The Creepy Clown Painting
Sorry, Mom.
Yeah, we grew up with this clown on our living room wall. We were all creeped out by it, except for my mom, who loved it.
My mom always wanted an original clown painting, and my dad obliged by gifting her this number, painted by an odd character who rented office space from him. I was really young at the time, so I’m not sure if the artist used the space to paint, or for other purposes. Regardless, I remember him being thought of as a bit of an oddball (by my parents).
Anyway, I respected the technique of the painter, despite the subject of the piece, or the reputation of the artist.
The painting was a fixture in our household growing up, and was moved to their other residence as my parents downsized. After they moved to a smaller place, the painting became more prominently displayed. We all still hated it, but came to accept it.
So, Mom got sick. In the end, we had hospice care for her at home, where she passed.
We were all there when she died, or shortly thereafter. Moments after paying his respects to our dead mother in the bedroom, my brother came into the living room, yanked the painting off the wall, and motioned that he was going to plunge it into his knee, destroying the painting.
