Love most holy: Art and inner alignment

[sabrinamari]

Yesterday I got to wander about and visit my favorite art gallery, “Santisima” (http://www.yelp.com/biz/santisima-albuquerque). I love everything about the place, including its name. When I was small, my mom had a whole collection of favorite phrases expressing shock, pain, surprise and anguish. “Madre de Dios!” and “Santisima Trinidad!” were two of her favorites. Now whenever I drop something on my foot or run into a door, I hear them spontaneously emerging from my own mouth. “Santisima Trinidad” translates roughly as “most holy Trinity,” so the name of this gallery is “Most Holy”. It is an appropriate name. Santisima is crammed from top to bottom with colorful, modern re-interpretations of religiously inspired folk art. It’s a temple to bricolage, or the creative reassembly of culturally and emotionally charged mythical and spiritual elements. Johnny Salas, who runs Santisima, is one of the artists whose work graces the shop. His gloriously sequined nichos decorate the walls, reflecting color and light everywhere.



Johnny also carries the work of one of my favorite modern artists, Brandon Maldonado (http://www.brandonmaldonado.com/bio/index.shtml). Johnny always has a good selection of Maldonado prints, gicleés, and occasionally even an original piece. This is no small feat. Brandon is a young but greatly respected artist whose canvases regularly command $7000 or more. He’s local to the area, and Eric, Kim’s new husband, went to high school with him. I stumbled on his work two years ago when Michael and I wandered into Santisima for the first time. As usual, Michael spotted Brandon’s work first and called me over to take a look at it. Michael can see the value and beauty in people, places and things that will become important to him almost immediately; it almost always takes me a good long while to figure out who and what are really going to matter to me.

But when I finally saw my first Maldonado canvas, it literally took my breath away. It was called “Our Lady of Merciful Fate,” and it was such a creative blend of odd mythical elements and lovely magical realism that I couldn’t tear my eyes away.



Six hundred and fifty dollars plus later we walked out as its owners. From that point on, I was hooked. We have several Maldonando pieces now, and I love every one of them. Each image seems to express an important part of my life’s experience. “Birth of Venus” embodies the painful and profound work I’m doing with FoV,



while “Mythos” is more about blogging and the Godhooks work I’ve done/hope to do in the future.




“Merciful Fate” is about the way I see the world and some of the themes that reappear again and again in my life. “Circle of Life” is more playful, a gentle little piece with a touch of silliness, like the quirky black octopus that’s hidden away in the headdress of the lady in the picture’s center.



Yesterday I told myself that I wasn’t going to buy anything this time. If push came to shove, maybe I’d buy a print. But seriously, nothing else. Financial responsibility is really important to me and buying art is not a great use of my resources at this moment. But what is it that Kahlil Gibran says about love? You cannot direct the course of love; instead, if you are found worthy, love directs your course. And yes, there was something to love waiting for me at Santisima.

At first, I picked up an inexpensive print of Maldonado’s re-interpretation of my favorite Lotería cards (Lotería is a Mexican card game made up of images engrained into the Latin American imagination). In it, he painted his versions of La Sirena (the mermaid), El Corazon (as his characteristically blossoming heart) and La Luna (the moon). You can see a few of these images below.

So far, so good. I was being really responsible.



And then Michael found the treasure I’d been hoping not to see, with his quick and willing eyes: a small framed antique photograph of a young boy, altered to look like a calavera (skull). The photo had been adorned with pen and ink and surrounded by a handmade wooden frame. Gorgeous. I loved it with my archaeologist’s mind and my tender heart: who was this boy, whom someone had doubtless loved so many decades ago? Today, he is surely dead, just as Brandon re-imagined him, and there is no one left to identify who he once was. The wood that surrounds him is plain and a little rough, with a floral decorative pattern and a home-made feel that invites the touch. It’s perfect. Technically, it’s not a painting at all: it’s an altered object. The image is part of a series of six, all old photographs from the 1800s over which Brandon has inked. He’s never done anything like this series before, so it’s a bit unique. It’s also an original Maldonado and will appreciate in value over time. At $125, it seemed like a steal. Michael, Johnny and I had to squat down by the floor to look at it, since it was hung quite low on the surface that held it. It was so hard to see that I could easily have missed it; I was glad that Michael’s eyes were sharper than my own.

