Before we went to sleep last night, my beloved remembered my bronze bust, which was made when I was five and a half years old. She said that she could see the sculpture clearly by looking at me and that she could see me clearly by looking at the sculpture. The mouth, the nose, and the eyes were the same in spite of the six decades that separate us. Made by Vladeta Petrić in 1951, it has been close to me for years. It used to be in my room in Belgrade. When my parents moved to Reading in 1993, it came along with their furniture. And it came to Motovun when I moved there in 2003. Petrić, known to all as Šepo, was a close friend of my parents. He used to be a frequent guest of our home when I was a boy. When I got an international award for my painting, he decided to make a bust of his “colleague.” I do not remember sitting for him, though, which probably means that it was complete rather quickly. If my recollection is to be trusted, he had a bit of a drinking problem. He was considered a very talented sculptor, but alcohol got in the way. He died well before my parents, who must have been at least ten years his seniors. Returning to the bronze bust, it has always been dear to me. It is a bridge that goes straight to my childhood in Belgrade.

Addendum (October 22, 2012)

It did not take me long upon my return to Motovun to find a hefty catalogue of Petrić’s work in my library. In fact, I have two copies of it. It was published in Belgrade in 1974, four years after his death. Born in 1919, he was only fifty-five when he passed away. A photograph of my bust is there, as well. To my surprise, my name is spelled out in full, as well: Ranko Bon. And so is the year the sculpture was made: 1951. Perhaps the only disappointment in the catalogue is that Petrić’s nickname is nowhere to be found. In Croatian, it stands for someone who limps. But he will forever stay in my mind as the limping one. My sculptor.