While I may never be truly comfortable with the idea of a painting of myself, I suppose my pure love of art ultimately triumphed over humility—so thank you all for being here as I unveil this very personal piece.
A few of you have asked me why I’m on a horse. I simply thought it would add movement and nobility to the piece. As for the post-apocalyptic landscape we’re galloping through, it’s difficult to say for certain but it seems civilization needed a hero, and it looks like it found one.
You’ve probably noticed that I’m not alone on the horse. There’s a female nymph on either side of me. Are we searching for a mossy knoll to enjoy a mythological three-way? I don’t know the answer to that but I imagine it’s a possibility judging by the way they’re looking at me.
Those of you who know me well may be surprised by the near absence of clothing on my body. Through this artistic journey, I’ve learned the importance of expanding my boundaries of modesty, and also that I look weirdly at ease in a sequined headscarf.
If I possess the legs of a horse, as this portrait would indicate, does the horse that I’m riding become redundant? The short answer is yes, I suppose it does. The long answer is that Centaurs, like me, are at the very top of the equine hierarchy and are typically transported by lesser horses. So that’s how that works.
If you come a little closer you will see that I am depicted as having three penises. Of course I’m not insinuating that I actually have three penises or even two. I have one. This is called symbolism. Is it symbolic in the sense that making love to me feels like I have three penises? Again, I can’t answer that, but probably, yeah.
Closest to the nymph in the purple bra, you’ll notice a shady looking hitchhiker motioning to us for a ride. Clearly we have no intention of stopping for him. Painting or no painting, that’s just a rule I have.
Why am I carrying a chimpanzee in one arm and why does this chimpanzee bear the face of James Caan? That’s actually not James Caan, that’s my father who looks a hell of a lot like him. Remember, this painting’s purpose is to capture the essence of my life, and my father and chimps are huge parts of who I am today. In my other hand you’ll notice a small painting of James Caan. That one actually is him. I’m a huge fan of his work.
Is that familiar looking blue warehouse burning in the background, an IKEA? Yes it is. This scene is a commentary on my distaste for the material excess in our society. You can make out several looters exiting the flaming building, and in the far corner, two aliens struggling in vain to put together a media cabinet.
Who is that in the Trans Am riding alongside my horse and where did they get gas during an apocalypse? First, one can only assume there’s a black market for gas, and second, I had a Trans Am when I was a teenager, so it’s plausible that a younger version of myself is behind those tinted windows—perhaps serving as an existential metaphor of the transitory nature of life. Or perhaps the younger me is pointing the way to a nice spot for my three-way with the elvish hotties. Art is open-ended like that.
I’m sure many of you have other questions about the piece, for instance, what inspired me to use the ceiling of this Olive Garden as my canvas? Let’s go ahead and pass those breadsticks around the horn and I’ll tell you all about it.