I took it down and stroked the frame, thinking how sad and beautiful it was. I think Michael knew it was coming home with us when he saw me holding it. Johnny pointed out the price and explained that it was from the “Nosotros” series of altered photographs. He ran back and got a trifold portfolio holding prints of each of the images in the series and told us that he had sold all the others. This was the last one. I think I started whimpering a little bit at that point. Johnny quickly added that he’d throw in the portfolio if we bought the last image, and Michael shrugged his shoulders with a little smile and said he wasn’t going to stop me.

So it was a done deal. While Johnny was wrapping it up I told Michael that he should stop showing me these things if he didn’t want me to buy them. Michael just grinned and told me he’d looked at it three times before he decided to point it out to me. I guess he knows who I am.

But the really interesting thing is this: while Johnny was wrapping it up, he asked if we’d seen the other Maldonado original in the shop. When I said no, he led us to a small canvas set as high on the wall as the boy had been set low. This canvas was also nestled into a lovely wooden frame, a graceful, elaborately curved piece. It was a butterfly, decorated as if it were also an elegant skull (you can see a version of it in among the Loteria cards above). This piece, said Johnny, had just been reduced from $2000 to $1000. It was a classic oil on canvas.

Michael looked at me, and I looked at him. “Dear gods,” I was thinking, “this piece is going to appreciate substantially over time. In ten or fifteen years, it will be a $25,000 painting. This is an unbelievable opportunity.” I said as much, and Michael and I began talking about it. We tossed it around for a few minutes, carefully weighing the situation. The timing was bad for us. Two years ago, we could have done this without blinking...much. Today, it would not be a good move. But how many opportunities like this would we have in the future? I watched my father walk away from similar investments twice, and I remember that each time it turned out to be a short-sighted decision. What should we do?

Finally, Michael left it up to me. If I wanted to buy the piece, he would support me. If I didn’t, he’d back me up. Alternatively, if he generated some cash over the next couple of weeks and the painting was still available, he’d happily put the money towards it.

I thought about it. On the one hand, I really believed it was a great opportunity. On the other, I also thought it would be a poorly timed financial move. What was I going to do?

In the end, it came down to love.

When I saw the small altered photograph of the boy, I loved it. My heart whispered, “Want, want, want...” and my course was clear. But when I looked at the butterfly, my heart was silent. It was a good investment and a great opportunity. The painting itself was full of metaphor and meaning: a butterfly in the shape of death and rebirth. I should have loved it.

But I didn’t. I didn’t love it, and in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to buy it any more than I could marry someone I didn’t love. It just didn’t feel right.

Had it been an image of a flowering heart, a mirror image of the heart that Venus holds in her hands, it would have been mine in a minute, original or no. In that case, I would have acted from a place of inner alignment, a place in which all the parts of me said, “Yes...this one, please.” But it wasn’t, so I had to walk away.

Probably, in ten years, I am going to kick myself for this move. I am going to think back to this moment and remember that I knew this was my opportunity to invest in a Maldonado original. And then I’m going to remember that I didn’t love it and I couldn’t act from a place of genuine desire, and I’m going to understand, however regretfully, why I walked away.

Because in the end, you cannot direct the course of love; if you are found worthy, love directs your course.

Comments

[showingup.livejournal.com]

That is (literally) a genius way of choosing: Does it stir love in the heart?

I don't believe you will be kicking yourself in 10 years' time at all. I believe you'll be perfectly content with your decision. It was the right one, after all.

[brock-tn.livejournal.com]

You have it exactly right: one buys art because one loves it and wants to look at it every day for the rest of one's life.

You DON'T buy art solely because you think it will appreciate over the years. That's treating something the artist poured heart and soul into as a commodity, and it's... ...well, it's just wrong.

No matter how much of a bargain someone tells you that it is, if the work doesn't speak to you in the hidden recesses of your heart, you should leave it in the gallery. You aren't the one it was meant for.

