Poor wittle wabbit!

I've probably shared this story on the blog before. As evidenced by the painting above, my mother-in-law is a wonderful watercolor painter.

Violent, too.

True, you sometimes have to look for the violence, but it's there. Well, it's not always there. But sometimes it is. Okay, it's there only in one particular painting. This one. When my m-i-l (shorthand courtesy of Justcurious) first displayed this painting years and years ago, I was thunderstruck that she would paint something so violent--here a wounded bloody bunny hiding in the bushes, waiting out its last few minutes alive on this planet with a quiet dignity. Normally she paints landscapes and western wooden fences and flowers and waterfalls. She brings an original eye and hand to these themes, and most people find her paintings artistically skillful and morally very uplifting. As she says, the world is plenty busy with ugliness; she wants to contribute beauty.

And that's admirable even if it's not exactly my own personal credo. My credo is more like this: Make your viewer cry--if from beauty, fine, but if not from beauty than from whatever is at hand. Which often means eyeballs, hands, and bees.

Okay, that's ridiculous. That's not my credo. Please.

(It is.)

I didn't see my interpretation of the bloody rabbit painting as much as an interpretation per se as a statement of the obvious--the painting clearly depicts a bloody dying rabbit dying with dignity. As a result, I didn't hesitate to share my take of the painting with my mother-in-law. After all, she's the one who chose to bring such carnage into the world.

Me: "Mom, all I can say is....wow. I confess to being astonished with your artistic departure here. It's a real stretch, and I'm just blown away that you'd depict suffering so purely, so unapologetically, and without blinking. I am MOST impressed. Bravo."

Her: "Blood? What blood? Where? No no. That's not blood! That's just the red clay dirt in the snow. The rabbit is in the woods resting, looking out, ready to explore the world. This is a painting about adventure!"

Me: "But the bloody rabbit is surely dying, right?"

Her: "That's not blood! It's a perfectly healthy and happy little rabbit. I'm the artist, right?"

Me: "But the artist doesn't have the final say on its meaning once it's in the public domain. The painting must speak for itself, finally. The rabbit is dying. Let it be a poor dying rabbit. Please. For me?"

Her: "You silly guy."

Me: "Anyway, I'd like to own it this painting, if that's okay with you. I want this ...um, health and happiness in our home. Yes, that's what I want."

Her: "Sure, it's yours."

And so we do own it.

When the family visited the Cleveland Museum of Art last summer, I saw this painting (below) and took a photo of it to show to my mother-in-law.

I don't know its real name. I call it "The healthy and happy bunny taking a little snooze and getting ready for its next adventure!"

I'm such a good son-in-law.


I take the silence on the poll to be utter condemnation of my horrible cruelty. My low low no-good meanness. My petty twisted stunted stinkfoot stump of a soul.

I am so ashamed. So very ashamed. You remember Elmer Fudd at the end of "What's Opera, Doc?" after he has slain happy ol' clever lovable Bugs Bunny?

"What have I done….??

I’ve killed the Wabbit.

Poor wittle bunny…

Poor wittle wabbit!!!"

(Here he collapses and bursts into uncontrollable tears of remorse and regret.)

That's me.

Oh Andy, what have I done. Forgive me???

The most underused button of my inner mental keyboard?

"Delete"

The most overused button of my inner mental keyboard?

"Send."

WAHHHHHHH!!!!!