Dad had many paintings. He collected many pieces on his time as an art collector before I was born. There are stories behind everyone of them waiting to be told.
On this night, I am to sleep in my childhood home for the first time after his passing. On the wall by dads bed hangs the painting of a polish artist which fascinated me as a kid and until this day.
I remember one morning in particular when me and some girls tried to interpret the painting.
We all agreed on the fact that he tried to paint a rose, but he didn’t have enough colors so he had to improvise with black paint, rose pedals and rough string. Somewhere along the way he must have spilled coffee on the painting as well since there is some kind of light brown fluid that dried on the paper.
This is when daddy steps in and explained the complex painting. Unfortunately I was to young to understand all details but I do remember this:
The rose who was growing strong stood for the government who was corrupt and is now loosing it’s power.
The light brown fluid is my favorite. The artist mixed his own BLOOD with water and let it drip down the painting. Something about the freedom of the people I think it stood for.
The painting is beautiful in it’s own unique way. I will have to ask my mother sometime about the story behind it. I feel like it’s important to know these small details of everything that ones was so important to my daddy.