[catpaw67.livejournal.com]

I agree with you completely, but I love that Sabrina spoke to the possibility of art as investment. It is a beautiful world that allows us to buy something that moves us and possibly even make some money in the process. I own a few original works of art that have appreciated in value and several which have not. I didn't buy them as investments in the future, but I can see that they have enriched my life more than the increase in value will. When they stop enriching my life with beauty and love, I'll sell them along, hopefully to people for whom they are similarly enriching. And maybe in the process they'll make me a little money.

So don't refuse to buy art because it's a frivolous expenditure. Instead, buy art you love and if you're lucky (as in the stock market, by the way), it'll be a good investment. And it won't put people out of work to increase its profit, build nuclear weapons, poison the world, or any of the other negative things a company could do. The worst it will do is drive your spouse or friends crazy.

[sabrinamari.livejournal.com]

Michael already knows I'm crazy, Cat.

[sabrinamari.livejournal.com]

I thought about this: if I bought this piece without loving it, I would be cheating the man or woman whom it would have stopped dead in their tracks. I would have taken away their only chance to gasp in delight and shudder with pleasure at the realization that this painting was the perfect expression of what they had been feeling. What a jerk that would have made me!

How frickin' cruel it would have been...

[justusgirlz.livejournal.com]

I'm going to play Devil's Advocate on this one. You were looking at the Maldonado original as a possible investment, yet since you didn't love it, despite the fact you're pretty sure it will appreciate in value, you didn't buy it. Disregarding the art element, and looking at the investment side, did you fall in love with the elements of your portfolio prior to investing in them? Why was that not a necessity before making those investments? Are they hanging on your wall or quietly working their fiduciary magic in cyberspace? If this was a stock of similar potential and opportunity would you have purchased it?

[sabrinamari.livejournal.com]

You what's sad? I actually do have emotional glee attached to some of the funds in which I've invested. I especially like the quirky ones. It's really strange, honey. I am *really* strange.

[wgseligman.livejournal.com]

There is a general truism among collectors: Only collect those things you like/love. Yes, you can collect as an investment, but:

- A collection might not appreciate in value the way you think it will. I once had a complete collection of "Howard the Duck" comic books. It certainly did NOT appreciate in value as I"d once hoped!

- A collectible must be maintained; there's always the risk that time will take its toll. Are you willing/able to protect an investment with the appropriate care/insurance? If you don't like it or love it, you may spend more in time, money, or energy than it's worth to you.

I think you made the right decision.

[deboranter.livejournal.com]

As Rebecca (and others) can tell you, I love art. I have a lot of original art in my apt. A LOT. I love and adore each piece. Some are just cheap prints. Others are oil on canvas. Some were good investments. Others will get tossed when I die. But the only thing that matters is that I love them.

[evcelt.livejournal.com]

That is some lovely stuff... although I'm a little bit creeped out by the whole "big eyes" thing. ;-)

I think I like his prints even more than his paintings.

I'm in agreement with you... we have a lot of art around our house: repros mostly, a few prints and drawings and a very few original paintings and other such. But they are all things that we love, that have meaning to us.

[sabrinamari.livejournal.com]

I like creepy things. A lot.

[evcelt.livejournal.com]

There are plenty of creepy things I like... just not the big-eyed stuff. But it is lovely.

[castalusoria.livejournal.com]

For art that I put in my home, I must love it. It must beg to be taken home with me. If it appreciates over the years, great. If not-- they've been in my home, loved.

[sligoe.livejournal.com]

The stuff in our house generally has some meaning either for Dave or for me, some of it even to both of us. As I look around, I feel memories swirl, and asm comforted by the things that have meaning, things that I love. That's the way it should be---investment or no. You did the right thing. :)

Hugs.

[eoma-p.livejournal.com]

'm always leery of art as an investment. It's so hard to predict, and I would expect pretty hard to liquidate. My parents made several art purchases that have probably appreciated, but I have no idea how to liquidate them. Thankfully most of the 'art' was desirable to my siblings and I as decoration. Bless my children and nieces and nephews if they need liquid cash in a hurry after we're all dead.

On the note of not loving it, my parents purchased a Precious Moments print for me as an investment. It's still in the cardboard box it originally came in. I simply refuse to hang nausea inducements on my walls. That's one thing to consider relative to Stephanie's comment about not having to love everything in your portfolio. No one expects you to hang your portfolio on the walls of your house.