Lost Dealer Blues

Why did our GOOD THING go wrong?

(Note: Some of you may have seen this piece already on Facebook, where I posted it a while ago. Apologies for the duplication. And apologies to any dealer subscribers who may find it in any way hurtful. Be assured that it is not about YOU!)

You know you've hit rock bottom when even your dealers stop calling.

Don't misunderstand. I'm not talking drug dealers here. I know, from watching crime shows on TV, that drug dealers don't call. They just sit tight and wait for the desperate to call THEM.

No, I'm talking ART DEALERS. Art dealers definitely DO call, or did once upon a time, and often. But now, me, no longer. I'm wondering if someone has spread the vicious rumor that my money is no longer green. Or that there's no longer any of it left, that they (that is, the dealers) already have it all. 

For the record: Dear Dealers, my money IS still green - and I DO still have a little of it – not nearly as much as would have been if you’d never called at all – but a little, that could be added to that lot you already have, if only you'd call now.

Could it be you thought I’d never find out about your infidelity – and after all my years of faithful buying? Or did you want me to? No! I can’t even grasp that possibility. You can be tempters. I learned that over many years. But cruel? No, surely not. Not MY dealers. Not YOU.

So why was I NOT offered that latest piece, that would have been so perfect for my walls? It would have filled one of the last gaps in my collection. Or maybe not “one of the last,” but for sure one of the remaining. And it would have perfectly filled that spot on the wall, which, you’re right, is not empty, but which has been filled for so many years by a piece (bought from one of you, I’ll note) holding the place in anticipation of this perfect one coming along. But now that it has come along, who got the call? Someone else, not ME!

For years it was: “I picked this just for you”; “I always call you first”; “No one else could appreciate it more.” And I believed you. But now what am I to think?

I guess I should have known you said that to all of us. I wasn’t born yesterday. Though where the charms of that “perfect painting” are concerned, I might as well have been. And you knew it.

I wish I knew how to quit you – but I don’t. We were so good together once upon a time, and surely could be good, together, again.

Now that I’ve seen the truth about our “special” relationship, will I ever be able to trust again? I doubt it. But maybe. Try me. Let’s see. Call. PLEASE CALL!

I’m floor-to-ceiling with paintings already, largely thanks to you all. Both a blessing and a curse, especially now that I’m getting old and have begun planning for the “home.”

I suppose it’s possible you think you’re doing it – calling someone else, not me –  for my own good, knowing how full my walls already are, and how perilous (and slow) the walk down, and especially UP, the stairs has become on ancient legs – what danger the paintings hang in, on their salon-stuffed walls, should I lose my footing, and fall into them. So perhaps you think you’re doing it for my own good, and for theirs.

Or did you spot that one amongst the many that I bought from someone else? My own collector/dealer infidelity. I knew I shouldn’t have as I did it. I knew it would come back to haunt me, haunt US. But don’t let that little slip destroy the brilliant thing we’ve had together for so long. It was only once (or maybe twice, or maybe …), forgotten as soon as consummation climaxed with the signing of the check. It didn’t mean anything. It was that well documented syndrome, CCC (Craven Collector Compulsion) careening uncontrolled. You knew from the beginning that I’m just a boy who can’t say NO to a pretty landscape.

Or can it be that, after all these years, you’ve grown tired of plucking (which rhymes with … ) me, and found someone else you prefer to pluck instead?

But that’s just bitterness and disappointment speaking. Don’t take offense. Don’t hold it against me. All will be forgiven, and my checkbook spread wide open for you, if you’ll only text or call. My number, in case you lost your contact list (yes, I’m sure that must be it), is – 1-800-BrokenHearted, ext. Disconsolate-that-we’ve-parted. Yes, yes, please DO call. We CAN be good again. I KNOW we can. Let’s TRY.