Dear Satan

This is what happens when Auto Correct takes over your letter to Santa. The jolly old overweight SOB has employed the services of Satan to determine who has been naughty or nice. I never asked you for much all these 6 decades and come to think of it anything I really wanted I had to buy myself.
So if this is the way you’re going to treat me Bad Satan on one of the happiest years of my life I hope you get your fat keester stuck up somebodies chimney. I hope it is -22 outside and a cute little elf has to tear open your britches and give you an enema to get ya unstuck. I just hope he has a hellava long hose since you will have been chowing down on cookies, booze and hot chocolate from around the world. It will be what I would call a quadrouple turbo blast that will certainly contaminate the people’s Grand Room.
After all these years of believing in Santa I’m done with you and what you have cooked up with the Devil to make us all want a bunch of crap we don’t need.
I don’t need any more art in my house but I want it. I want it like a junkie wants crack.
I had a meeting at Shane Norrie Contemporary today with Shane, Elizabeth and long time friend Shirley Clifford to discuss a wood fire show we are going to have next November at SNC. What a classy gallery to deal with. They gave both me and Shirley a gift to show appreciation for our supporting the gallery with our work. Hey that’s a switch, eh! The gallery thanks the artist. The gallery ordered in a lovely lunch and we washed it down with a nice Pino Grigio. Civilized! Very civilized,

So for my Secret Satan here are some pieces at SNC I lust for this Christmas. I love these hand built wood fired scoops by Heather Schmit, the little red house plate by Leslie MacInally and I do love Mary Philpott’s crows. 
Me, me, me.
Want, want, want.
More, more, more.

Poetry is hard.


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