It seems like ages ago that I bought the pastel. It arrived yesterday, in several separately wrapped pieces. It feels weird to acquire something so celebratory in the midst of life that feels dire. Is it ok to be happy? It felt calming to work on putting this artwork back together while listening to one of my many hours of the Barbra Streisand audiobook.
It is either a pastel or an aquatint. I don't know how to tell the difference. It was described as being on vellum.
The coolest thing is the hanger, forged out of iron. It makes it seem as if this was once hung in an important place. The subject was unidentified, but may have been a government official of some sort.
The paper covering the back of the work must have been pretty cool. There are still remnants of it on the framing.
Here is the pastel itself, unframed. It's pretty beat up, but cool.
When I held it up to the light it looked super freaky. You can tell more about how it was drawn by seeing it this way.
I am guessing that this is his handwriting, which is crazy.
I realized that the original spacer that belongs between the glazing and the pastel was in usable condition, so I just went for it and repackaged the piece.
I washed the glass. It has a big wave in one area, which is super cool, and also includes little tiny elongated bubbles. It seems like it would be original to the piece.
And here he is put together again, sitting in our non-fancy kitchen. I'm not quite sure where to hang him. I'd wanted to put him in the bathroom with the reproduction of the painting from art.com, but I really want to see him. Not sure. For now he lives in the laundry room.
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