He asked if I could come to her apartment. I figured they needed help sorting through her things, maybe donating what little she had. But when I stepped inside, I just stopped cold.
A real one. A name people in the art world still whispered with respect. But after her daughter died, she couldn’t bring herself to paint again.
She kept the pieces her daughter loved the most, even as her life fell apart around her. And then came the part that nearly knocked the wind out of me—she had left all those paintings to me in her will. I took them home that day.
Closed the door. And yeah… I cried. Not because of their worth, but because she chose me.Continue reading…
