This morning I woke up to a news (in Elle, People, etc) that the print of the painting that Prince Harry bought for Meghan Markle, is now available here. While the original cost a few thousand pounds, the prints are available between £599 and £799. It’s limited edition, and is numbered and signed by the artist. That brings us to who the artist is. It’s a British artist called Van Donna. The name is a pseudonym, a mix of Van Gogh and Madonna – her two idols. Apparently she has also had another celebrity client own her work – the Beatles star, Ringo Starr. What Prince Harry bought was a black stencil image of a boy and a girl holding hands. It is reminiscent of the ones done by the popular graffiti artist Banksy. A two-panel piece, while one has the couple on it, the other has a string of words. Written in red cursive, it reads – Everybody needs somebody to love. ❤
I tried replicating Donna’s work. And to give it a twist, I did it on two discarded boxes of tea bags. Here’s the result.
After the four-day buzz of travel, we get a two-day rest at home (before hopping on to a plane again). It’s exciting to see new vistas unfold, to meet with people who speak different languages, and to observe the topography of a city change in a few hundred miles. The constant adrenaline rush and the thirst to know more, to see more, follows us like a shadow, as we taste a new dish, step into a new gallery or watch the sun set in a different State. We come back home with a handful of experiences in our diaries, and some ‘miles’ in our cards. And we are greeted by the familiar softness of the throw on the couch, that painting of red tree on the wall, and the scent that sticks to everything in every room. We are home. And in here, we find a deep-seated peace, more like a pat on a head and a soft whisper that says, ‘All is well’.
I mistook a water strider for a bee. It was almost midnight. With eyes half closed, I went in to use the restroom. And there, just as I was washing hands, something brown flew directly to my face. I screamed, jumped, and threw myself out the door. To a third person, it might have given some comic relief. But I was convinced that I was stung at the back, and now a mountain of a swell was growing around it. It was only later that I cringed at the stupidity, there was no pain. There was no sting to start with. It was all the works of my fear-drenched mind. Later, my husband and I examined the restroom, and we found a very elegant, almost still, water strider, resting on the tile. We slowly went towards it with a polythene cover. It can’t hear anyway, it catches its prey by sensing the vibrations on the water surface. We walked stealthily, and placed the mouth of the cover around it. Once safely inside, we freed it into the cool rainy Thursday night.