Pablo Picasso Was No Asshole

Pablo Picasso’s career spanned decades, highlighted by GUERNICA depicting the fascist bombing of the Basque city.

I saw the anti-war painting once.

Maybe at the Modern Art Museum in New York.

His ‘blue’ period painting were easier to hang on a wall than his Goya knock-off, but I'd love an Picasso, for the only valuable piece of art in my possession was a dubiousdrawing of Jean-Michel Basquiat, but I do have Jonathan Richman’s PABLO PICASSO on CD.

“Pablo Picasso was never an asshole.”

In 2011 ninety-nine paintings and prints went on view at Larry Gagosian gallery. The queue numbered in the hundreds. The sidewalk was slick with a cold rain. I walked up to the front door. The guest list madame asked for my name.

“James Steele. Dublin. I’m not on the list. I never am.”

She regarded my attire.

A ten year-old Calvin Klein suit and a shirt tailored in Bangkok with an English tie.

“Let him in.” She motioned to the security guard.

“Thanks.”

I entered the art hangar. People greeted each other with old embraces. I spotted LR. She saves paintings. Her brother Danny was a fisherman and we had once shared a girlfriend.

“What do you think about the paintings?” the art restorer asked looking over my shoulder at the entrance. She was expecting friends.

“Haven’t seen any yet.” I knew nothing about this exhibit, having been invited by the lustrous Adrian Dannett, interlocutor extraordinaire to the Ignorattti.

“These predate his death in 1973.” She pointed to the paintings on the wall. The style was recognizably Picasso, almost as if he had devoted the last years of his life to huffing glue.

"Nice." I wandered around the gallery without finding a single painting to hang on the walls of my Fort Green Observatory. A few of the drawings were acceptable, but I’m happier with my little Basquiat drawing, which he had done a month before his death.

Three-Ear-Cat.

I love it, then again Jean-Michel was never an asshole either.

To hear PABLO PICASSO WAS NOT AN ASSHOLE, please go to the following URL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k43XjuhInkU

I’ll never understand why this song never hit it big on the Christian radio stations.

Speedos pour Le Cote d'Azur

I love the South of France.

Women go topless and no one really gawks at them.

The food is sublime and the Mediterranean changes color throughout the day and night.

Pure paradise, except during 'le Grand Depart', when tens of millions of French and Germans and Scandanavians and Brits pile into their cars for a vacation of the eternal Cote d'Azur. Most are drawn to the beaches and every day men slip into their Speedos and even skimpier bathing gear.

Speedos by Fabo.

A cod piece.

My friend Dave was in Antibes. My longtime friend called to gloat and I asked, "Are you wearing Speedos?"

"Why would I wear Speedos?" ughed Dave.

"For some action."

The South of France was renown for one-night stands and even-shorter liaisons.

No Speedos."

"Suit yourself, but even Pablo Picasso wore Speedos."

The dead painter had a museum in Antibes.

"Yeah, right." Dave chortled a laugh and hung up. He could afford to be happy on the Cote d'Azur, while I sat on the roof of the Fort Greene Observatory. At least I know one thing.

Pablo Picasso wore speedos.

And I'm not beyond going au natural in Goa.