Romanian art - my experiences as a Godson of two Romanian artists

Let me tell you about Romanian Art. If you are not a poet, then you have to become an artist. It is a small blessing if you actually have any talent.

I am lucky that both my Romanian Godparents are gifted artists. While my father was alive - he never considered getting himself painted. After he died, a couple of photos and computer printouts later, I have a picture to keep of him, to add to my growing collection of the dead I have met. It’s horrible to think that this Romanian art is the best impression of my deceased father.

My Godfather joked if my wife ever married and made him her marriage Godfather, he would make a beautiful painting of her. A few years later and lots of secrecy, and a few heavy hints as to the promise and the birthday gift I needed to find, the day of delivery arrived.

My father in-law organised it so that his daughter would meet her Godfather in his artistic studio and instantly be bowled over by her gift of her own Romanian art.

Sadly it did not work out anything like any of us in the know had planned. We arrived and she was guided past endless fabulously colorful Romania student's examination artwork - to the moment of truth.

She looked at his latest masterpiece. He asked if she recognised who it was. She said no - not the foggiest. He then went on to tell her it was her. Nothing like me was the curt reply which cut the poor man, who many had told him for months that this was one of his best ever work - further more (to kick a man when he is down) - she continued - she did not like it in the slightest.

I had to agree that painting my wife in gray, surrounded by colorful flowers did not do credit to her wonderful Romanian tan but to avoid further upset, we would take it home and see what would happen.

Weird things always happen to his portrait paintings as one week later, we really loved it and admired how he had caught both the looks and essence of Irina and so it now remains pride of place on top of a corner cupboard, looking down at us in our sleep.

When baby Victor arrived - he too instantly fell in love with the painting and sleeps his best when he can look up and examine it in all its glory.

My godmother, not to be outdone has also given me some of her best works. When my grandfather died, another able painter, I took in all the paintings I could of his, to fill the walls of my Romanian country homes - sadly as life proceeds with its twists and curls, I have yet to actually complete this task and give my a change from Romanian for Swiss mountain views and relaxing lakes.

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