I got invited to a lunch yesterday, the kind of invitation that comes at the last second of the last minute. I wasnt fussy about it; it was my man, Giorgie Bhunu - perhaps our leading visual artist in these parts. He and his group of painters were kind of thanking themselves for a job well done with the murals at Letlamoreng, a project still ongoing. Joan, the curator, stunned us with her culinary wizardry and there was all kinds of food and drink. A great evening of food, talk and laughter. I am happiest when I am in that group of arts practitioners, engaged in what Keaoboka calls kakpratery - shit talk. The only snag was that, because it was an ambush invitation, I was a bit under-dressed for an outdoor affair, particularly the kind of footwear I was sporting. Even the fire around which we sat did nothing to warm my feet; by the time I got home around 01.00 I was on popsicle toes. My wake-up alarm has, of course, no regard for when I came in last night; so, I am already wide awake with still frozen feet in spite of two heavy blankets and two layers of woolen socks. I feel like a carcass in those meat refridgerators; mind you, I did try to warm myself up before the gas heater when I came in. Second, I am somehow feeling kind of hangover-ed in spite of having had nothing but coffee to drink throughout; perhaps a carry over from Sunday evenings drinking. A great evening of conversation nevertheless, of honest soul-to-soul talk; a reminder of how I truly love being an artist and just being amongst fellow artists.
Posted on: Tue, 01 Jul 2014 04:24:31 +0000
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