Wedding anniversary today. Over the years we have bought pictures, lithographs a few, a very few, bronzes. So the biography of Afro that arrived at breakfast was both a fascinating account of the last century's world of Italian artists, and a reproach - so much lovely work, why didn't we buy more? Of course the usual suspect was responsible - poverty. The artists were poor sometimes even at the height of their powers, but we were younger and poorer.
There are many reproductions of Afro's paintings, but almost more interesting are the photographs of his contemporaries and friends, of the Rome of the '50s onwards: their beautiful clothes, ateliers, bars, restaurants, lives, and their beautiful selves.
I want to live in those places. We can only live one life and where I am and where I was is not to be sneezed at. But if I could have been a grown up just a little earlier, and born in another country, it would have been fun too.
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