the joy of the day

The morning was spent worrying and tidying and as of two in the afternoon the day was spent hanging the pictures of  the little wooden sculptures with the help of the artist who made the little figures in the first place. The man still cannot get over seeing his work in a life sized scale, or even half life sized.

In he morning there  was an electronic note from the Argentine, insulted because of the lack of invitation to the opening of the exhibition. Write to him and say that all are welcome, and on the way to the gallery pass by his house and put an invitation card into his letterbox. Who knows, maybe he will be less insulted now.

The gallery owner and his wife are in the premises with the person showing the last show. He leaves, we rehang the three big pictures.

Then home again, and contact the artist. The man is busy.

Return to the gallery later and sit down and wait. The gallery owner and his wife return,  and with their help put up the three big pictures.

Then the artist turns up, and there it is, spend the rest of the day hanging the pictures, putting tiny nails into the walls, tending to the laser, making measurements.

In the evening, two bottles of beer and a pizza later, all is done and finished.

And then spend time talking about prices.

And sizes.

And other issues.

Money, nothing wrong with that.

At the end of the day, sitting in the shop typing these notes the son taps upon the window.

That is the greatest joy of the day.