I was traversing the lobby of a medium-sized local art venue when I encountered a ruggedly-handsome man of my acquaintance. He's a painter (a good one) and I respect his opinion a lot.
"Hey, Nancy," he said. "I saw your show at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts."
"Cool," I said. That show happened six years ago but I still hear a lot about it.
"That was a great show," he said. "Almost every painting in that show was a masterpiece."
"Thanks," I said.
"There's one big problem with your art, though," he said. "There's too much of you in the paintings."
"That's kind of the point," I said. "Putting myself in the paintings."
"But you could make big bucks as an illustrator if you took yourself out of your paintings," he said.
"Other people have told me that too," I said. "You might be right."
He aimed his big, gorgeous grin in my direction. "So, do you plan to follow my advice?"
"No," I said. "But thanks anyway. It's very good advice."
And I meant it. It's very good advice.
Nobody Understands Me the Way That You Do, oil on canvas, 2014