This painting hangs in my office, just above my desk. The woman who painted it is a relatively unknown artist. Her work isn't displayed in museums or galleries. If her art was up for auction, it wouldn't tempt the uber-rich to drop millions of dollars (though it wouldn't surprise me). Unlike the world's iconic works of art, this painting has only been seen by maybe 50 people. Yet, this one canvas means more to me than any other painting I've ever seen. And it's not just because the artist is my bride.
When I look at the marks of the brushstokes, the shading of the colors, the layers of paint and gloss; and when I think of the story behind the painting, I see something so much more than a mixture of chemicals on a canvas. I see love. But more than a reminder of being loved, I see a challenge to love.
See, Carissa doesn't paint for the love of the viewer. She paints because of her love for the viewer, whoever that may be.
I've urged her on several occasions to use her talent to get paid, to paint for money. But each time, she says she can't. It's not that faux-modesty, oh-I-don't-have-any-talent kind of thing. It's that her talent, her creativity, her brilliance in this realm comes from a place so deep, so rich, so full, that the only way to describe it is an expression of love.
And you can't put a price on that.
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