It is easy to figure out that stupidity is universal among humans. But it is hard to figure out that this holds even for those one loves. They, too, are stupid.

Addendum I (September 26, 2014)

It was almost bedtime a couple of evenings ago when my beloved started putting an index finger up her vagina and making patterns on a piece of paper she found on the coffee table next to her. It was the third day of her menstruation. “Wait,” I chuckled and dashed for my knapsack, from which I fetched my notebook. “Here,” I opened the first blank page, “make an array of dots.” Once she was finished, I took a ballpoint pen to write a note about the pattern on the opposite page. She got up and disappeared from sight. When I was finished writing, I realized that she was smearing with her menstrual blood one of my paintings on the wall behind me. I froze. “Stupid woman,” I growled, “what in the world are you doing?!” The painting was already ruined, though. It would have to be varnished with blood once again, but then it would stand out from the remaining five paintings on the wall for many a year. My beloved was dumbfounded by my outburst. “We were so close,” she said quietly, “I wanted to add a touch of my own to one of your paintings in the spirit of cooperation.” I could not believe my ears. “That would be like Rembrandt’s wife adding mustache to every portrait he painted behind his back,” I growled. This time around, she could not believe her own ears: “You are comparing yourself with Rembrandt?!” I got really angry at this point. “Rembrandt is way below me as an artist,” I yelled, “but it is your stupidity that soars to the sky!” None of her apologies helped after this point. We did not say a word to each other before we went to sleep that night. This is how we parted yesterday morning, as well. Unable and unwilling to face her, I headed for the bus station before she returned home from her office yesterday afternoon. A couple of evenings after the smearing exercise, I am still frozen.

Addendum II (October 10, 2014)

The first thing I did upon my return to Zagreb was to revarnish the ruined painting. I just could not look at it. Thus I brought everything I needed with me. Most important, I brought a box of hemoglobin powder, which I had been using for years instead of blood. Dissolved in water with a few drops of olive oil, it serves the purpose. I also brought a large brush that I had been using for varnishing ever since my move to Motovun. Having revarnished the painting, I dried it on a windowsill exposed to sunlight. Once I returned it to its place on the wall, the painting looked as it used to once again. The new varnish will stand out for a while, but it is not too conspicuous. I look forward to my beloved’s reaction when she returns home from her office. Will she notice my intervention? How long will it take her to notice it? Be that as it may, it will take us quite some time to recover from the smearing incident. Fingers crossed.

Addendum III (January 5, 2015)

So far, my beloved has not noticed the new varnish on the painting. I followed her eyes the day I revarnished it, as well as a few days afterwards, but she had paid the painting no attention whatsoever. So much for the spirit of cooperation. Chances are that she will never notice my intervention, either. At best, she will read about it in my magnum opus one fine day. But I have no wish to broach the subject any time in the future, for it is not very likely that we will ever agree on what had happened that fateful evening. Another nail in our proverbial coffin…