He could see me eyeing the small frame. I already had one on hold behind his desk at the Emmaus location. Emmaus is the equivalent of a Salvation Army or Goodwill. Most of the employees are those that need the aid of these donations the most. Between our two accents, it was hard to figure out what the actual price was. As we wandered through our attempts, a conversation began. He was from Belarus. He seemed delighted that I was from America. The more we learned about each other, the less I hesitated with the purchase. Soon I settled on “pourquoi pas” — why not!? And I went home, not only with an extra frame, but a story to tell.

And isn’t that what art is, an exchange of stories? For that matter, I suppose that’s what life is.

Yesterday, I cut the small piece of panel to fit the frame. I gessoed. Underpainted. Sketched. Then began to paint the tiny bird. As it appeared, I had to smile, because it wasn’t just coming to France, it was leaving Belarus. He was leaving Belarus. 

We are not the same. But we are all connected. And that’s nothing to be feared, but celebrated. I tell this to the tiny bird, who replies, “Yes, chef!”