Selling a painting feels like getting rid of a best friend
Having immortalised her beloved owls, Gwynnie and Arthur, in portraits more than a decade ago, poet and artist Frieda Hughes reflects on the mixed feelings that come from a sale
Mind the Gap
Gwynnie,
Bengal Eagle Owl No 2 left the first time,
Her feathered owl frame falling forwards
When the weight of her head overcame her
And her years staggered her to a final standstill.
I buried her beautifully, dug deep beneath tulips.
Her six-foot portrait remained,
Hung beside her long-gone lover
As evidence of their time on earth,
Watching my seasons return again and again.
As I rearrange my images for another exhibition
That will pick off the last days of this week
Like hurdles with canapes and fizz,
An email arrives – it wants an owl.
So Gwynnie escapes in the arms of Nightflight,
Heading for an Australian summer and new walls,
Leaving me with Arthur and the empty space
She once occupied. Sometimes
The artist must sell a bigger piece of themselves
Than they can immediately replace.