On paintings and powerdrills
Half a year ago, on the 18th of March, a high school friend of mine - Cedric Visser - invited me to his exposition.
He's a painter, you see.
Now I hadn't actually seen any of his works since high school, but I really wanted to see what he'd been up to, so I happily RSVP'd.
I was not disappointed; all of his paintings were bloody brilliant, and I happily put a bid on one of them. It's called Broccostella, for the village/little road it was painted next to, and it's one of those pictures you can really get lost in.
But, when I took it home, I cound one small flaw in my plan - I don't own a power drill, and hanging it on a wall really did require one such.
So, like a true musician, I displayed it for the better part of a half year... on a music stand.
But last week I finally managed to borrow a drill (that is, I remembered to ask the friend I know owns one...) and now it has pride of place, right above the Moose that Guards the Keys, on the bit of wall that I always stare at when I'm typing.
Cedric, meanwhile, is once again somewhere in Italy with his van, easel and paint (oil paint as well, this time, which according to him was a mistake because while beautiful, those paints are also rather... pungent...).
I hope, before he's back, I'll find another bit of wall I need to hang something on.
It may require moving house...