Today, your Big Red Car brings you the talented and mysterious artiste Hunter Biden who has agreed to sit down with us in his studio, take a break from his heavy painting and exhibition schedule, and chat about things.
Hunter: Look, Big Red Car, a couple of ground rules first.
BRC: Sure, Hunter, what’s on your mind?
HB: No Ukraine, Buresma, drugs, hookers, private equity, no laptop baloney — deal? Art, only art, I’m a serious artiste. Notice I put an “e” on it. So, we good?
BRC: Sounds fair. Let’s dive into it. How long have you been a serious artist?
HB: Oh, maybe a year, nah, six months. Serious? Yeah, I’m serious as a heart attack.
BRC: What was the draw? Stifled creative impulse shuttered all these years?
HB: Nah, it’s just a side hustle. I’m a hustler and a hustler got to hustle. It started as a side hustle, but my recent success — sold five paintings for $75,000 each this week in Los Angeles, fucking Van Gogh never hit a lick like that, am I right? — has turned it into my main hustle.
BRC: Have you received formal training of any kind?
HB: Took undergrad Art History in summer school, made a gentleman’s C-. Read most of an Internet blog post from Michael’s about technique and what kind of brushes are best for acrylics. I’m an acrylics guy. Get my brushes from a dude for free, pal of the Big Guy.
BRC: Speaking of the Big Guy, how’s he doing?
HB: Crushing it. No more talk about the Big Guy — I call him the Meal Ticket, but don’t tell him.
BRC: Ten percent for the Big Guy from the painting hustle?
HB: Cross that bridge when we get to it. If I can skate, Hell no. The Big Guy has his own hustle working and he never 10%s me, so if he insists, yes, but if not, let sleeping dogs lie. Feel me?
BRC: Yes. From whence do you draw your inspiration for your painting?
HB: I think about the size of my free canvases, most important thing. Look at the paints I have left, smoke some weed, and then I paint what I see in my head. You know sometimes the voices in your head are smart AF.
BRC: Somebody said you were considering painting a portrait of Donald Trump, true?
Hunter went into a fit of laughing that soon became painful as he wheezed and struggled to breathe. Luckily, he had a half full bottle of expensive tequila (Don Julio REAL, perhaps the most expensive production tequila in the world and worth it), a swig of which ended the laughter after which he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
He offered the Big Red Car a drink from the bottle.
BRC: Thank you, very gracious, but I’m working, so I better not. Again, thanks.
HB: I heard you were a funny dude, Big Red Car, but no more of that shit, I’ll literally bust a gut.
BRC: So, no Trump portrait?
HB: Nah. Maybe if I do some LSD, but no Trump portrait. Guy’s a maniac. When I do crazy shit, at least there’s drugs involved. Trump is doing it au naturel. Very weird guy.
BRC: Is it out of line if I ask you whether the election of your father was legitimate? Any cheating?
HB: Look, we’re Democrats — cheating? It’s part of our DNA, like how being an artiste is in my DNA. Not a lot, just enough to put the Big Guy in the White House. It was his turn, right?
BRC: Back to the paintings, wasn’t it your intention and didn’t you promise not to use the family name to advance your art career? In fact, didn’t both you and the Big Guy provide assurances that you wouldn’t even meet the prospective buyers?
HB: Sure, what’s your point?
BRC: You lied? Your father lied? You were at a reception for your art work this week in Los Angeles and mingled with more than 200 collectors of whom five plunked down $75,000 each to buy paintings.
Isn’t that a perfect example of corruption?
Hunter broke into another laughing fit, cured it with a quick swallow of tequila, wagged his finger at the Big Red Car.
Photo credit: BP Miller on Unsplash