"This is my mother..."

Back in 2010, when I took a trip to Guatemala, I met Alex:

Alex in his art studio in Antigua, Guatemala.

Alex owns a small (very small) restaurant that doubles as his studio in Antigua. He sells an amazing selection of specialty ice cream, such as a Merlot Strawberry mix. I met him on the way back to the hotel after dinner.

The story he told us relates to an encounter he had in Florida with another artist, Lex Cargo. Visiting Lex's website will tell you the kind of person he is. I recount this story because I found it intensely funny; I was near double-over in laughter for several solid minutes, with numerous giggle fits later on. My hope is that this version can inspire a reaction nearly half as enjoyable.

I've tried to remember the details as best I can and have added adjectives of mannerisms based on Alex's own re-enactment of the scene. Though the exactness of the language diverges from the source (as is necessary to translate an oral play-acted tale to pure text), the setup and punchline are true to the original. The "I" in the story is Alex.

--

Some time ago, I was contacted by an artist - Lex Cargo - to take part in a new art movement he was organizing, with the promise of having my art displayed as part of a show in Miami, FL. The theme for the art movement was five paintings of the same subject, each painting reflecting a different interpretation.

I chose the crucifixion of Christ. For my five interpretations, I chose:

"A mother who's lost a son" (Mary cradling Christ's dead body)

"A day's work for two soldiers" (two Roman soldiers hefting the cross)

"Waking up afterward" (Christ looking at his hand in wonderment after returning from the dead, before emerging)

"A helping hand" (One of the people who helped Christ bear his cross)

[Note: Alex told me what the fifth one was, but I've forgotten it. But you get the idea of what he was going for.]

After finishing my paintings, I traveled to Miami to meet with him and showed him my work. His reaction was a flat, "Oh, so you did the crucifixion." This was followed by an excited, "Do you want to see what I did?" I nodded yes and followed him into the adjacent room.

There were five "paintings" in a row. On each canvas, he'd pasted the same photo of his grandmother, cropped and edited to remove the background. Note that he hadn't taken the photo himself but was taking credit for it.

While the photos were identical, the canvases differed by background color. He lead me through each in turn.

First was a blank canvas. "This..." he proclaimed, breathlessly, "Is my grandmother...in air."

Next was a canvas with a red background. "And this...is my grandmother...in fire."

The third was a green background. "This...is my grandmother..."

"Earth?" I interjected, growing increasingly annoyed.

"Yesssss," he said, not catching the sarcasm and looking smugly self-satisfied.

The fourth had a blue background. "And this..."

"Water?" I asked, now with arms crossed and scowling.

"Yesssss," he repeated, still with the same expression.

The fifth canvas, however, was not another color variation. Instead, dashes had been pasted over the eyes of the photos. Around her forehead, a white headband with a red sun in the middle had been added. I blinked a few times.

"And THIS," he said, having clearly reached the climax of his presentation and wanting to make sure I knew this, "is my grandmother..."

He took an extra long pause here, as though allowing a musical crescendo, a torrent of self-praise and appreciation, to build in the background of his own mind.

"As Japanese!"

Japan. The fifth element.

I promptly took my paintings back to Guatemala with me and never spoke to him again.