The Silent Conversation
Every painting I've ever sold is still talking.
He looked at me and said, “That’s the third one this year, Monica. You must be raking it in.”
I laughed and said, “Go ahead… guess what I sold it for.”
“Five thousand,” he said without hesitation.
“Not even close,” I told him. “Twelve hundred.”
You could hear the gasp.
And I understood it. Because if you’re looking at art as product, that number doesn’t make sense.
But I’m not selling product.
I’m placing pieces.
I sell my paintings to the person who writes me and says, “I don’t know why, but I can’t stop thinking about this.”
The one who tells me what they saw in it before I ever explained a thing.
The one who already feels something shift just from seeing it on a screen.
That’s the person I want the painting to go to.
I’ll even work out payments if I need to. Not because I’m discounting the work… but because I’m honoring the connection.
Because here’s what most people don’t talk about:
The conversation doesn’t end when the painting is sold.
It begins.
They hang it on their wall, and every day it speaks to them in a way only they understand.
And somewhere in that exchange… I’m still there too.
Quietly.
Not in a possessive way. In a connected way.
A silent conversation that keeps unfolding between the artist, the piece, and the person who was meant to have it.
That’s worth more to me than a quick $5,000.
Every single time.
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