I think I regret being in the gallery today.
Christine* asked me to pass by and sign the certificates of authenticity that will accompany the paintings that were sold. She tells me that these will be picked up by their new owners in the next few days. (For every artist whose piece is sold, it's welcome news. There'll be money coming in to fill an otherwise long-empty pocket.)
When I arrived at the gallery, there was a young couple she was entertaining who were buying It Takes a Village. I went straight to the gallery's backroom, heard the whole transaction and in a few seconds the piece was sold.
"The man paid for it," she said with a grin. "He was pretty persistent in getting that piece and he convinced the woman who didn't want it at first. She couldn't say no anymore since he paid in cash."
A sudden pallor descended on me. Somehow, I didn't feel good.
"I don't feel good about it," I told Christine when the couple left. "I know it's just a painting, but I feel like I am losing someone again."
I walked towards the painting and watched as Christine placed a red dot** on her (the painting). I sat in front of It Takes a Village and looked at her for the last time.
*Christine insisted that I describe her as the voluptuous gallery manager. I have to give in to it. She's reading this blog.
**A red dot placed on an artwork in a gallery exhibit signifies that it's sold.