New clients or the collectors from hell

The other day two women came to my house. One dragged the other to ‘buy a painting ». They are both from Norway. One is a tall blond ex-model, warrior viking. She bites the ear of her monster dog to discipline him. (god knows how she trains her four daughters, three horses, two cats, twelve goldfish and lawyer husband.)

The other was a classy, frail, elderly woman with glasses and a channel suit. At least she would have been classy if she wasn’t drunk. It’s the first client I was litterally afraid would fall down. They both were completely out of control and downed another bottle or two while they ransacked my atelier and battered down my prices. They never got too wasted for that. I of course complied; fearing for my ears or worse. I even agreed to do a portrait on commission which I NEVER do. I’m such a good puppy. I would have rolled over for them if they’d only asked.

Now all of this was apparently to show independance from the potential buyer’s husband. A way of practicing the modem ritual of revenge by shopping with a cultural twist.. But when it came time to make out a check something went wrong. She chickened out.

As they wer too drunk to drive I find myself backing her car, which resembles a large Russian tank up our long steep driveway with the Viking warrior women and painting in tow. I am on my way to meet the somewhat beffuddled and increasingly unbemused husbands.
The husband was not the viking chief with helmet and horns that I was expecting but a little old Nordic Knome with a face that looked like it was etched in copper, wisps of white hair flying out in all directions and a thin tight braid going halfway down his back. He was quite affable. It seems he’d been a school chum of Asper Jorn and had an extensive collection of his work which he bought for a song. We had a good talk. I suggested that his wife would have done better to bring him along. He said he would love to see my studio. Of course he wasn’t going to buy the one his wife picked out.

In case you’re curious the amazon’s husband is a little guy with knawed off ears. Do art dealers do this every day?