Commission of a Painting

Guess it is about time I became a patron of the arts.

Ever since I was a little kid, I have always spent my time admiring paintings in the hushed galleries, in the posh shops - and even amongst the travelling streetvendors. Didn't need a Monet or a Rembrandt to impress me. Even the most casual, nondescript brushstroke was deemed worthy of a quick glance from me.

After all beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. Which vaunted expert would dare commit himself to saying that a much lauded Van Gogh carries more shades of meaning than the inane scrawl of a five-year-old protege?

The painting gains value from us. The beholders.


Care to look at my etchings?
Unfortunately I've always placed them on much too high a pedestal for my reach. As it was, I generally assumed the masterpieces to be far too expensive to mount on my far from adequate walls.

That is until I recently steeled myself to ask for the price. Downtown street fair where a local artist peddled his wares. Expected a heart-stopping disappointment but found myself pleasantly surprised after a few minutes of deft bargaining. Turns out that beautifully rendered piece of batik fits easily within my budget. Vivid shades of scarlet and saffron splashed on sheer silk at a price I could only call a steal.

So I commissioned a painting.

Talk about an adult moment. Even specified the colours - to match the horrid maroon salon in Netherfield - and the size I wanted though I left the subject matter to the beleaguered artist.