A happy family moves into a new house on the outskirts of town. They want to escape the hustle and bustle of the big city. Their future neighbours, a young couple, seem to be nice. They quickly become friends.
A barbecue together changes the lives o...
Hot, black coffee steaming in my cup. A blast of cold air sweeps through the open window, birds chirping. These are the only sounds I hear.
Still quite relaxed I sit on the sofa and enjoy the first rays of daylight. Shouldn't I be excited? Today is the vernissage, the big day when I present my art to the public and hopefully get a good review. I'm completely calm, almost balanced. I mean, I'm good-looking, I have a healthy ego, maybe that's the secret. I've never had failures before.
In my profession I am masterly, because I consider myself to be brilliant. I reject superficial discussions and discussions in general. I'm only interested in people who are willing to immerse themselves in my world and not those who have to interpret everything. I need people who feel with me. I hate so-called art lovers who look for the extravagant, the deeper meaning and the train of thought of the painter behind every brushstroke.
Art for me is precision, combination of colours, an eye for detail and above all passion. A tree is a tree and the sea is the sea. I don't have to look for the higher meaning in it to understand the artist, because the idea behind it is often trivial. Passion is of crucial importance, to bring subjects on canvas that interest me, that enthral me.
Carefully I sip the hot drink. It burns on my tongue. My thoughts wander to Harry, with whom I lay on the floor panting during sex last night. Red and green paint covered our bodies. We enjoyed art with all your senses. A smile flutters about my lips. Harry, painted with emerald green paint, looked ravishingly beautiful. His muscular body shimmered in the glow of color and candlelight. Our loud moaning still echoes in my ear. I have to pull myself together and think about today's important thing - my exhibition.
In less than an hour, I will be surrounded by many strangers. Half the town will be there - including my wife. The last days we had no contact - in any form, neither by telephone, nor personally. It would be a lie if I said that I did not miss her. Of course I missed her. Gigi was the one who grounded me when I lost my grip on reality. She cheered me up when I was suffering from depression. My wife is my support, she boosts my morale again and again. Right now I want to chat with her, but I suspect it is the wrong time. Because when I left the other day, we had an argument. Doubts and lies cast a shadow over everything. Well, this would be a very bad time for a conversation.
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