Note: This post originally appeared on June 24, 2015. I’m reposting it in memory of the “cave man” who appears in the narrative. I recently got word that he died from natural causes last Spring. As he’d be quick to point out, he lived until the ripe old age of two hundred million and five. His elegance, wit, and kindness will be sorely missed!
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A real, live Hollywood movie star visited my studio during a recent art event. I'm not going to say who it was, since I didn't recognize the movie star and only found out later from a friend who witnessed the movie star strolling into my loft. Even if I'd recognized the movie star, I wouldn't have done anything about it. Movie stars appearing in the backdrop of my life are not a novelty; I used to live in Los Angeles, where movie stars mingle with peasants on a fairly regular basis.
More exciting to me is that a real, live cave man visited my studio the same day the Hollywood movie star stopped by.
I must make it clear at this point: the cave man was a GENUINE cave man, not a "cave-man type". The cave man had somehow survived for two hundred million years and arrived intact in my studio on a springtime afternoon.
At first I didn't recognize the cave man for what he was. I mistook the cave man for some other kind of man. His sartorial statement was elegantly muted, implying that he did important work in an office setting. His hair was nicely groomed, he was clean-shaven, and he wore a dark gray suit and tie. His behavior was quiet and orderly. He spoke in a language which is currently in vogue (Upper-Midwestern English). He didn't carry a club or flaunt recently-killed animal carcasses. He engaged in light conversation with the artists milling about my studio, laughing at people's jokes and listening politely as they catalogued their existential dilemmas. There was no hint that he was a cave man until someone asked about a painting of mine, which is entitled "Reunion".
"Reunion" depicts me mingling with a gaggle of brachiosauruses, raptors and pachycephalosauruses. The painting is about the subject of aging.
Reunion, 2014, oil on canvas, 30” x 40”
"I bought $75 worth of plastic dinosaurs to use as models for the painting," I told the crowd. "It was money I'd set aside for a new spring wardrobe, but I stopped by a hobby store on the way to the mall and ended up spending all my money on plastic dinosaurs."
I asked other people if they'd ever done a dinosaur painting. Everyone said yes, including the cave man, but they were all quick to add that they hadn't done any dinosaur art since they were children. Then everyone told stories about doing dinosaur art as children. Some people said they too had used plastic dinosaurs as models. One person said she was so old, plastic dinosaurs hadn't been invented yet so she had to copy from pictures in archeology books. One woman said she she was so old there were no archeology books and she had to invent fantasy dinosaurs based on tales her ancestors told around campfires.
"Well, I'm so old, I used LIVE dinosaurs as my models," said the cave man.
Which is how I knew he was a cave man.