Way back when, start of the nineties, I believe, when I first met my estranged husband, we travelled the world during winters. Well, big parts of it.
On one of those trips, in Hong Kong, I saw paintings in a gallery, that really caught my attention. A huge triptych, each canvas measuring maybe four to two and a half meters in size. Abstract, very modern looking, yet with an air of ancient asian art to it, that made me fall in love with the artwork. However, there was no way for me, to have the paintings. Other than in a small leaflet about the entire exhibition, in which this triptyh was depicted on a small, nine to five centimeter photograph.
Returning back home to Austria one or two months later, I still hadn’t forgotten those paintings. And sat down, trying to copy them from the leaflet on regular sized A4 paper. Of course, the result was nowhere as impressive (or artful) as the origin, but I was happy nevertheless. I framed the three pictures in black, displaying them on my living room wall.
From then on in, I took those three pictures along, wherever I moved to, hanging them on the walls of many a flat since. All along to suburbia into my sweetheart’s place, where I put them again on the living room wall, when I moved in with him three and a half years ago.
The picture frames, which have long since fallen apart on their corners, have been sellotaped time and time again. Yesterday, I noticed, that the corners are gapping once more. And that the mat had seriously yellowed over the years. I am sure, the paintings themselves have altered their colour with time, too.
I am not sure, whether I should restore the paintings, this time finally getting new frames and passepartouts for them. Or maybe replace them altogether, painting myself something new to look at for the next twentyfive years.