Today I was pleasantly minding my own business, living day by day, getting ready for my exhibition that is in about a week. I had two beautiful women sit for me to finish their portraits. And then I got a call that my framer, a friend, had just dropped dead in his shop (in front of another artist friend). I had an appointment to see him at 5pm to pick up my frames and new canvases. He was about 50 years old, a smoker, a great craftsman, who worked too hard around open chemicals with bad ventilation, with a heart condition, and a son about to take university exams. So what’s the surprise? This country is beating me to a bloody pulp.
A colleague delivered the frames, canvases and boxes he made for me. Tomorrow we’ll go to a memorial ceremony, and then the artists in my faculty will take his body back to his village for burial.
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