The Arts- A Soap EPISODES 1 and 2

(will pitch to HBO)

EPISODE 1


As he descended into the basement for the umpteenth time George asked himself the perennial question: What is Art?

Satisfied he once again had a firm grasp of the answer he got down to the business at hand.

After he had placed the coffin in the hole he applied paint to the cheap pine box, lovingly brushing against the grain.

His wife would be home soon and glad to know he’d successfully resolved his current crop of issues.

She had a sculpture to finish-bit of a chore really but she wasn’t going to let down her latest client.

George, moving on to other things, had carefully screwed hardware onto an old toilet seat. It was a perfect ready-made caricature.

Martha gave a final buff to the platinum finish, put down her goggles, and headed down to make the family dinner. The kids could skip bath-time tonight.

Terry, though only fourteen, already had a firm grasp of what sold and what didn’t. He knew his “Ball and Chain” would be a sure fire hit.

The neighbor knocked on the door. He was always popping over to borrow some spice or other. George shouted at him through the windowpane: “Are you here to buy Art? I thought not. Now go away!”

Hauling his latest piece through the snow on a sled, Terry thought he’d best give his parents a call. They had, after all, funded his last installation.

“Silly?” Martha put down her spatula and headed up to her youngest daughter’s room. Knowing her she was probably off perpetrating an action some place or other.

Careful to turn on the video, Martha situated herself on the bed, put her head in her hands and sighed. Getting the family to eat together was a losing battle, let alone getting them to eat their greens.

George entered making Scwitters like utterances.
“Ah! Sausages!” he said.

“Eat up! Alfie is coming over to help us with our taxes.” Alfie was the world class darts champion who lived next door. “I’ll wear my latest creation!” said Martha defiantly.


EPISODE 2

Terry walked in to the living room and then promptly walked out again. His parents could be so embarrassing. Watercolors? What were they thinking? They’d probably had a fight the night before.

Then Silly walked in. George took out his wallet and handed her the $200 she’d asked for.
“It has to be linen and it has to be triple oil primed,” she said pompously.

Martha beamed as Silly stretched her latest canvas. “Is it going to be a comment on the financial crisis?” she said, lovingly. Silly pretended she was too busy to hear.

She could hear her father swearing downstairs.
“I told you I needed three Les Pauls, dad. One of them gets destroyed during the performance.” She imagined her dad looking at Terry meaningfully as he handed him a wad of bills. He was such a soft touch.

The local gallery owner gazed in wonder at Terry’s little marvel. “You are a Wunderkind! Your show is bound to be a sell out!”

“I’m pregnant!” said Silly as she stood in the doorway to her parent’s bedroom. She watched her parent’s jaws drop.
“No! With ideas you stupids! Ideas!”

Reaching for a can of spray paint George had to ask himself why it had taken him so long to get to this place.

“But its my gate!” said George defiantly as the policeman cuffed his hands.

At the police station Martha lined up all the cops and took pictures of them as if they were in a line up. “I’ll send you all copies,” she said as they thanked her.

Desperately he grabbed her collar.
“Just tell them I need chalk, Martha. It’ll be a comment on incarceration.”