Where your work hangs, does it define you?

I had a really amazing month.  There were ups and downs but one of the ups was a new collector.  These people bought one of my largest, most amazing pieces.  As an artist, I try to do at least one showstopper every other year.  It is a piece that is to attract attention and bring visitors into your display.  One of my friends calls it “The Hero.”  I drag it from show to show, because it adds legitimacy to my display and my name.

Some one purchased my hero this month.  They were so excited to have it and because it is so large, I was asked to deliver it.  No problem.  With my heart in my throat, I loaded up this huge work and trundled into the hills to this magnificent home.  The gate was sculpted, a one of a kind work of art.  There was a structural awning over the entrance to the foyer.  I told my car not to consider leaking oil on the pavers in front of their door. (I moved it after I unloaded the painting, didn’t want to run the risk)

They placed my piece on their mantle and asked me if I thought it was the proper place for my work.  I have doggie dust bunnies where the painting used to live, I have know idea what the painting thought of it’s new abode but I was enchanted.  My work was gracing a home that I could never afford.  If I sold everything in my inventory this year, it wouldn’t pay off my home loan and these amazing people were worried about what I thought?

It left me breathless, but I realized; it didn’t change who I was.  These people worked very hard for everything they had in a field that I never would have worked in.  Even if I had gone all the way through to a doctorate, it wasn’t a subject I would have sought.  I am actively choosing to be a professional artist every day.  I drive a used car because I would rather pay for materials than a car payment.  My nails aren’t manicured, and my hair only gets regular cuts so I can style it quickly and get to work.  I chose this and I am alright with it. 

I left that magnificent home with a content smile because my painting was supposed to live there, not me.  I have known artists who have million-dollar collectors and they are happy with their lives because they chose their careers too.  They let their desire to make art define them.  Their creations are a reflection of their choices and desires. I stare at one painting done by a friend; he lived in Republic and was happy with his lot in life.  It is a rich little image, and it brings me joy.  I hope he looks down from heaven and knows that I see it and get it.  I am happy to just be an artist.