Maybe Too Much Cadmium Yellow?

I knew when I hit the top of the stairs which one belonged to my brother. Last weekend we went out to get what amounted to a little culture. My younger brother was exhibiting his new neon sculpture as part of an open house at our local arts community, The Crucible. From across the vast warehouse filled with various objects d' art, I was able to correctly identify the piece that he created. More to the point, I was able to discern his from a number of other "illuminated gas sculptures." I confirmed it was his by checking out the card taped beneath, with the artist's name and the price. This one was for sale! When I told him about my little triumph, he was as surprised as I was. We had lived through a number of his other "periods."
I was quite fond of the time that he spent "freeing paint." He was a day-glo Jackson Pollock that churned out masterpieces of lines and dots on anything that would hold still long enough to be splattered. He was even kind enough to design a banner and matching T-shirts for my Trivia Bowl team, The Renegade Poodles From Hell. They were distinctive not just in appearance, but also by weight. So much paint was freed to make each shirt, they probably could have stopped a slug from a .45 at close range.
Then there were paintings of neon signs. And playground oddities. And silhouettes created from old baking sheets. I was lucky enough to be on the receiving end. Each time a new piece arrived at my house, it would usher in a new phase of creativity. I was pleased and happy to accept his first functional neon sculpture. Now I could see all that creative fury in three dimensions, and inside it glowed.
Today I can say that my younger brother is a professional artist. People pay him for the shapes that he makes in his head and forms with his hands. Today is my brother's birthday. Whaddya say we all go out and free some paint in tribute?