Before deciding to buy that painting I passed several times along the little gallery called "One Story in a Frame" and admired it. I wanted to be sure that I really like to suspend on the wall of my house this image of a broken window. There were days of yes and days of no way self-answers so now when I am inside, between the multitude of frames, old pictures and paintings, I feel that I have to hurry up. The young owner of the gallery is studying something in a catalogue and let me the time to observe whatever I want. I know exactly why I am here so I am telling him to bring me the painting.
- Are you sure that you want to buy this painting, madam? he asked and smiled with an unusual expression.
- What kind of question is this? Of course I am sure. Is this a habit of the store? Are you actually asking everyone the same question?
- Not exactly. It depends also on customers but this is not the point. Some paintings have a story and some others don't.
- And what would be the one of the painting I've just chosen?
- The painter. He made a bet. He had said that nobody would buy this painting. And if he would...
- Well I am listening. I started to laugh waiting for the suite of this strange dialogue.
- He didn't tell me more. Me too I am curious. It could be interesting to know what was in his mind when he declared it. You have to know that the painter is a celebrity so we cannot expect his statement to be a joke.
- I had never connected biography and works of art. Figure yourself than stories like these remain just stories. I am glad to have this picture and that's all. Thank you for this.
I went out with my trophy and refused to remember the just finished conversation but words of it were persisting in my mind. I start to put together few elements and I turn up to the question:” Why have I been so attracted to this image?"
Then the painter's unfinished statement came to my mind. I refused to analyze it and said to myself that I had to forget the both questions. I had better things to do than accepting mind's games.
I hang the old broken window near another image that I like, an ancient little house whose steps disappear under an elliptical bridge made of trees.
I was very satisfied with this acquisition that I considered a present for my next birthday. Lately, when I understood that taking care of yourself has to be a personal task, I had introduced this ritual into my life.
"If I don't pamper me, who will?"
My husband didn't see any spectacular esthetical satisfaction in this; he just said: "If you like it, you know better the reasons. Enjoy!"
Every day, sitting in my armchair, I was observing the window in the picture and I tried to feel the sense of balance of the broken part. I felt relaxed. In the same time a fugitive thought was crossing my mind as somebody would like to give me some suggestion. I felt that this was connected to my recent incipient depression and that if I could catch the idea, everything would come to my former normal life.
Certain that the solution was in this very picture I continued my daily observation sessions. "Yes, it was that! Now I understand my quasi magnetism to it!" I said and congratulated myself for the second time, this one with more vigor.
One night, a month after, I heard a noise in the living room. It seemed that a window were swung by the wind. I left my bed and went to check it out. It was a silent night, no wind, no rain, and no problem to any of the windows. Coming back to the bed I supposed that the noise might be a dream. Hardly turned I off the light strong-minded to sleep when the noise made me bound again. This time it was similar but stronger and alike one woman's cry. I wake up my husband and told to him:
- Listen! Do you hear the weeping? What this could be?
He looked at me half amazed half anxious and replied:
- What are you talking about? What noise, it is midnight! It is the perfect calm for having rest. You are just dreaming! Go back to sleep and take care with your dreams. Somebody has to go to work in the morning".
"If I am the sole hearing this noise night after night, maybe something is wrong with me". I said to myself. I suspected that my depression was going worse despite my self-control and the will to overcome it without any special help. It was not a severe form but rather a sudden lack of interest for the things I used to do before. I was searching for ways to re-discover myself and I arrived at this difficult point when one does not know anymore what he really likes. The reason? I was in search of it too.
Slowly I decided to wait for the noise and to comprehend it. I was also wondering why the noise was not scaring me; more than that, I continued to believe that sooner I would catch the response through this visiting expression of grief.
Yes, I was right, there were a connection between my state and the painting. There was something but what? The fugitive idea continued to play with me.
One morning I woke up early, took a shower and then I opened the window of the kitchen letting the fresh air of sunrise moment to inundate the piece and myself. My former mechanical act of coffee preparation received a special nuance: I was doing everything without rush but with pleasure. The black coffee fragrance invaded me entirely. I started to sing and to thank God for the marvelous new day. I was on the halfway to wounded heart. I left home and wandered a couple of hours. It was I again! Yes, I was the same woman who once used to talk to the old trees lost in the deserted streets.
They were right to choose this name for the gallery, I thought and push the door. The young man had just opened and didn't expect clients so early. He recognized me and continued:
- What's up? You know the final of the painter's sentence? Me too. Yesterday I saw him and he asked me about the buyer. I didn't know to give him details about you but he was not embarrassed. He wanted me to let you know that his door is opened for you anytime.. Here you are the address.
- My dear admirer, I appreciate your courage to pursuit the humble message of my picture. If you are here, I was right: there are more people who are missing themselves. But from these people some understand, some others don't. You are healed now, thank you! The way you were looking for is the recognition of our huge gift: the little joys of life.
- You deserve the gratitude! It is incredible what you are capable to do with your art! Tell me, you've really met the owner of that house?
- It was my grandmother's. We were so happy there! Each day was a gift and every little thing made us to feel the as the richest people in the world despite the fact that there were neither cars nor current technology. You can’t imagine her cries when we took her to town. Now we are offered a lot of belongings and possibilities but we are so poor!
I left my new friend with the assured that I was right too; everyone has the force to find his way when he wants to. After such a difficult period, I get back my mornings and my joy of living. Nothing else does matter.
