The American Spectator

“They say. That’s the point. Who are they? When did they say it? You see, we were busy while they were deciding for us. We were fighting World Wars, depressions, ideological battles, and the old wolf at the door. When we finally got a moment and caught our breath, there they were, holding up some god-awful art and some god-awful writing, and saying to us, ‘See? This is what’s good. And if you don’t believe it, just ask the guy who got rich off all those wars and depressions and who just paid 70-million dollars for it!”

I have heard that Picasso sometimes sniggered at the prices people would pay, and he ground them out like popcorn.

“This chance to revalue, it shouldn’t stop with art. We should look at all of it, with the elitist price tags off. Value what speaks to us, what tugs at that little pit in the stomach, what says ‘this is true’ to us. Or even, and I’d go that far, that looks so real that we want to touch it. Remember what old Charlie Russell said after his wife moved to California and began to get recognition for his works?”

What’d he say, Uncle?

“Said all of a sudden he was getting ‘dead man’s prices.’ And he was man enough, and artist enough, to be amazed. Now, who were you about to call when this started out?”

I forgot.

“Then get me the Oslo information operator, please.”