by Călin Torsan
translated from Romanian by Mihai-Andrei Fulgescu
― Mommy, mommy! See, this rock looks like one of the three piggies from the cartoons! Right?
Indeed, there was a sculpture occupying the middle of the exhibit hall that could be interpreted like this. Nevertheless, the mom went the extra mile and whispered to her boy that it’s not a rock, but a work of art.
― Mommy! But why does the wok of art have a snot at the front?
The lack of diplomacy typical to childhood launched the kid’s words without a silencer, so sculptor Pigson was able to hear the question. The opening ceremony hadn’t started yet – they were waiting for the critic who was going to oficially open the event –, so the artist found time to explain Codrin (4 years old) what creating an object means. It was also a good opportunity to get close to his mother, who was a very sexy woman.
― Hello there. What’s your name?
― My name is Codrin Mateescu and I’m 4 years old.
― Good. Nice name you have there. Let me introduce myself: my name is Anjelin Pigsy and I’m a sculptor.
The kid dropped his head to the side to ask his mother what a scluptol was. She smiled and asked him to pay attention, because the man will explain better. After the artist explained his stature to Codrin, the latter asked:
― Does it mean scluptors make the wok of art?
― That’s right, little guy. And what you see here – and I take it you believe it looks like a piggy – is one of my works. Can you read, Codrin?
― No, mister artist. I’m still young. I’m 4 years old.
The woman had a big smile: her boy was too smart. Besides, she was standing two steps away from a true creator. To be fair, she didn’t get much more than Codrin out of that piece of art, even though she didn’t really see a pig in it. Weirdly, the twisted mass ridden with some kind of thick veins reminded her of Vladimir’s manhood a bit. She and the boy were about to find out, as the master had just told them there’s a title on the label next to the sculpture, a sort of concept that drove him to make it.
― Well, ask your mom nicely to read it for you.
The woman slightly bent her knees to see the small letters properly. She knew that it was going to bring out her bottom, tightly fitting in the dress, so she turned it towards the eyes skilled in dabbling with worldly shapes. She read:
― Aristotelian context in monochromatic material subject.
Codrin dropped the toy he forgot at home.