I BLAME PARKER BROTHERS

I love art.  I suck at it, but I love it.  I enjoy looking at it, learning about it, photographing it, staring at it.  I am a sucker for art museums, but I tend to speed through them - not in hyperdrive, but not putzing along - because I want to see everything.  I need to see everything.

When I find art in unexpected places, it makes me happy: street art, a brick wall, inside an old building, on clothing, even tattoos.  I like when restaurants and coffee shops and other eateries display local art for sale.  Of course, I cannot afford to buy any of it, but still, it's fun to look at.

One time my friend and I wandered into a gallery on Newbury Street in Boston.  I had no business being in there, but I passed the place three times before my friend pushed me through the door with an exasperated, "Oh, just  go in already!"  Inside the gallery were original paintings and sketches.  Originals.  ORIGINALS.  There was a Marc Chagall sketch for sale.  If I were rich, I could own my own Marc Chagall.  There was a small piece by Salvador Dali.  Salvador Dali.  Are you even kidding me?!

But, I'm not all about high-end art or original art or street art.

I've started noticing chain art.  Yes, chain art -- art that appears inside chain stores and chain restaurants.  I know, I know -- one print/painting is the exact same in the Connecticut store as it is in the California store.  Now, though, it's a game.  It's a game that starts in DC during a recent jaunt to the nation's capital.  I start taking photos (on the sly) of chain store art.

It's kind of like playing tag.  "Look here -- where is it?  Where am I?"  It's kind of like a social media version of Where's Waldo? but with bad wallpaper and strange mass-market prints.  I have a high-art eye with a low-art sense of humor.  I suppose this makes me a walking, talking, stalking oxymoron.

I'm not remotely surprised.  One of my favorite games growing up was Masterpiece: The Art Auction Game.  I guess I can blame Parker Brothers for my poor taste.