Van Gone

"Mommy! Did you know there was a artist who cut off his eeaw and gave it to a woman as a pwesent?"

(Playing dumb) "Did he?" 

"Yes, and also! He mawwied a diffwent woman. Aftew all that! Isn't that widiculous?"

"Yes. . .do you think she liked the present?"

"Well. She didn't mawwy him. I think she must have hated it. What a weiwd pwesent anyway!"

Word.

I explained that this was Long Ago, when people liked drama, such as body-part gifts, and that we no longer do such things.

"Good!" he said, "because what a heck?! An eeaw as a pwesent--oh my!"

He says "what a heck" instead of "what the heck," because he heard it wrong, that cutie. And he is forever saying "oh my!"

"But, do you like his art?" I asked, pulling up Starry Night on my phone. (I love Van Gogh.)

"I guess so," said Ari, "but it's over."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he's done painting it, now."

Art as the thing you experience during the creation, instead of the thing that's made? I'm in favor.