MOBA on boston.com

Here's a great little article, complete with audio slideshow (a must-see, but alas, Gina isn't featured), about the Hackneyed Portraits exhibit at MOBA: So bad, it's good

Gina Unveiled (Part 3 of the Saga)

Erin did a fine job of representing us at the gala opening of “Hackneyed Portraits” at MOBA. She also provided the pix below. I interviewed her about the experience.

M. J.: Set the scene for me. What was the event like? Who was there? What was happening?

Erin: Curator Mike Frank, wearing a tux, Louise Sacco, the Permanent Acting Interim Executive Director, and Garen Daly, Director of Special Events, were there and all were very welcoming. I think there were maybe about 20 other patrons of the bad arts milling about the gallery and looking at the works. Mike had chosen some great background music for the event – instrumental jazz accompanied by loons, and yodeling of the classics. As I made my way around the room, I definitely caught wind of the buzz in the air, “We have a donor here!” Tee hee!

M. J.: What’s this I read about “traditional MOBA snacks”? What did they serve?



Erin: Louise supplied the purple and green Kool-Aid and cheese curls as well as other chips and fruits. It was all very colorful and festive, in a garishly neon way. I stayed away from the cheese curls – I assumed that they weren’t vegan, but come to think about it, they may have been made with a chemical cheese food substance that wasn’t a dairy product at all.

M. J.: What about our painting? How were people reacting to it?

Erin: Well, when I got there, I immediately began searching for Gina, but I didn’t see her hanging among the 20-some other portraits. Turns out she was covered with a burgundy cloth. When the official part of the ceremonies started, Mike called me up and asked me to read the description as he unveiled the painting: "Frightening non-kosher demons haunt this blonde, blue-eyed beauty in a see-through blouse." Some people gasped, others laughed, all applauded. I felt so proud and honored. A woman came up to me later and asked if I’d be putting on my resume that I’m a patron of MOBA. I think I will! Woo hoo! (Blogger’s note: Erin was raised among mild-mannered Midwestern Episcopalians, and she never uses salty language or is the least bit sarcastic. “Tee hee” and “Woo hoo” are genuine indicators of great glee and enthusiasm.)



M. J.: What have you learned about the bad arts as a result of this experience? Do you have any advice to pass along to other would-be patrons?

Erin: This whole saga, from the acquisition to the unveiling, has taught me to trust my taste in bad art. I was telling Curator Mike that, when we first saw the painting at the flea market, we recognized its elements of badness but didn’t know if it was MOBA-worthy. “How could you not know?” he asked me repeatedly. I can now say with confidence that I will truly know bad art when I see it. As Mike says, “I don’t let good technique stand in the way of bad art.”

MOBA report delayed (but on the way)

I know, dear readers, that you've rushed with eager anticipation to my blog this morning to read the full account of the unveiling (yes!) of The Id and Ego of Gina (official title) at MOBA. After the gala reception ended last night, Erin phoned in a gleeful, albeit brief, report. But now she's off to Atlanta for a conference and the full report, with pix, will have to wait a week. If she has decent wifi access where she's staying, we may be able to get some work done on it sooner. In the meantime, you can cool your jets by reading Anju and Rahul's blogs of their summer adventures in India.

The Hand-Off (Gina, Part 2)

This part of the saga seems a bit anticlimactic, especially following last week's gripping tale of the acquisition of Gina's Fever Dream. I've watched enough episodes of Antiques Roadshow to know the importance of provenance and an unbroken chain of possession, so I provide this as documentation: The painting, wrapped in a black garbage bag to seal it from today's torrential rains, rode to Jamaica Plain in the Mini Cooper, from which it was transferred to Erin's Toyota Echo and transported to the home of Mike, MOBA's curator. As Mike wasn't home, we left it on his porch and left a message on his voice mail to tell him of the delivery and to caution him not to mistake the black plastic bag for trash and put it on the curb on collection day.

We also made a visit to MOBA's permanent home in the basement of the Community Theater in Dedham. In my mind's eye, I had pictured the gallery to be a bit bigger, brighter and cleaner. It's somewhat dim and dank, but endearingly so, despite the pooling water on the floor that emanated from somewhere near the men's room or perhaps from the week of precipitation. I've posted some pictures on the Flickr page. It will be a proud day when we see Gina's portrait hanging beside those of George, Lucy, Pablo Presley and the others in MOBA's fine collection.

