Artistic Treasure

There it sat, staring sadly into my eyes. It has been consigned to solitary confinement in a box in the basement for at least six years. I tried to give it a good home, but my wife said it didn’t look good on the coffee table, the bookcase or hanging from the light in the front hallway. I viewed this fine art piece as a treasure, but I was vetoed by my wife who sees no place for this unique piece.

 

I stared at the smooth foot long egg shaped wooden structure- a futuristic bird house perhaps. I peeked into the two inch hole in the front. I was delighted to see the small round resident still suspended from some type of rope or wire. Its eyes shifted as I held the nest-like orb up and it slowly turned inside- coming to life again, glancing around the room, peering beyond the hole into the world before it. It resembled a baby owl in general form but clearly it would be a new species in my bird book.

 

It was made in Indonesia where they obviously appreciate good art. My purchase not only helped support starving artists there, it probably provided rice for a family of four for a few days. This nesting owl has helped sustain an entire village of artists.

 

Here we are. After a trip half way around the world, a brief journey to several rooms in my house and finally solitary confinement in my basement box for six years, for no crime or fault of its own. It is time to travel once again. I place it gently into the box, surrounded by sweaters, dresses, and shirts. It’s off to the Goodwill, which should be able to supply a fine home for my treasure.

 

I bring my box to the clerk. I was amazed to see three rows of huge boxes stacked nearly 20 feet high. “What will happen to my stuff” I inquire. Clarence states he has been busy lately, due to many donations. The boxes will be randomly trucked to the central warehouse where they will be opened and examined over the next few months. The contents will be sent to Goodwill shops around the state. I didn’t ask him to speculate on the fate of my nesting owl for fear of the answer. I prefer to imagine it in a new home, in a place of honor, perhaps with a spotlight shining upon it for dramatic effect.

 

Many months later after a suitable period or mourning, I was channel surfing when I spotted a show on PBS. A man was discussing the craftsmanship and skill of the artist who painted the design on a piece of furniture. He went on to examine a beautiful plate with a bird painted on it and a lovely hand painted ukulele. He had my attention. Suddenly, there it was. He held up my nesting owl! It was hand painted by an artist in a remote section of Indonesia in the mid 1900s, confirmed by the label. There was only a handful of these unique pieces available. Apparently the artists of the village became enamored by the works of Jackson Pollock and they then moved on to throw paint at blank canvases and at each other. No more nesting owls. This piece of fine art was worth $15,000.

 

My feelings ran from regret to anger, to shame- but settled on pride. I know my art!