Way back in the early days of the nineties, when big hair bands were giving way to grunge and a Bush-free eight years was just beginning, I took a printmaking class in high school. One of the projects we did was silk screening. I created "my version" of Picasso's "The Old Guitarist," which, hopefully, you can see here:
This is from Picasso's Blue Period. Thinking of him as "The Blue Guitarist," I gave him an electric guitar and sunglasses and made him "The Blues Guitarist." I made six prints (and I'm realizing now that I never took a picture of them). I have one of them (the first one, which definitely wasn't the best one) hanging up in my office cube.
[AND I'LL INSERT IT HERE AFTER I GET A PICTURE OF IT.]
The complete and total fraud
I had since forgotten what happened to the other five. This weekend, I got a Facebook e-mail from Kelly. Kelly wrote to tell me that I had given her one copy of this print, and that she had moved it around from apartment to apartment and displayed it for 16 years, framed even. As you can imagine, this made me feel quite good.
Honestly, I didn't even remember who this Kelly was. I looked through her photos on Facebook for a while before I recognized her. I don't remember actually giving her the print, but I do remember that she was a pretty red-head, which in those days (okay, still!) would have been enough for me to do anything for her. I was such a pushover for a pretty face and red hair.
Too often, things from our past can come up and bite us. It was nice that something from my past came up and gave me a big hug.