Odd, for someone who goes to as many Art Openings as I do, you would think I would know more about art. I can tell a Rembrandt from a Picasso, but really not much more than that. I have seen Michelangelo’s David and the Pieta, but I was six at the time. I like going to museums, but I usually leave too soon. And the art show attendances are usually because my friend Larry the Art Curator and all-about-town art guy, tells me that I have to go. So, when I drove up to Camp Brotherhood in 2003, I certainly never expected to become obsessed with a piece of art; so obsessed that I used a photo of it as a screen saver on my office computer for over six months before tracking down the artist and buying it. But that’s exactly what happened.

I have bought art before. I had a painting of my husband commissioned by a dear (now departed) friend which hangs in our living room. Upstairs, the walls are covered with sketches by another friend who went to New York and became a successful fashion designer. A small piece by the artist Art Garcia is a favorite. But somehow, none of these pieces moved me as much as the small bald head that has haunted me for over a year.

 

I am only a payment away from owning a piece of art by the sculptor Heather Cole. Called “Realization”, the piece is a pre-pubescent head, completely bald, with a face turned blindly upwards, as if towards the sun. It is a simple piece; made of Colorado Marble, the head and shoulders rise out of a piece of Gray Slate; the neck has a lovely line, and the head turns up beautifully with an expression of purity and wonder that is exquisite. When I found Heather in the spring after the Camp B visit, I hummed and hawed about buying the piece. I went to view it twice, and the second time I realized that I just had to take it home. It moved me so much; it made me cry - which is something I had never expected to happen. Heather took pity on the sad state of my financial affairs, and agreed to accept a series of payments that will be over in January 2005- nearly a year of monthly deposits towards owning this lovely thing.

Owning “Realization” is not going to make me any more knowledgeable about art. It isn’t going to make me understand how Vermeer used color, or how Constable used light. But it taught me this; if a piece of art moves you so much that you weep, then buying it is not a choice, but rather a necessity. I have waited nearly two years to bring this bust home. It will be worth the wait.