This year’s April Fools post wasn’t a blog post here but I wanted to share it here in some form as a way of archiving it so the kids can enjoy it when they’re old enough to appreciate it! So, briefly, I made a fake blog with a fake art critic who wrote a fake post about 4-year-old Bailey’s artwork. The blog is here, but I doubt that site will be up for years so I’m pasting the thing below. My father Tim wrote it entirely, and it’s pretty damn funny.
First, a Facebook post linking to the blog:
Here’s a spectacularly weird and fun thing. Three days ago we got call from a guy called David Dachelet, a retired art critic from New York Magazine. He saw our 4-year-old daughter Bailey’s art after a mutual friend of ours in NY sent him a link to a facebook post I had made. He said he was inspired to write a little blog about it. Cool! We talked a while and he was asking all sorts of questions about Bailey, our family, etc, I sent him some more photos. And then earlier today he just sent me this link to a post about her work. It’s a little over the top but who cares! I just think it’s cool he’d even consider writing something about a 4-year-old. And our four year old! Have no idea where this will go but it’s fun to think of others out in the world seeing this stuff.
The Innocence Blitz
by David Dachelet
Beauty Alone is Relevant
Today I am going to risk a little. My reputation certainly. Perhaps my identity! Hopefully not my sanity, but time will settle that.
As an art critic, I trade in beauty. My office is to notice it, to demand it, to press my cheek against its glass house like a beggar and implore it. For that, my world, the world of art, is filled with friends and enemies. In the end, both are equally irrelevant.
(more after the jump)
(more after the jump)
Beauty alone is relevant.
And today I have found beauty harboring in a completely unexpected corner.
It happened this way: Bob Dipler, my friend and a photo editor at the NY Times, telephoned. He knows a Minneapolis photographer, he said, whose daughter might be an prodigy and wondered whether I might want to have a peek at her work. He apologized, but he wouldn’t have called unless etc. etc. There was a silence while I sought for an out, found none, and consented.
I was, thankfully, an easy prey of destiny.
He sent me a link. I viewed the pieces. I was trembling. Now I am calm enough to write, and I write with joy and gratitude in praise of an immense talent and without pride in discovery. I have been, frankly, a little humbled, a little unmanned.
The artist’s name is Bailey Garvin.
She is four years old.
I will let her work speak for itself. May it speak to you as it spoke to me.
(Bailey, incidentally, does not title her work, and has kindly given me leave to propose my own, which I have duly done.)
Storm over Chicago
A note: I interviewed Bailey’s father, Mr. Ben Garvin (one of the subjects of “Parents”) on the phone, and he was, though incredulous, generous with information. I sensed a kindly man, but one utterly ignorant of his daughter’s gifts. I must be bold here and publicly urge that he and his wife, Jessica, begin to recognize their responsibility, not merely to Bailey, but to the rest of us as well. Preserve her pieces, PLEASE, and see that she has time, opportunity, and material to explore her gifts. Please.
I end this way: in the comment section that follows, we could begin a discourse and roll through the hills and dales of structuralism and deconstruction, or whatever ism is the current vogue. But I fear we would end with the cheery admission that no one of us actually understands art and the source of its beauty, vitality, and delight.
The saints may know.
And, I think, children do.
Bailey Garvin certainly does.