mistakes!”

Je ne comprend pas.

Returned to Boston and under-appreciated by a passive-aggressive teenager, my statuesque form was augmented with a can of gold spray paint, to his mother’s chagrin. It was then that my fortunes turned. Sacre bleu! Used, abused, and chipped, I am currently stuffed in a dumpster in Laguna Beach, Calif..,waiting my fate for what you call a garage sale. What do Americans know about great art? Merde!

 

 

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