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  1. #1
    Bassim is offline Senior Member
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    Default Art galleries Part two

    Dear people
    Please, would you proofread my text.

    It was a dull and cold winter day when I trudged the streets feeling like a prisoner in a godforsaken place. I had not seen the sun for weeks and whenever I went outside I met the Swedish men who did not like me at all. I saw their stares and I got an impression that many of them would like to see me impaled or burning alive and they would do that with their own hands only if they ever got a chance! However, I was relieved when I saw their girlfriends beside them. I knew that strong Swedish women rule the roost and they would never have permitted anyone to harm a person like me. Since the Viking era nothing had changed here and the most strongest Swede was like a little insect in front of his wife or his girlfriend!

    I also heard some Russian tourists walking the street and I thought that I was in Siberia in Stalin's time. I did not help me knowing that he had been dead for decades. I was in my own Gulag without guards and fences around me and I did not know If I would ever escape this bad fate which had brought me to the nation who puts sugar in bread and eats boiled potatoes almost every day. With such dark thoughts I went into an art gallery, hopping to get some joy, but as my eyes swept the walls to my right and then to my left, I understood that I had made a mistake.
    It was the most dark and depressive pictures I ever saw. The artist had been using only three colours: grey, black and brown. They were painted in thick oil on big canvases. The biggest was 2 by 1.5 meter and depicted dark columns of some kind of monument on the grey background.

    I glanced at the other paintings and they were even worse. There was no sun, no light, no happiness... I felt pain in my stomach and wanted to run away. After these paintings life had no meaning any more. The best was to go to the train station and throw myself in front of the Stockholm's train, and let people spend hours in overcrowded carriages for hours. I could have already heard them cursing me inside themselves. There is no worse punishment for an ordinary Swede than sit together with a stranger for hours!

    "Welcome!" The voice woke me up from my thoughts and when I looked up I saw a short and bald headed man in his late sixties with the tiny, little moustache above his thin lips.
    "Does he always use the same dark colours?" I asked nodding at the canvases on the right wall.
    "Always. This is his style." he answered. He told me the painter's name which I had already forgotten the same moment and some biographical notes that never entered my brain and then he asked me if I painted myself.
    I told him I did not paint but just enjoying watching pictures and contemplating about them.
    Our discussion continued about the modern painting and I mentioned Damian Hirst and his famous shark in formaldehyde in a vitrine and the platinum cast of an 18th century scull covered in diamonds and argued that they were more stunts then art works. He completely agreed with me and said that he could not understand the people who were ready to pay millions of dollars for them.

    We were alone. I saw people passing by on the street but non of them opened the door. Probably they have other problems to think about. After about twenty minutes he went to his table and somewhere from behind took out a little canvas not bigger then the palm of my hand. It was without frames and depicted a ripen yellow pear on the dark background. He hanged it on the wall and said to me, "Wouldn't be nice to have it in a kitchen for example?" I understood that all his talk with me had only one function: he wanted to sell me one of the paintings. "How much does it cost?" I asked.
    4000 crowns" he said, without batting an eyelid. It was about 300 and for that money I could have bought about 250 kilograms of real pears.

    "My principle is never to buy art of any kind," I said knowing that I would leave him deeply disappointed.
    Immediately, he picked the painting off the wall and put it back behind his table. He probably thought that he had lost half an hour for nothing. I said "Good buy," and left, striding the street and passing a group of the Gypsies from Romania begging and selling passers by red plastic roses for some crowns. They had taken such a long trip to a far away country to gather some money.
    I felt I still did not even start my journey. I was glad that I had survived another day.

    To be continued..

  2. #2
    beascarpetta's Avatar
    beascarpetta is offline Key Member
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    Default Re: Art galleries Part two

    It was a dull and cold winter day when I trudged through the streets feeling like a prisoner in a godforsaken place. I had not seen the sun for weeks and whenever I went outside I met Swedish men who did not like me at all.

    I saw their stares and I got the impression that many of them would like to see me impaled or burned alive and they would do that with their own hands if only they got the chance!

