Toilet paper is cheap and mundane—an everyday product to perform a menial and unpleasant task. But this has been a bizarre year and I find that nothing could be more emblematic of 2020, the coronavirus era, than a roll of toilet paper.
How many conversations were had over the quandary of toilet paper hoarding? Has anyone made sense of it yet? I have not.
I was shocked when I saw that the entire toilet paper aisle at my local grocer with shelves wiped clean, signs posted to limit the number of packs per customer, even if available. The media reported that almost every grocery store in the USA, Canada, and the UK were sold out, with some Australian stores hiring armed guards to control the paper frenzy.
But with worldwide pandemic, the question is still unanswered: why toilet paper? It is easier to understand hand sanitizer, disinfectants, or bottled water. But toilet paper has never been a staple of imminent emergency—people evacuating for Hurricane Rita did not fill their trunks with Charmin. And toilet paper offers no special protection against transmission of the virus.
A favorite meme featured a man sitting with his doctor who tells him that he has tested positive for coronavirus, to which he answers, “That’s impossible. I have twenty cases of Costco water and 200 rolls of toilet paper.”
In another comical image, a child cries that she is hungry, to which her mother answers, “Shut up and eat your fucking toilet paper.”
If you had told me in February that the world economy would flounder, that the United States would shutter businesses and order citizens to stay home, I would have been incredulous. Accepting that, I would have never imagined that toilet paper would become a phenomenon of its own with YouTube videos documenting fistfights between soccer moms in the tissue aisle of Kroger or weave-pulling throw downs when a palette of toilet paper is wheeled out at Costco.
It happened in 1973—although not to this hysteric and historic degree. It was a strange time, there was Vietnam, Watergate, and worldwide fuel shortages. Johnny Carson made a joke during The Tonight Show opening monologue about a toilet paper shortage and it sparked a national paper spree. I remember my grandparents, Bob & Fay Prather, buying cases of it, storing it where they kept their luggage.
The bandwagon effect or contagion effect is, clearly, the only reason for such an unprecedented result, a collective irrationality worming its way into each and every first world brain. I was set with toilet paper—had plenty. But each time I went to the grocery store I marveled at the empty aisles. And I admit, when I discovered paper on the shelves, I bought the limit, and now have a stockpile, even some brands I do not favor.
So with toilet paper elevated to iconic status, I thought why not paint a roll.
But this was not my first time to paint something so prosaic. Fifteen years ago, or more, I made a small oil painting of a roll of toilet paper for my powder room door—an ornate gilded frame set it off nicely. And it was a big hit with guests—very unexpected to have a roll of toilet paper framed like a French masterpiece. Almost every visitor gave accolades to the unexpected little treasure and I eventually sold it to someone.
About the same point in time, 2005, Franny Koelsch Jeffries, a gallery owner in Houston, visited my home and studio to see my work. The toilet paper roll was the only painting she loved and suggested a series of them. But I was reluctant to associate my God-given talents with the wiping of an ass.
But from that point I included the depiction of a roll when showing still life paintings in a gallery setting. And my toilet paper roll paintings can be spotted in a handful of restrooms across the gulf coast. A prominent attorney in Louisiana, Wendell Miller, a major collector of my work, bought my red one (probably my best prior to 2020) from an exhibit at the Zigler Art Museum in 2008, making the comment, “Why not, I’ve heard people say that I’m full of shit.”
Santa Fe gallerist and art collector Wade Wilson acquired a painting that he hung at eye level across from a toilet. He jovially confessed that, on martini blurred occasions, he’d lunge for it, needing a fresh roll.
Like millions of other Americans, I was furloughed from my job at the beginning of April. It was hurtful since I have always been a hard worker and have always been employed. But unlike millions of other Americans, I do not go stir crazy when I am home alone. I value the time to myself and aside from hammering away daily at the great American novel, I make artwork.
As a culture, elevating toilet paper to a national phenomenon is ridiculous, and so too is elevating it as a subject of art. Additionally, there is whit to an old fashioned frame, it’s like if Rembrandt painted a roll of toilet paper.
Even though I still wonder how hoarding toilet paper began, I truly believe in its value as a symbol of the times. A friend in Louisiana commissioned a drawing for a graduating senior with the caption “Never Forget 2020” across the bottom.
Grocery stores have now restocked their shelves and I notice that the toilet paper aisles are almost back to normal. And who knows what the future holds. But no matter what may come, nothing will be as enigmatic as the hoarding of toilet paper.
When social distancing ends, portraits of people wearing masks could be fun. But given the way 2020 has evolved, let us at least pray that my next series of paintings will not be Murder Hornets.
In the meantime, support small artists during this time of economic uncertainty. And add one of my pieces to your collection.
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(Measurements represent the canvas size, not the overall measurements as framed. Custom work and other pieces than those shown may also be available.)