*sigh*
So, I lent two original pieces to a gallery for a Recycling Show.
Very cool, right? I mean, I haven’t been focusing on the creation of art-art lately, but instead have been trying to work through the details of book 2 in my Pandora series. It was an honor to participate in an exhibition with (old) original art. Pretty apropos when you consider it was a “recycling” theme.

First, I never received any information about the exhibition. As a participating artist, I was never invited to an opening. Time passed, I kind of forgot about it. Then…

I got a call from an assistant–not the woman in charge that I initially dealt with, but some lackey–reminding me that I should swing by and pick up my art. Oh, and by the way, one of my pieces was stolen during the show.

WHAT?!

Yeah, sorry.

Who steals from an art exhibit?

Our cameras didn’t see anything.

Well, shit.

She offered to reimburse me for the cost if they could cover it from their donations.

Trust me, honey, you do NOT have enough in your donations to make this right.
Because
it was ORIGINAL ART.
Hand-created with found materials.
Invaluable.
Irreplaceable.
Priceless.

PRICE LESS.
There is NO price.

Not to mention that you are a struggling gallery running on donations and I support the arts.

In an eerily calm voice I told her I’d get back to her.
I have not gotten back to her yet.
I’m not sure what to get back to her with.

Meantime, the other piece, the not worthy of stealing piece, sits in a box on a shelf waiting to be picked up. The poor red-headed step-child of the art world lingers patiently while mommy deals with her loss.

I miss my art.
I miss my Little Golden Book of Happiness.
I am sad.
Oh, the irony.