I have no idea what we were thinking. Neither of us had started the day declaring that we needed to find and purchase the worst piece of art in the known universe. Particularly one that featured as its subject that most mysterious and mythical of creatures: the frog. But by the time the sun had been swallowed by the earth, we had done exactly that. I can only attribute our decision to part with an amount of money in exchange for a painting that neither of us liked to look at, much less wanted to own, as being the result of panic on my part.
I have no idea what we were thinking. Neither of us had started the day declaring that we needed to find and purchase the worst piece of art in the known universe. Particularly one that featured as its subject that most mysterious and mythical of creatures: the frog. But by the time the sun had been swallowed by the earth, we had done exactly that. I can only attribute our decision to part with an amount of money in exchange for a painting that neither of us liked to look at, much less wanted to own, as being the result of panic on my part.
I’m not even sure of its official title. But if I had to guess, I’d say it was something along the lines of Frog Conference, as it features four amphibians sitting on lily pads in a swamp, presumably discussing matters of importance such as the impact of the high Australian dollar on the export market or, possibly, whether anyone from Team Joel has a cinder’s chance in hell of winning The Voice. Some works of art are hypnotic; they make it almost impossible to look away. This one defied convention and seemed to actively spurn eye contact.
As to how we became the owners of this abomination says a lot about how eager we are not to disappoint others. We were driving through the country side when we spotted a small blue stone building promising both ‘art’ and ‘craft’. This, as things transpired, was putting things far too highly. However, it’s true to say that a store of this kind will rarely take an entirely honest approach to its contents. It’s enough to say that you never see shops offering ‘crap pottery’ or ‘dud paintings’.
The warning signs were obvious, even if the one at the front of the shop was not. As we entered, the guy behind the counter looked surprised if not a little alarmed to see us. It was immediately apparent that we were the first people to step inside for quite some time. A small stereo sat on the counter and the sounds of ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’ by pop-metal poodles, Def Leppard, trickled out. The walls were lined with shelves and gave you the sense that the room was starting to close in on itself. Every available surface was covered with objects, all of which were equally hideous to the eye. There were pottery frogs of every conceivable shape, size and dimension. It was as if we had stumbled into some kind of small-town cult where amphibians were regarded as deities to be worshipped. And, of course, turned into pottery figurines that sold for twelve dollars a pop.
Having been initially alarmed at our appearance, the gentleman at the front counter had now decided to talk up the place, asking us what we thought. A thousand descriptors sprang to mind, but the only one to escape my lips was, ‘It’s lovely’. A sign hanging from one of the shelves declared that if you break something, you’ve bought it. For a moment I thought this was an invitation. Perhaps others had been so outraged by mediocre ceramic amphibians that they were unable to contain their anger, smashing pottery frogs to spare others from a fate worse than Def Leppard before being hauled away. He began to follow us as we walked through the store. Whether he had us pegged as potential shoplifters or simply hadn’t seen other people in such a long time and had forgotten how to interact, I couldn’t say. Whatever the reason, it created a pressure-cooker environment, one in which we felt compelled to do anything other than leave empty-handed.
Pottery was clearly out of the question – what possible use could I have for a ceramic frog? Whereas a painting a several frogs hanging out and discussing the weather is something you can use everyday. After a couple of laps to try and lose the shop assistant, we settled for a painting. To suggest that it was possibly the best of a bad bunch doesn’t really do it justice. I was probably holding it, thinking to myself how extremely vulgar and – to be frank – incredibly brown the piece was when the man who ran the store asked whether he should run it through the register.
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. Perhaps there was a frog in my throat. Given the circumstances, it would be no surprise if one of those little beggars had managed to slip in and take up residence in my esophagus. ‘Thanks,’ was all I managed to utter. Like lightning, the man had whipped the painting out of my hands and was wiping away the cobwebs from the register. It was too late; I was stuck.
When we got home a few days later, Frog Conference was given pride of place. Which, in our house, just so happens to under the bed along with the emergency toolkit, some old sneakers and the free weights I no longer use. It was by chance that I stumbled across it a few days ago. It remains as stubbornly ugly as the day we first bought it. Oscar Wilde once wrote that ‘all art is quite useless’. I suspect he wrote those words whilst staring at a print of Frog Conference and listening to ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ by Def Leppard. I think he had a point. I have no idea what to do with the thing. My fear is that, some time in the future, I will overlook someone’s birthday and need a gift at short notice. Should I ever give you with a painting of a bunch of frogs, let me simply say in advance: better you than me.