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“Look, Uncle Bwian! Look! It’s a bird!”
I set the drinks on the table and took the picture from Lanie’s hands.
It wasn’t only a bird, however, it was an entire scene. The bird was perched on a windowsill outside, and it was backdropped with the forest. The detail was incredible, and the shading of the pencil was expertly done.
“Did you draw this?” I asked.
Amanda’s eyes connected with mine, and I felt my voice catch in my throat.
“It was a bird that landed on the windowsill yesterday. Nothing spectacular. I needed a distraction after cleaning all day,” she said.
“This is nothing spectacular?” I asked.
“Just a little drawing. I figured Lanie might like it.”
“Thank you, Amana!” Lanie said.
It was a beautiful picture, and one that I’d hear about for days from Lanie. She ripped it from my hands and ran it over to the fridge where she picked up a magnet and put it right in the middle. Lanie stood back to survey her work before she scrambled back to the table. Then she climbed onto Amanda’s lap and hugged her neck tightly.
“Thank you,” Lanie said.
“You’re very welcome,” Amanda said.
“How long have you been drawing?” I asked.
I sat down at the table across from them before I slid spoons in their direction.
“A long time,” Amanda said. “I actually went to school for it.”
“So you have an art degree?”
“I do, yes,” she said.
“Is that what you do for a living?” I asked.
“It’s what I’m trying to do for a living. The ‘trying’ part is key in that statement.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well, I earned my degree in New York City, and right now the hot thing is modernism and cubism and all sorts of ‘isms’ that are boring to me. Scenes and emotions and animals and memories aren’t really that hot in the art world right now, and they’re kind of my specialty,” she said.
“Maybe you just need to find the right audience,” I said.
“I’m hoping to. I was showcased in a few art galleries during my senior year, and that led to some sales. The bulk of my market, though, is online.”
“Online?” I asked.
“Yeah. I paint, I upload a high-resolution digital picture of it, then people pay a price to print it out, have it framed, and shipped to them.”
“Sounds very impersonal.”
“It is, but it keeps my pockets lined until I can do what I really want,” she said.
“Which is?”
“Open my own gallery, hold my own showcases, and sell my own art.”
Her face lit up as she talked about it. She walked me through her dream gallery and how she would lay it out. The color scheme and the business model and even how much it would take to renovate a building and make it happen. I was impressed with her passion and how well thought-out her plan was.
