(Beginning of long story--->)About eight years ago, I was back home visiting family, and one weekend, my brothers and I went with my dad to spend the day in Monterey and Carmel. While we were in Carmel, we decided to check out gallery row. To give you some insight on my dad, he can be one of those unfiltered dad's that will just say whatever he's thinking at the time. Even if you're in a really quiet gallery where no one else is talking. Anyway, we stopped into one gallery, and they happened to have some of those Fabergé type eggs that were painted up and bedazzled-really fancy and expensive eggs that tourists love to drool over. I didn't know they had the eggs because I was on the OTHER SIDE of the gallery. Now, my dad loves to figure out how things are made and put together, which makes sense, because he builds houses for a living. Oh yeah, and guess what, his oldest son happens to be an artist. That being said, as soon as my unfiltered, thinking dad, kind of figured out how these eggs were put together, he had no hesitation in yelling across the gallery, "HEY AUGER! LOOK AT THESE EGGS! YOU CAN DO THIS! THIS IS EASY!" As I made my red faced, walk of shame across the gallery to see what the fuss was about, my dad continued on about how painting eggs would make me lots of money etc, etc.
Me:"Yeah sure dad, where am I going to get and egg???"
Dad:"Oh I know a guy. He raises ostriches and lives across the street from me."
(Of course he knows a guy. What was I thinking.)
For the rest of my trip, all I heard about was the ostrich egg, and how I can make money painting on eggs. All I did was nod my head in agreement thinking that was the last of it. Flash forward a few weeks while I'm back in Seattle, and I get a knock at the studio door with a package. I don't have to tell you what was in the package, but imagine the surprise on me and my studio mate's faces as I pulled out a big ostrich egg. We half expected a baby Raptor to crash through the twelve yolk ostrich egg. I related the story to them, and we had a good laugh, but I never got around to painting it. I think it was the intimidation of a painting on a round surface, combined with the thought, "What the hell do you paint on an egg???"
EVERY time I would go back home, the first question out of my dad's mouth would be, "Did you paint the egg?" The reply was always no, because I really couldn't think of anything to paint on that damn egg that would make sense to me.
One trip back home (I know, long story, bare with me.) I was riffling through my dad's VHS tapes that he bought at the flea market, (Yes, the man is old school, and loves haggling for those deals.) and he had a stack of Marx brother's movies. All those years of watching Clint Eastwood movies with my dad- I never knew he was a big Marx brothers fan. For the rest of the night we youtubed old Marx bros scenes, and I finally knew what was going to go on the egg.
Anyway, that was about eight years ago. I thought it would be a good father's day gift this year and more importantly, would lift the curse of the twelve yolk ostrich egg off my shoulders. Unfortunately only the first part of that sentence is true. Now my dad wants to get me MORE eggs so that I can paint super heroes on them, and make tons of money. I should have known better.