Who lives here?

I turn left into the sitting room where the high walls are covered from floor to ceiling with the work of the absent occupant. A large brown canvas catches my attention as it always does. In it a weasely looking Judas is kissing upward at Jesus’ face. Icons of Mary have sad faces. She looks as if she knows what is going to happen to her son. The sofa is covered in a purple throw and a multitude of oddly matched cushions. I think of Matisse and his juxtaposition of patterns. An out-of date TV set is surrounded by tower blocks of DVDs, mostly about the lives of painters or films with tragic outcomes. Facing the screen is a red velvet armchair with headphones resting on the arm and footrest to the ready. Any wall space not filled with paintings is home to tall book cases that threaten to avalanche art books and Russian novels to the floor.