He loved this painting. He kept coming back to it. He and his wife stayed in my both for a while. They looked around. I had fish of all shapes, colors and sizes. I had dogs and other critters. I had painted furniture and small bits of happy.
But he kept coming back to this painting. The colors matched their beach décor. He loved the squares that were individually glued, one on top of another, then added to the frame. He stepped back and looked at it. He moved forward and knelt beside it, examining it closely. Then he backed away to look at something else.
Then he came back to it again. "I love this painting," he told me. "The colors would fit right in my home. The price is reasonable. But I just don't know where I would put it."
"When you love a piece," I told him. "You'll find a place."
He didn't disagree with me. He gazed at it one last time. Shook his head. And walked away from a piece he loved because he didn't have a plan and wouldn't take a chance.
How sad.
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