Just before leaving my house on my way to Livade, where I will catch a bus to Zagreb, I find myself staring at one of the paintings on the livingroom wall. It shows an awkward insect (“The Motovun Bug,” June 24, 2011). And then I turn my gaze to the painting right next to it to the right. It shows a dead face, or the face of death (“Adieu Lascaux,” July 3, 2007). I am surprised by the coincidence, which I somehow missed before. Besides, the two were painted quite a few years apart. “Thumbs up,” I mumble to myself and I raise my right thumb in appreciation. I leave my house a short while later with a big smile on my face. “Coincidence,” I shake my head, “what coincidence?”

Addendum (October 30, 2016)

Lo and behold, the two paintings that feature in this piece are right next to each other to this day. The bug and death united, as it were. Although I have made considerable changes around these two the last few years, I have never even touched either of them. In my mind, they are as good as inseparable. In fact, they look as though they were painted one after another, and in close succession. Having come across the piece entirely by chance, I raise my right thumb toward the pair of paintings in deep appreciation. “Thumbs up,” I mumble to myself once again and sprout a wry smile. “Coincidence,” I shake my head one more time, “what coincidence?”