My Peter Max posters have probably not hung on the walls of any house I’ve lived in since I was maybe sixteen. That’s a f**king long time, way too long for me to do the math. They’ve gone with me stored in a box or a bin for decades, and they are not in great shape. That only makes me love them more. We’re a little worn, my posters and I, but still vibrant.
Today, I framed them. They must be handled carefully, In fact, the bottom one below is in two pieces.
Tom hung them in the room where I write these days. I am so happy to be able to look up at them. You can take the girl out of her hippie years, but you can never take the hippie out of the girl.
Nice! I love that sort of thing. Retro chic, but a part of what makes the person we know today.
I’m glad I kept them. It makes me happy to look up and see them on the wall.
I keep the posters of plays I have been involved in. I am turning my downstairs cloakroom into a micro-gallery. They make me smile and are a talking point when people (can) visit.
That is VERY cool. It’s a great record of all those performances, too. I hope when this mess is all over, you can get back to it!
jealous… i want mine…
If I were writing this, one day you’d open a box and they’d be magically in there. But I guess you’ve probably moved a few times and know that won’t happen. I wish I could remember which ones you had!