Case of the blues

I only own one real piece of art. You're looking at it. Well, you're kind of looking at it.

The original painting, the family seated at the table, is called The Aioli Dinner by George Rodrigue. But when he added Tiffany (his corgi who passed on only to be reincarnated as the Blue Dog) to the painting, it was retitled Eat, Drink and Forget The Blues.

Despite the fact there are several of these paintings around, each one is unique. Rodrigue created a limited number of direct image transfers from the original and mounted them on masonite. Then he repainted the entire work again over them, adding nuance and variance to the colors, contrast and shadings each time. In every one, Tiffany is in a slightly different position with subtle differences in her expression.

As you can see, on the one we own she's sitting more to the right, just in front of the older blonde man looking to the left at the head of the table. And in case you were wondering, yes that is the frame the picture came in (they can't all be adman black now can they?).

This picture of the picture was taken with my iPhone 3GS. I can't believe I'm still using that relic - I need a new one if for no other reason than the 8 megapixel camera. I'm going to wait for the iPhone 5 though since it's only six months away. And I know I'd hate myself for not having the bigger screen.

But I digress.

I fell in love with the Blue Dog a year before I actually bought it. The wife and I were visiting her family (don't get me started) in Carmel. As we were strolling the quaint blocks of the seaside town, looking for Mayor Clint Eastwood and seeing if we could find a restaurant open after 9PM, we found the Blue Dog Gallery.

Among all the Blue Dog paintings on display, I couldn't stop looking at the Aioli Dinner.

We spoke with the curator of the gallery, Wendy, who wound up years later being the next Mrs. Rodrigue and the subject of many of his paintings like this one to the left. (She also has a wonderful blog called Musing's of an Artist's Wife). I asked her how much it cost, and she told me. It's probably worth noting that at this point in my life, the only things hanging on my walls were my Springsteen posters. And the Blue Dog cost way more than those.

I told her we'd think about it. So we thought about it. For a year.

When we walked in a year later, two great things happened. One was that Wendy remembered us. The other was that George Rodrigue happened to be at the gallery. Wendy introduced us and we all talked for a bit.

Then the discussion turned from art to commerce. She broke the bad news to us as gently as she could: the price of the painting had doubled in the course of a year. But because she recalled how much we'd loved it and how badly we'd wanted it, she generously offered to split the difference between the prices.

Rodrigue also happened to be in a particularly good mood, so he threw in this Blue Dog lithograph.

He put it on the counter, picked up a silver marker, and started drawing on it (I particularly like the Groucho glasses). My wife went into a panic, leaning over to me saying, "He's ruining it!" To which I replied, "Are you serious? He's just made it even more valuable. Now it's really one of a kind."

He signed it and gave it to us.

I don't know if it's still there, but at the time the Blue Dog Gallery had a layaway plan called the Kennel Club. They held onto the painting until it was paid for. No minimum payments. No time limit. I was extremely diligent about sending a check up whenever I could spare it.

I couldn't wait to see it in my home.

I waited four years to see it in my home.

But that's not the point. The point is it's here and we love it. Just like my wife, I still feel the same way about it as when I first saw it (can you say "marriage points").

One thing I particularly love is how much it's appreciated (the painting and the wife). The other thing I love is just how damn happy it makes me.

Especially when I'm the one who's blue.