The first time I saw him was late Sunday morning standing in
front of my art display. Middle-aged with a Donald Trump comb-over, he stood
motionless, taking in each of the seven art works. Satisfied, he turned, and
with a thumbs-up in my direction, walked away.
I saw the same man later inside my booth closely examining
one of the paintings. This time he came over and introduced himself. A retired
antique dealer, he went on and on about the painting and how its image stayed
with him as he walked the outdoor show.
“That piece is the best painting I’ve seen all day.”
With visions of a big sale dancing in my head, I went into
my best sales pitch mode. I told him the story behind the piece and the
laborious effort to create it. In my enthusiasm, I told him my entire life
story. He grew more and more interested and seemed unfazed with the painting’s
steep price. After looking at the other works once more, the man turned and
pointed at the painting.
“I’ve made a decision, I want that painting!”
I forget what I said in response, but my bumbling naiveté
surely came pouring out. We discussed framing and wall placement, what kind of
varnish was used and where I had signed my name. Here, I thought, was a no
nonsense art collector who appreciated my work. Talk then came round to delivery
and payment options.
“Great!” said the man, “do me a favor and hold it for a bit.
My wife has the check-book and I’ll just go get it from her. Don’t worry, I’ll
be back.”
The man, of course, never came back. Some time later, I
worked up the nerve to share this story with a friend. She, an art show
veteran, looked at me with a mixture of surprise and pity.
“Oh, that was one of those awful ‘be-backers.’ He had no
intention of buying your art.”
