Two things that annoy me

Well, of course, there are thousands of things that annoy me. Two stand out. Both are statements. Actually the first one's m0re of a rhetorical question. Anyway, they are:

1--Why would I want a painting of myself?
2--I don't have room in my house (apartment) for a painting that big.

The narrowness of mind; the paucity of spirit suggested by Statement One is so self-evident as to warrant absolutely no reply. Other, perhaps, than something along the lines of: "Wake the fuck up. It's not a painting of you; it's a painting by me." Honestly, how self-involved can people be?

The second one is toothier. I mean, they are big paintings. But that doesn't make them unmanageable. It all depends on how you view the intersection of your life and your art. Me? I'm of the school of total integration. And because I am, I'm good with ramming the paintings in with everything else.

Herewith, Big Maria residing on the wall behind the lamp and next to my guitar.



Were she five by six instead of four by five, I can assure you her bottom would be hanging down behind that marble-topped chest of drawers.

Likewise my boy Rupert (disregard the focus--I shot it freehand) :



Here he fits nicely in this tableau of Geoff Raymond domestic bliss. Who wouldn't want to sit in one of these chairs, The Times at hand, the coffee mugged, steaming and pre-creamed? Not me, I can assure you.

The fact that the lamp and, to a degree, the backs of the chairs exist in front of the painting doesn't bother me at all. And so, by extension, neither should it bother you. In fact, I like it. I also like the half-painted wall behind the chair on the right. It feels ... Parisian. Like I'm living on the West Bank. If that's not in Israel.