"How beautiful!" says a middle-aged lady as she enters my studio in the late afternoon of a winter day. She compliments me and, since she is looking around for the most interesting compositions, I start showing her some creations. Some are more recent, others from some time ago. On the other hand, precisely because it is an important piece for me, I am sorry to let it go. I feel as if I am giving away a piece of myself. I was even starting to think about raising the price so it would become too expensive and no one would take it away from me. There is no problem with tears. I know what it means to lose a husband you loved very much and I know those tears very well. They are very similar to mine. I try to lighten the mood as best I can but the emotions are palpable. There is a very strong resonance between us and a hug comes spontaneously. The lady decides to take my piece with her. I give it to her reluctantly and, in return, I receive one of the most beautiful feelings one can experience: the pleasure of having helped to heal a wound. As Oscar Wilde reminds us in this regard, "Nothing can cure the soul but the senses."
She likes almost all of them but is particularly interested in one piece. She looks at it, tries it on, asks me the price... Her interest creates conflicting feelings in me. On the one hand, I am very happy that she likes it because for me it is an important piece; I am honored that she asks for it because I feel recognized in my art.
Between one creation and another, the lady tells me that her husband has died and recalls anecdotes as if he were still alive. At a certain point, unexpectedly, she cries and, as often happens to reserved people, she feels excessive and immediately apologizes. For me, the impact is strong.
Eliana Spinelli
Photo by Peggy und Marco Lachmann-Anke from Pixabay