I can see art on the wall of my new day-bed nook. Something neither small nor large, a medium-sized piece, although I don’t know whether it would be portraiture, or a landscape, or something realistic like a photograph. I also don’t know if I envision it framed or not, hanging from a nail or taped up.
Before I can decide what to procure for my viewing pleasure, I must paint the wall, whose present shade of green is decidedly sinister, not the warm luster which would best set off a work of art.
There is a lot to consider.
And while I’m cataloging desires, let me put down that since childhood I’ve hankered after a certain bed-prop/cushion/pillow which allows one to be fully functional while reclining. The house where I spotted this device was occupied by intellectuals who kept the complete works of L. Frank Baum on hand. I always thought that being able to comfortably read in bed would open many doors for me but at the same time I did not dare to mention this nor bare this request until now.