Nom de Plume

My mother runs an art gallery out of her house; all the pictures on the wall have not-so-discreet price tags tacked to their frames. No one’s immune. She even sold Steve a tinga tinga painting when we visited her in Bucharest three and a half years ago–but insists that she gave him the “family price.” As she says, “I must deal to support my habit.”

She’s actually supporting her habit very well, despite a somewhat whacky pricing scheme. Essentially, the more she likes a picture, the higher she prices it to discourage people from plonking down the cash and spiriting away her favorites.

But I just got this e-mail:

Someone is interested in buying my Lenin portrait. I don’t think he had figured the price–$1125 and not a cent less and plus tax–so maybe I won’t lose it.

Yes, my mother has a portrait of Lenin, scavenged (if I remember correctly) from the Soviet cultural center in Sierra Leone after the fall of the Iron Curtain.