A Teaser to Gina, Part 2

We heard back from Mike at MOBA the other day:

Dear MJ,

We would like to open our next show "Hackneyed Portraits From Our Collection" sometime in May. It may not happen until June but it would be nice to have the painting earlier if possible. You and Erin would be honored guests at the Opening - whenever it does occur.

Thanks,
Michael Frank, Curator-in-Chief
Museum of Bad Art

I'll be taking the painting to Erin's house this weekend and she'll pass it off to Mike as it turns out they live quite near each other. We can't wait for the grand opening of Hackneyed Portraits, and I'll be sure to post pix and all the details when it ever does happen.

In the meantime, here's an article about MOBA for you all to read while you anxiously await the next installment of this tale: In Dedham, this museum is exhibiting 'bad' taste

Gina's Fever Dream, Part 1

This still-unfolding story had its origin last Sunday at the flea market. I was the first to see this painting, but it was Erin who voiced the question -- "Do you think the Museum of Bad Art would want it?" -- that was the true beginning of the saga. "It's bad," I replied. "But is it bad enough for MOBA?"

We asked the vendor what the price was. "Somewhat less than $20," he said. "That's about $15." We continued our horrified viewing, debating the cost, while the vendor teased Erin that she looked a bit like the girl in the painting. I took a picture of it and we walked away, still mulling over the possibility of purchasing and making a donation of it.

For the next few days, the painting haunted me. I showed the picture to a few people who shared Erin and my simultaneous attraction and repulsion. I went to MOBA's website to find out about donations of art, and learned that they accept only about 10% of what people offer and that they encourage a letter of inquiry as the first step.

To: curator@museumofbadart.org

Dear MOBA -- Last weekend at the flea market in Hadley, I saw this untitled painting by Gina. The vendor was asking $15. I'm not sure how that compares to the going rate for such a unique original work, or whether MOBA would be interested in having this work in its collection. If the painting still available next weekend, should I buy it and donate it to MOBA? Please advise.

M. J.

The reply came back the next day:

Dear MJ,

I'm like "Hello"! You should run back to the flea market and scarf this piece ASAP and submit it to MOBA, where I will be awaiting its arrival at our loading dock.

As always I remain,
Michael Frank, Curator-in-Chief

Next came the period of anxious waiting. Would the painting be at the flea market the next Sunday, or would some other patron of the (bad) arts have scarfed it before me? I forwarded Mike's e-mail to Erin, who confirmed that she was earmarking $7.50 for her portion of the purchase price. I woke up early on Sunday. No rain -- a good sign. I thought about lighting the Powerful Elvis Prayer lucky candle for good fortune at the flea market, but decided that, as the candle's had a very successful run of luck on job offers for my friends and me, it is best used for Big Things. So I consulted the online Magic 8 Ball. "Will I score the painting?" I asked. "You can rely on it," said the 8 Ball.

It's amazing the number of people who get up at the crack of dawn on Sundays to worship at Our Lady of the Field of Trash and Treasures. The place was a sea of cars when I got there a little before 8 a.m. I went down three rows before spying the vendor. The painting was still there! "I was here last week," I started, as he interrupted me with, "Oh, no." I think he thought I wanted to return something. I went on to explain that my friend and I had looked at the painting and that I'd come back to purchase it. "The price is somewhat less than $25," he said. I reminded him of last week's $15 price tag. We exchanged money for art. He told me that he felt badly about teasing Erin about her hair. "Tell her the old guy says he's sorry," he told me. "No problem," I said. I asked where the painting came from. All he could tell me about it was that it came out of a house in Springfield and that his guess was that it was painted in the 1960s. Then I cautiously told him about our plan for it. "I've been coming to this flea market every Sunday for the past 25 years," he said, "and no one has told me anything as funny as that!" He called his son over and made me repeat the story of my contact with MOBA. I told them that they'd be able to visit the painting in the museum sometime in the near future. "See you in Boston," the son said as they waved me goodbye.

Dear Mike -- I returned to the Olde Hadley Flea Market yesterday and I'm happy to report to you that Gina's fever dream is now in my possession! My friend Erin and I would like to make the donation jointly to MOBA of this unique work. I'm thinking that we could deliver it to you on the loading dock one weekend in June. Please advise as to your availability for the hand off.

As I spend more time with this work, I'm haunted by the juxtapositions of innocence and menace, the waking and the dreaming, the dark and the light. I trust it will find a welcome place at MOBA.

Looking forward to meeting you and making the donation.

Your friend in bad art,
M. J.

The next chapter in this story promises to be just as gripping as the first.

To be continued.