Maybe the best Art Story, ever.

[TomInTib]

This week we held the first Tiburon Art Festival.

www.tiburonartfestival.com

I was co-chair and it was a raging success.

This was a small, juried (Kenneth Baker and Dr. Lynn Orr, Curator-in-charge of European Paintings, Museums of Fine Art, San Francisco)event. These were definitely not street artists (nothing wrong with street artists, just a clarification). Pound-for-pund, our Art kicks any other outdoor event's butt.

Early on, I was contacted by an artist's father who wanted to know if he could apply for his son (who is 24) without his son's written permission. Although I thought it odd, I told him to go on ahead. The dad said he just wanted the judges to see his son's work for he believed that the kid had real potential and wanted to get his name out there. If only I had a dollar for every time...

Well, this guy has been in constant contact with me since may. But he is such a good, earnest soul that I really didn't mind. As it turns out, Dad is a cable installer in Oakland.

And he has no money.

The Kid's art shows up at the jury event (the jury requested fully realized (finished) pieces. And the Kid's art was stunning, a black on white study of a man's face wearing a cowboy hat. Titled "The Grape Picker", it blew us all away.

Absolute elation and dejection on Dad's part. As I said, he has no money.

So I ponied up. The Kid just had to be in my Show.

And we stayed in almost daily contact for Dad really wanted to get this right. Support his son and all that.

We announced our Artist's Reception, which was held at the San Francisco Yacht Club last Wednesday.

The first call I got after the announcement was from dear old Dad. He just could not believe what we were doing for the Artists and asked if he could accompany the Kid.

They showed up at the gallery about 4 o'clock on the day of the event. Dad is the Salt of the Earth and the Kid was as serious as a heart attack.

Dad and I go out and sit on a bench while the Kid was looking through the Gallery.

Dada starts telling me how our event has changed their lives. Says he and the Kid have not had a civil conversation since the Kid was six years old (eighteen years), but this thing had brought them together - Father and Son, Friends.

I cannot tell you how touching that was for me.

At the event that evening, the Kid comes over to me and thanks me for re-introducing him to his best friend. Real earnest and all. I almost started to cry. As I said, the Kid is deadly serious.

The Festival was this past Saturday and Sunday and the Kid did great. Toward the end of the Show yesterday, Dad comes up and asks ne for some advice (for the brazillionth time). Said a guy from San Francisco wanted to see one of the Kid's really big pieces in his house in the City so he could make a decision on it. Dad was wondering if that was the right thing to do. I asked him if maybe he had gone crazy over the weekend and told him to get right on it.

The Kid comes over and hands me "The Grape Picker". I was astounded.

My phone rang around eleven o'clock last night and it was Dad.

Told me they had gone to the Guy's house. Said he knew houses like that existed, but he had never been inside of one. Once inside, the Dad said the place looked like a museum.

So the Guy in the house takes this great big painting, places it against a wall and starts walking around and looking at it. Tells them he will take it.

Calls in his handyman (who evidently lives on-site) and has him hang it next to a de Kooning.

Pays the Kid four times what he asked.

They get home and the Kid checks his email. And there is one from the Guy.

The email said there was another check going in the mail today. The Guy said the Kid should offer no resistance to the check and should not expect any explanation.

The email said the Kid should report on tuition expenses to the Art Institute and the Kid's expected living expenses. All would be taken care of.

And one story ends and another begins.

Good luck, Kid.

[porphyrian]

1. If only this were the norm rather than the exception... - n/t