Greetings from cold and rainy Kirkwall, Scotland, at the northern tip of Great Britain. The wife and I are on a cruise for our wedding anniversary.  Forty-four years after pleading her to marry me, here we still are hitting it.   

From here we will chug our way down the eastern side of Scotland and England, with a stop at the St. Andrews’ golf course, before finalizing in London. Other than bragging about St. Andrews, I told you all that so you might have an idea about why I would be at an art auction on a Monday in June.

We like to attend the auctions to marvel at the amount of money that can be paid on something that is so subjective. I’m mindful that when it comes to artwork, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But I often wonder what happened to the eye of that poor beholder that would possess them to pay a king’s ransom for spectacularly ordinary art. A woman paid a ginormous sum for what I felt was an exceptionally bland painting by an artist I never heard of. She would later buy another one for a slightly less than ginormous sum, consisting of blander art.  I wondered if she buys Hunter Biden works too.

The auctioneers even had art by Salvador Dali that commanded lots of money. I’m writing a novel with Dali in the story. My research led me to consider his surrealist art in bad taste, to put it mildly. I also learned he was one weird, narcissistic individual, to put it crudely. Just and opinion, don’t send me hateful email. Fortunately, no Dali work was put out for bid, the art dealers probably figuring a bunch of geriatrics on a boat aren’t going to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on odd art.

Mr. Auctioneer was quite wordy, a situation that does not bode well for us folks with narcolepsy. He said ten words when one would do, attempting to create a heightened anticipation in hopes the crowd would spend more money. Don’t know if his actions did anything for anyone else, but I nodded off nine times during the auction. I was prevented into going into a full nap mode by my brides sharp elbows.

I don’t know about other cruise lines, but Princess seems to favor art by Michael Goddard and Peter Max. (For those that know a little about art, how old were you when you found out Peter Max is still alive.)

 Michael Goddard in an interesting artist, considered the rock star of the art world. This is not only because of his popularity, but also due to his appearance. With long hair usually held in place by a bandana, armloads of tattoo’s and enough jewelry to make women jealous, he looks like he’s the drummer in a rock and roll band.

Godard’s artwork is unique, instantly recognizable to anyone even slightly interested in art as he’s the creator of the olive character’s. All these years later, there isn’t much he hasn’t painted olives participating in, including one olive getting a tattoo from another olive.

My favorite Godard is called, “Party Like a Rockstar.” I have included an illustration with this commentary, probably breaking patent infringements. Eight rock star olives appear in a full tilt boogie on stage in front of a roaring crowd, surrounded by banks of loudspeakers, fire eruptions and a cascade of strobe lights. Godard even added comical flourishes by painting a couple of bra’s flung towards the stage.

One can buy inexpensive posters of Godard work or actual paintings going for hundreds of thousands of dollars. I had my eye on a piece… right up until the exuberant young lass told me the price. It was double what we paid for our first house! My opinion is all art is overpriced and steeped in money laundering schemes, ala Hunter Biden, but what do I know, I’m from Chebanse.

Godard has another side though most might not be aware of. In 2006 he lost his 16-year-old daughter to brain cancer. From that tragedy, he started a new line of paintings, using angels, usually seen as part of the splash or pour of wine. Even some olives got angel wings. Godard has since devoted his work to philanthropic causes, particularly St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. As Sharon Osborne said of Godard’s artwork, when you buy a Godard, you’re contributing to St. Jude’s.

Well, that’s all I got as it’s time to go make a dent in that buffet again. They’re going to have to roll me off this boat.