I carefully placed my abstract paintings against the wall at Angie's yard sale. I wanted them out of the sun, which damages oil. I expected lots of traffic on this beautiful Saturday.
My concern was whether conservative, yard sale vets would gasp in shock at the mystery and complexity of my work. What possibilities. Would they hug or strike me?
My art was surrounded by a blasphemy of used clothes, dish sets, cheap jewelry, offensively bland book ends, exercise equipment, country music CDs and an violently unstable ashtray. Please. My paintings were embarrassed. Guilt by association.
Six hours later I hadn't made a single sale. Cowards!
One guy offered to buy one so he could paint over it.
I am not distraught. When I step back and examine my work I see borderline genius. There will be other yard, garage, gate and sidewalk sales, many chances to share my vision. I am patient and can wait for the rest of society to catch up with me.
I bought the damn ashtray.
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