Forgive me, Eduardo
A young man on a bike pedaled up to me on a street near Coco Beach in Costa Rica. In broken English, he asked if I was the tourist asking around about local artists. In broken Spanish, I confirmed his suspicions and thanked him for tracking me down. (Actually, I'm sure I wasn't too hard to find – there weren't many six-foot-tall black women in over-sized sunhats on the boardwalk that day.😊)
His name was Eduardo, and his aunt owned a shop I had visited on my quest to purchase something painted, drawn, sculpted, sewn, or otherwise crafted by a local person, from an establishment owned by a local person. He explained that he was an artist and had paintings to share with me.
My friends and I excitedly followed him back to the shop we had visited only an hour or two earlier at the recommendation of a restaurant server the night before. She'd asked several of her colleagues where we might find "real" local art, and returned to us with directions to an unnamed shop across from a very visibly named diner.
On our first visit to the shop, where I was quite proud of myself for engaging fully in Spanish, the owner said her nephew was the artist in question and that he would be at the shop later. Now, on our second visit to the shop, there were several beautiful paintings laid out before us. One was an optical illusion of a man and a panther, the others were of various nature scenes.
As we perused the collection, Eduardo's girlfriend translated for him as he answered our questions about his life and inspiration. He smiled as we talked, clearly beaming with artistic pride. We bought a total of 3 pieces, one each, and took photos with him. We were so excited about our purchases! And I was proud that I had kept my tradition of investing in the local economy, outside of tourist areas that likely fill the pockets of developers. Every day for the rest of the trip, we admired Eduardo's work leaning on walls around our rental villa.
It was days later, under the bright lights of the airport, that we saw the penciled grid lines showing through the acrylic paint, each box carefully numbered. We spent the rest of our travel day stewing about being swindled. Had Eduardo used a paint-by-numbers kit?!?! We resentfully carried the pictures home, vowing to paint over the grid lines ourselves and remove the artist's name in the process! A few weeks later, after ordering acrylic paint to execute our plan, I learned that many artists draw pencil grid lines before drawing or painting from a picture or sketch. It is not only a common practice but a recommended practice. We'd been ready to dismiss Eduardo entirely and, for what? Not painting in airport lighting?
I have learned a ton from reflecting on this experience. It's saddening to realize how quickly I let one detail steal the joy and magic from the overall memory. And it is maddening to realize how narrow-minded I'd been, rejecting the truthful narrative because it was different from what I wanted. (Yup, sounds a lot like the developers I was trying to avoid at the beginning of this saga.) Even the "worst-case" scenario of purchasing a piece of art created with a paint-by-number kit is actually not bad at all. Sometimes art is the finished project or the subject matter contemplated, but sometimes art is the process of creation.
Now, just like in life, the things I once resented about the painting have made it more meaningful.
Harambee!
Genia Wright, Free Time Aficionado
P.S. Do you remember Readers Digest in the 80’s? If you do, then you can join me in the nostalgia I felt when I finished this post and realized how well it would’ve worked on the pages of that great magazine!
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