Today I got a call from the Rand Club. The previous manager had left, and the chairman was “chomping at the bit”. Would I come through to collect my unsold paintings leftover from the Kipling exhibition I did last year?
My heart sank. I should have known it would end like this; that all the excitement of planning and producing the work would end with a hole in my bank account. The easels I bought. The materials. The travel, the time. If I made R2000 profit, I’m lucky. Continue reading