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I took a picture of this picture that hung in my room or in my house for almost 15 years. I wanted to remember it, but didn't want to hold on to it anymore. A vacation in the Caribbean, a small Mexican tourist trap, and a painter.
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The fad of the time was to paint works of art with spray paint and use objects (cardboard cutouts, rocks, bowls, anything) to achieve some type of 'scene'. It was amazing to watch a work in process at how quick the artists had become. I'm sure it was more about getting American dollars than the art, but still fascinating.
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After viewing three or four artists around town, I just couldn't quite decide. I had given up on my quest for the perfect picture until the last stop of the day. And there it was. In my favorite colors with a scene that instantly felt 'me'. The paint was still a bit damp, but I wasn't disappointed that I hadn't witnessed the artist making this one. The mystery of how it became was just as important to me as what the painting said to me.
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But over the years, and changes in life, the girl who stared into the painting with wonder and dreams is a completely different person now. No magic anymore could be seen coming through the art. So off it went. Sold to a young lady. But I'm OK with that.
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She can have the dreams and wonderment now.