bemusing musings of a bewildered brush-wielder

the easter bunny and the man in the bath robe

During this Lent season, I would invite my reader to join me in contemplating the deep theological and mythological truths of Easter.  I would suggest you now remove yourself to a quiet abode with nothing but your laptop, some Gregorian chant music, and a stick of aromatic incense, and meditate upon a masterpiece that I executed some years ago.  Reflect upon the power of this work, upon my gift as an artist, upon the ability that I have to plumb the very depths of human existence.  Behold, an exquisite piece, a gem, a masterpiece of my Easter Bunny period.

At the tender age of three and a half, perhaps four, I was struck with an existential crisis, a watershed moment of ontological ramifications, as it were.  I was undergoing deep introspection, wracked with religious fervor.  I was devouring the various texts of Augustine, Luther, and Erasmus, even delving into obscure Agnostic scrolls, trying to glean, as it were, the crux of the myth of the Easter Bunny.  Who was he?  Why did he deliver chocolate to my kitchen table, with such abundant, boundless benevolence?  Who was I, mere man, to partake of such divine delicacies, of an Easter basket bestowing bountiful blessings?

Actually, all I really remember is not understanding why on earth we had to go church.  Before I ran out the door, I grabbed my enormous Easter Bunny out of his box, and bit off his ear, clean to his bunny skull.  His loss.  But, the hare had the last laugh- he was as hollow as my heart was cold.  I cried out in consternation, bit off the rest of his head, and then tried to figure out how I might speedily ingest the rest of his frame.  No time, my dad hated being late for church, and he was beeping the horn like a devout madman.  I clearly remember licking the entire chocolate bunny from neck to toe, in my zeal.  As I got in the car, I can recall telling my siblings that I had licked my entire chocolate bunny so they’d better not touch it.

In church, I was struck by the coincidence of the fact that the Jesus man who was always in a bath robe came out of that circle tomb thing on the very same day that the easter bunny dropped off his culinary delights at my house!  Later that week, under the compunction of this powerful religious epiphany, I remember drawing this picture.  My cousin Jonathan saved this masterpiece, and twenty seven years later, which is two days ago, he texted me the photo of this drawing.  From whence cometh the bunny, to where does he traverse?  And why does he have such pain in his eyes?  Ah, it is better not to look into the bunny, for as they say, then the bunny looks into you.

The Purveyor of Shady Lenten Wares, marker and crayon on Caldor oaktag, 12″ x 24″

available at Sotheby’s, bidding begins at 1.7 million

Advertisements

4 responses

  1. The Easter bunny reminds me of Santa Claus–a dishonest way that parents amuse and bribe their children. Here are my Santa Claus thoughts:
    http://www.jochnowitz.net/Essays/NoVirgina.html
    The Easter bunny may be a lie, but all your works–bunny included–are great precisely because they’re honest.

    March 28, 2011 at 3:42 pm

  2. Sean

    Why exactly did I always get bubbles and a wiffle ball and bat?

    Theology is hard.

    March 29, 2011 at 12:14 pm

  3. DG

    Ah Easter Bunny, why did you tempt us with chocolate and silly putty? Why did Jesus give us big brothers that ate our chocolate and stole our silly putty? Even worse, bug brothers that sneaked (snuck?) silly putty into church and left it wadded under a pew at St. Martin of Tours? Easter, bunnies and brothers … sanctity and sacrilege in a nutshell.

    March 31, 2011 at 11:14 am

  4. DG

    The pain is for the silly putty.

    March 31, 2011 at 11:16 am

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s