2010.07.20 By Ragnhild Flatabo Narverud
At the age of 7 I became the owner of my first piece of art.
I was going for a walk with my mother and grandmother and on the way they decided to enter an art gallery that had just opened a new exhibition. Not the top-pick for an impatient 7 year old girl, but I guessed I had no other choice but to follow.
falling in love with litography - a technique of making prints with stones.
Photo by Ragnhild Flatabo Narverud
The walls of the small gallery were decorated with bright coloured and captivating paintings. The images where figurative, so they were easy to relate to for a young girl. I was instantly drawn towards a painting of a garden seen through a window. The garden had a bench and a statue and was drenched in strong autumn coloured leaves and vegetation.
The walls of the small gallery were decorated with bright coloured and captivating paintings. The images where figurative, so they were easy to relate to for a young girl.
I was instantly drawn towards a painting of a garden seen through a window. The garden had a bench and a statue and was drenched in strong autumn coloured leaves and vegetation.
I completely fell in love with the painting and stood in front of it, as what I recall to be a very long time. With my most impressive persuasive abilities, using the whole register of emotions, as only a kid can, I most convincingly tried to speak my mother and grandmother into buying the painting.
Unfortunately, no luck. The painting was still on the wall of the gallery as we left.
I remember being a bit grumpy and dreaming of the day when I would have my own money that I could spend as I pleased.
Some weeks passed, and one day when my grandmother was coming for a visit, she was carrying a big package. The package turned out to be for me!! And I was asked whether I could guess the content, I couldn’t.
It was the beautiful garden-view painting that I had so much wanted! It was an amazing feeling, and the air of adulthood hit me, being in possession of art.
The painting was hung up on the wall of the living room, amongst my parents other paintings. Whenever I had friends over I pointed out that that painting was mine.
Now, a couple of decades later, the painting is hanging on my living room wall.
Whenever I watch the painting, I’m reminded about that day at the gallery.
I still love the painting, but in a different way than before. It’s a love that has grown, I see new dimensions in the painting now, including that of the memory.
It’s never too early or too late to buy your first piece of art.