I have a nice painting in my house. It’s also the only professional painting I own. Some of my friends really dislike it, I don’t know exactly why. Maybe it’s the use of colours, shades of orange and blue. Or maybe it’s the big eye situated in the centre of it, sometimes it reminds me of a big omelette. There’s also a blend of cubism in it which shows the painter has a perfectionist side. I’ve never known why I like this painting so much from the first time I saw it, still unfinished, with parts of the canvas untouched, bright white. Every time I visited the painter his house, for whatever reason, I caught a glimpse of the painting in progress. Discretely, for my own personal enjoyment. Months passed by until one evening, a few days after my birthday, when I happened to have a drink with some friends at the house of the painter. Out of the blue he tells me he still has a birthday present he wants to give me. He stood up, went to his easel, picked up the by now finished painting, and dropped it in my hands. I could not accept this gift. I’ve never had a gift like this before in my life. But he didn’t want it back, it was for me. He wrote me a personal text on the back and signed it with his name at the front. Since this day, the painting has always been on a wall in my living room where I can see it everyday. And I’m talking about a decade already.
Years passed by, and as a lot of things in life, we lost contact, changed friends and social scenes. He tried to contact me twice over the years, but I never picked up his calls, because I didn’t feel like. I thought we might meet each other again randomly, just somewhere out there. But that never happened and will not ever happen again. He took that chance with him 2 months ago, together with a lot of other chances. And I don’t know why. Just like his painting. I don’t know why I like it.
Seeing, believing
No such miracle of faith
Such faith
In such a miracle,
Will see faith
-David-