    However, I was relieved when I saw their girlfriends walking beside them. I knew that strong Swedish women rule the roost and they would never have permitted anyone to harm a person like me.

    Since the Viking era nothing had changed here and the strongest Swede was but a little insect in front of his wife or girlfriend!

    I also overheard some Russian tourists walking the streets and I thought that I was back in Siberia in Stalin's time.

    It did not help to know that he had been dead for decades.
    I was in my own Gulag without guards and fences around me and I did not know If I would ever escape fate which had brought me to a nation that puts sugar in bread and eats boiled potatoes almost every day.

    With such dark thoughts I went into an art gallery, hoping to get some feeling of joy, but as my eyes swept the walls to my right and then to my left, I realized that I had made a mistake.

    It was the darkest and most depressing picture I had ever seen The artist had used only three colours, grey, black and brown.
    They were painted in thick oil on big canvases. The largest of them was 2 by 1.5 meters and depicted dark columns of some kind of monument against a grey background.

    I glanced at the other paintings and they were even worse. There was no sun, no light, no happiness in them ... I felt pain in my stomach and wanted to run away.

    After seeing these paintings life had lost its meaning. It would be best to go to the train station and throw myself in front of one of Stockholm's trains, and let people spend hours waiting in overcrowded carriages. I could almost hear them cursing me. There is no worse punishment for an ordinary Swede than sitting next to a stranger for hours!

    "Welcome!" The voice woke me from my thoughts and when I looked up I saw a short, bald man in his late sixties with a little moustache above his thin lips.
    "Does he always use the same dark colours?" I asked nodding at the canvases on the wall to my right.
    "He always does.That is his style." he answered. He told me the painter's name, which I forgot the moment he told me, as well as some facts about the painter's life that never entered my brain and then he asked me if I painted myself.

    I told him I did not paint but just enjoyed looking at pictures and speculating about them.

    Our discussion about the modern painting continued and I mentioned Damian Hirst and his famous encased shark and the platinum cast of an eighteenth-century scull covered in diamonds and argued that they were more of a stunt than real works of art.

    He completely agreed with me and said that he could not understand people who were ready and willing to pay millions of dollars for them.

    We were alone. I saw people passing by in the street but none of them came in. They probably had other problems to think about.
    After about twenty minutes he went to his desk and took out a little canvas no bigger than the palm of my hand from somewhere behind.

    It was unframed and depicted a ripe yellow pear against a dark background. He hung it on the wall and said to me, "Wouldn't it be nice to have it in a kitchen ,for example?"

    I realized that he had only talked to me because he wanted to sell one of the paintings. "How much does it cost?" I asked.
    "It's 4000 crowns" he said, without batting an eyelid. It was about 300 and for that money I could have bought about 250 kilograms of real pears.

    "I never buy art of any kind, as a matter of principle ," I said knowing that I would leave him deeply disappointed.

    Immediately, he took down the painting and put it back behind his desk. He probably thought that he had lost half an hour for nothing. I said goodbye, and left, walking out into the street where I passed a group of gypsies from Romania begging and selling red plastic roses to passers-by for some crowns.
    They had undertaken such a long journey to a far-away country to make some money.
    I felt I still had not even started my journey. I was glad that I had survived another day.

    Last edited by beascarpetta; 25-Apr-2008 at 19:02.

  3. #3
    Bassim is offline Senior Member
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    Default Re: Art galleries Part two

    Bea

    Thank you so much.
    As you see I am still struggling with some problems in English, but I will not give up until I have reached my goal.
    You have already noticed by many of us on this forum that we often make a mistake using the articles "a" and "the" and it is because in my language we do not have them at all. In Swedish they have also articles like in English but their rules are different.
    But I think this is the right and the only way and I have to walk it no matter how difficult and long it could be.

    Thank you once more for casting the light on my path.

    Have a nice weekend!

    Bassim

  4. #4
    beascarpetta's Avatar
    beascarpetta is offline Key Member
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    Default Re: Art galleries Part two

    Hi,Bassim

    Again it really was my pleasure to have a look at it.And again I marvelled at how ingenious you have become in painting landscapes of the human mind.
    Have a nice weekend,too

    bea

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