A week ago there was a knock on my door. I had the grand kids and was busy playing, and don't normally open my door to strangers...having looked out the peep hole in the front door I saw a young man and by his side was a huge art portfolio. Obviously he was selling something. Another reason why I don't normally answer the door, I look out and wait quietly for the person to walk away.
But this time I opened the door. The young man was selling paintings he told me that he and other students had done. He had a bit of an accent and when I asked him where he was from he said "Israel". I responded in my halting Hebrew with "Really?!" And from there we continued to converse in Hebrew. He was Israeli of Russian decent. He and his friends were from Jerusalem an art school there...and were here to earn money selling paintings. He told me he was in the 'seva' Israeli army, and had very little money there.
Well, I was of course hooked before he even opened his portfolio. He had paintings of American cities, no thanks...but he also had this painting of bright, vibrant red poppies. I told him I was attracted to that painting because I had the memory of sitting on a mountain top in Israel, at age 20, with my then Israeli fiance, surrounded on all sides as far as the eye could see these very same red poppies with black centers. It was an awesome sight. This painting was a keeper. The oil paint is thick and lush. So I got my check book and bought it for us to keep.
Happy Bloomin' Tuesday. Do you have a memory of a special flower in your past to share?
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Israeli Red Poppies Story on Bloomin' Tuesday
A week ago there was a knock on my door. I had the grand kids and was busy playing, and don't normally open my door to strangers...having looked out the peep hole in the front door I saw a young man and by his side was a huge art portfolio. Obviously he was selling something. Another reason why I don't normally answer the door, I look out and wait quietly for the person to walk away.
But this time I opened the door. The young man was selling paintings he told me that he and other students had done. He had a bit of an accent and when I asked him where he was from he said "Israel". I responded in my halting Hebrew with "Really?!" And from there we continued to converse in Hebrew. He was Israeli of Russian decent. He and his friends were from Jerusalem an art school there...and were here to earn money selling paintings. He told me he was in the 'seva' Israeli army, and had very little money there.
Well, I was of course hooked before he even opened his portfolio. He had paintings of American cities, no thanks...but he also had this painting of bright, vibrant red poppies. I told him I was attracted to that painting because I had the memory of sitting on a mountain top in Israel, at age 20, with my then Israeli fiance, surrounded on all sides as far as the eye could see these very same red poppies with black centers. It was an awesome sight. This painting was a keeper. The oil paint is thick and lush. So I got my check book and bought it for us to keep.
Happy Bloomin' Tuesday. Do you have a memory of a special flower in your past to share?
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What a flash of kismet. Beautiful painting well worth the memories.
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful painting. Worth every penny!
ReplyDeleteLovely red poppies!!!
ReplyDeleteIndeed worth the price I suppose.
Happy Blooming Tuesday:)
Serendipity!!! YOu were meant to meet this man and have this beautiful poppy for your memory bank. Awesome experience.
ReplyDeleteI should definitely pin this story to the pack of the painting for my grandchildren some day. Since the "fiance in the story" is their other grand father. ;-)
ReplyDeletewonderful painting, and story too! Sometimes our intuition is just right, isn't it? I love paintings who have a story like this:)
ReplyDeleteHave a great sunny day
Andrea
Well, now I'm back cause I wanted to tell you that we have red poppies with black center like that here too!
ReplyDeleteand now I try to leave the comment with the other blog, (so much to learn, again)
love
Andrea
Wow what a nice story Lynn!
ReplyDeleteThis painting will be so special for you with memories of Israel!
Thanks for sharing it
hugs
>M<
Oh that is a good story. The painting is definitely a 'Keeper'.
ReplyDeleteI have a story to tell you.
My grandmother was a oil painter. She painted flowers. She always used fresh flowers when she painted. She had an art studio and taught painting as well as sold her art at art shows.
At one of those art shows a man was interested in buying a painting of a daisy clothed with a handkerchief. It was a simple painting on a large canvas. The man asked how much the painting was, obviously interested in it. My grandmother told him it was 400.00. He said, "How long did it take you to paint it?"
She replied, "Forty years."
I love that reply because it is so true. The painting wasn't sold.My father liked it very much and my grandmother gave it to him a few years later.
Keep your stories alive...
Tell them.
Quilt Architect I LOVE your grandmohter's story!!! Forty years indeed! How true. Thanks so much for sharing this story.
ReplyDeleteWhat an unusual afternoon you had! And with a happy ending at that!
ReplyDeleteI'm glad you were reminded of such a happy time.
My flower memory would be peonies. I remember sitting under my grandmother's peony bushes and soaking up the smell. I must have been very small, because those bushes seemed HUGE to me. I could hide inside them.
Just the other day my new friend R from Iran was sharing a poem with me in which a poppy plays a central role. We talked about the significance of the black center of the red, red poppy. What a neat encounter, Lynn! Kismet, indeed. And what a wonderful painting to add to your walls. It will make a great conversation piece when people ask where you got it.
ReplyDeleteI love this painting and your story Lynn! I have many flower memories - one being the picking of wildflowers when I was little. I remember gathering bluebells, primroses and violets and giving posies to my mother . Not allowed any more these days :(
ReplyDeleteI remember my mom buying a painting when i was young from an artist knocking door to door as well... A little house with a field of tiny flowers and a delicate little pink butterfly... i treasure that painting...
ReplyDelete