One of my colleagues buys art from every place he has lived. I think it's wonderful, but several of the cities where I have lived have never inspired me enough to buy a piece.
That was, until I moved to Atlanta and made my first art purchase.
The artist was Scott Ingram, and I fell in love with his nail polish paintings after seeing them in an article. He simply buys a bunch of nail polish and drips the contents down the canvas.
I fully understand the argument that modern art can be a big hoax. After all, the guy buys dozens of nail polish bottles and after spilling the contents, calls it art AND charges an arm & a leg for it.
But you know what? I loved the work and realized I truly treasured my piece when it was the only thing that I was worried about arriving safely when I packed up all of my things in Atlanta, put them into a pod and had them shipped out here to LA.
There's even a treasured little drip that hangs from the bottom of one of the nail streaks and I was worried the little drip could break and fall off.
It didn't, and I'm still waiting to display my beautiful work.
I think I may hang it over my bed. I can see it surrounded by a soothing grey palate, the painting shining on its own.
It's a piece that I am proud of, because I picked it out, while my husband (who has a great eye) has discovered most of the artists we love and seek out.
I have the pride of ownership. By the way, the first photo is the one I bought. I love the reds and pinks together.