We used to have this guy that came at night and did the custodial work. A black young man who worked as a barber during the day. He had a wife and several children, and he was struggling to put his son in a private church based school in the hopes of escaping the fate that sometimes happens to young black males raised in the South. This man would come to my cubicle, back when my hotline shift was 3 pm to 11:30 pm, to empty the trash. I had this practice of when I finished a painting I would hang it in my cubicle a few days to see if I could find all the flaws, or needs for tweaks. He admired several of my paintings and asked me if I would sell them and how much. I would have given him the paintings, but I could sense he had some pride and was wanting to be a buyer of art, not a receiver of some dude's hobby pieces. So I sold him three or four paintings while he worked there, usually $15 or $10 each. What is money to me? I have a painting storage problem, and not a fan base of people clamoring for my art. He helps me out because without him, I'd have less room behind the doors. Since then, when the house gets too full of old work, I started renting this climate controlled place at a storage facility and I stack the old stuff there.
The collage I did recently, of my dog Tucker, was donated to this No Kill Pet Shelter and at their fund raiser auction it brought almost $600 which is the most anyone has ever paid for one of my works of art, but that was an auction and there was the"this is for a good cause" factor going on then. Still it makes one wonder if there might be some value to my work of which I am not aware. I retire officially at the end of this month, but my last work day is 11/26/14. I think there will be a retirement party and Kathie and Melain, and maybe my mother-in-law will attend. She is 89 now and not doing OK, but still, she will not enter any three legged races in the near future.
I can't imagine not working. I have been working steady for 47 years. Now I hope to paint and write and survive in a retirement for which never actually prepared.
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