Art

I have absolutely no appreciation for fine art. Frank and I have been to the Met and the Guggenheim, both in New York City, and we spend most of the time staring at stuff on the walls wondering what in the heck people are oohing and aahing about.

I am extremely partial to photography, black and white. Frank likes all things related to the sea.

God deliver me from having seascapes in this house. Or boats. Or ships.

This Picasso has great sentimental value to me. My dad is from Spain, as was Picasso. My dad's favorite book in the whole wide world is Don Quijote de la Mancha by Miguel Cervantes de Saavedra, and I gave him a copy in 1969 for Father's Day. He still has it and it is worn and mangled and held together with a rubberband. I was nine years old when I gave it to him. He was in the hospital recovering from a heart attack and my brother and I went to see him with our mother. I don't remember what Wesley gave him, but I know I signed and wrapped this book and he was thrilled to receive it.

God knows I am not a Picasso fan. Elias draws better pictures.

But this one I must have.

In the living room, bigger than life, matted, and framed in black.

Why have a television in your living room when you can have this?

Vettriano's Singing Butler is another favorite. I think this would look smashing in our bedroom.

Dance and music are very important to us, and we find rain to be soothing and comforting and serene.