The Velvet Pedophile

The Velvet Pedophile
Originally uploaded by scribecalledsteff.

GayBoy and I have a wager of sorts. This ugly-ass black velvet painting you see inset here? That’s mine.

Now, I have a fine array of art––not including this dated thing. However, this one does have a soft spot in my Grinch-sized heart. It’s a throwback to my childhood––I can remember it hanging above our brown tweed sofa when I was an anklebiter.

It was engagingly hideous then, too.

It was the first piece of art my mom and dad ever bought together. GayBoy calls it “The Velvet Pedophile” on account the woman looks so small and fragile next to this lumbering man.

Now, this has never hung in my home. God willing, it never will. Not unless it's a really, really big house, and then I'll get my Elvis table back from HairBoy (for lack of a better name) and put it all together in the same room, call it an ode to '70s kitsch. The Elvis table, that's another story for another day. This was a dude in the Yukon who was abducted by aliens (I don't make the news, man) who informed him he had to continue Elvis' work, so the dude starts dressing in sequinned polyester, buys a convertible Caddy, and glues angels all over it–-and he's an artist, right? He paints goldpans for tourists and coffee tables for "select locals." With sponges. I had one. Like I said, another long complicated story, because I haven't even told you about the police yet.

I do digress. Anyhow. I got the painting from my dad since he's remarried to a woman who actually has tastes (yay, stepmom!) and kind of really politely suggested I might want it for "sentimental" reasons. And because I'm a sap, she's right. I just don't want to actually have to look at it. A conundrum, I thought. What to do?

Well, GayBoy loves retro things. He has the ‘60s pole-lamps, would probably kill for a tweed sofa, loves his big rattan scoop chair. So I thought: Ask GayBoy. I asked him if he wanted it and he gaped in a mock horror. He stammered.

The short version: It’s torn. On the bottom left, you might see spots where there’s more red? That’s the frayed canvas. It must have been torn at some point, ‘cos there’s now three tears.

We have a wager. If I can repair it somehow and make it look good, GayBoy will put the Velvet Pedophile in a sacred spot in his home––the Den of Shag.

I thought there was one tear. But now there’s three. I don’t think I can fix it. I have some ideas, linen tape, jiffy markers, etc. We’ll see. I’m... crafty. And neurotic. Often a successful combination.

Do I fail? Do I overcome all odds? Does the Velvet Pedophile return to its past glory? Does GayBoy take the Den of Shag down a notch? Stay tuned as this exciting drama unfolds, next on Pimpin’ Up The Paintin’.