“I scream, you scream. We all scream for ice cream.”
Before calling somebody, I asked Uncle Pundit what that was all
about.
“The ‘Scream.’ They stole it again! Eddie Monk’s picture.”
I believe they call it a painting, Uncle. By Edvard Munch. And
it was a different one from that stolen before. Only this one
wasn’t stolen in the strict sense. It was taken by force of arms
from a Norwegian museum.
“So you know about it? That the Washington Post quotes
an unnamed ‘art expert’ as saying it could be worth as much as 70
million! Now is our chance. Our golden opportunity.”
To what? Buy it?
“Buy it? Who in hades would buy it? No, to devalue it. To
explain to the world that it has been conned for generations by the
elitists who pretend to see something in that god-awful thing that
is valuable. Norway now could surpass its usefulness in World War
Two!
“Don’t reach for that phone. Lemme explain. Monk, or
‘Munch’ if you got a bad cold, whipped out four of these
in the 1890s. Said he had the crap scared out of him one night on a
bridge over a fjord, so he painted this spooky thing with its hands
up to its ears and mouth open yelling. Did four of ‘em. There was
lots of silent screaming in those days; the fear there was no God,
no order, existentialism just catching on. You know. Monk caught
‘em just right. The beginning of Expressionism. That’s what a
3-year-old does to embarrass his Mom in a crowded department
store.”
Am I to gather you are not an exponent of the Expressionist
Movement and that the ‘Scream’ does not speak — or should I say
‘yell’ at you?
“Damn straight. And not to a lot of other people either. Folks
wondering which side of their new Picasso goes up. But now is our
chance. Norway’s chance. The world’s chance. What they do is make
an offer on the front page of the Oslo newspaper.
Reward for the return of the ‘Scream’ taken at gun point Sunday
from the Munch Museum. 20 dollars cash. No questions
asked.”
Uncle Pundit, are you crazy? They say the work is worth at least
70 million!
“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.”
