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I'm afraid the works by Koko and Michael, two of the famous "talking" apes (especially Michael's haunting representation of his dog "Apple", in which he only used the blacks and whites of Apple's coat) might be too pricy.

However, there's an intriguing mention of another artist who may be in our price range in this other article I found about Congo, as follows:

The title of the English translation of Lenain's book -- Monkey Painting -- is unfortunate because, apart from a capuchin monkey named Pablo, all major non-human primate artists have been apes.

Must. Find. Pablo.

I've never bought any chimp art, but I confess that I've bought some chump art in my time...

Give a monkey some paint and he'll paint for days. Teach him how to work with an artist's agent and he'll paint forever (or at least until the bananas stop rolling in).

The only art I've ever possessed has been the type that hangs on the refrigerator with magnets, and I ain't about to start gettin' all high-falutin' now by hangin' some on the walls.

A capuchin monkey? Monkeys can take Holy Vows now?

This new Pope is certainly makng some changes, what what?

Monkeys drinking cappuccino? Man, they've gone all yuppie on us. I remember when monkeys would drink caramel-feces-macchiatos.

Or boilermakers.

Monkey installations are the sort of high-brow twaddle that really gets up my nose. Some effete orangutan puts eighty-seven teevees showing static in a white room and I'm supposed to be impressed? Well, screw you, Mr. Art School Monkey. Screw you.

Twaddle.

I just wanted to write the word twaddle.

I'm sorry, miss, I believe I've got my poppycock in your twaddle.
So sorry, there.

monkeys would drink caramel-feces-macchiatos.

also known as "crappucinos."

Poopycock? Twaddle? Balderdash.

"I'm sorry, miss, I believe I've got my poppycock in your twaddle."

I now pronounce you husband and wife.

Best damn justification I've seen yet for having hot hot interspecies sex in the dim light of early morning while coming down after a drubken shambling Markov-chain barcrawl, kept awake by snorting lines of crushed Ritalin off a seried of filthy divebar toilet-tank lids.

~torture that sentence until it squeaks, commodore wonderchicken!~

-d +s

I've been dribking again.

Like all my other relationships, stavros only remembers to stop by when he's three sheets to the wind.

::cries::

*zombie-thrusts breastfondaine jazzhands, stumbles, folds, passes out, is utterly unworthy of the Pussy*

::cries::

::wonders if it would work if she propped stavros up in a papasan chair::

It's never worked for anyone else, but go ahead and give it a whirl, dana.

I met Handsome Dick Manitoba tonight. He was cool. he dug my Dictators t-shirt, mentioned richard price and laughed at a bad ethnic joke he overheard me teling somebody on the sidewalk. I suppose I can ie happy now.

Are you still drying your fingernails the old-fashioned way?

You poor pitiful loser.

Better link.

Also, one of the many wonderful pictures which I have already saved to use in a later thread of my own, when you have all forgotten this little exchange. Bwah-ha-ha.

Hell, I'll do it now.

After all, the lesser panda thread from earler today isn't exactly rolling in the comments, I've got unlimited internet access for the time being and unused flickr upload capacity for the month, and I can look for a job tomorrow, right?

A note about posting images:

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