Carried for a While


Parting with two of my favourite abstract paintings yesterday felt less like a transaction and more like a quiet rite of passage. Each painting carries not just colour and form, but time, memory, and emotion.

It began simply, almost casually, with a post on my neighbourhood platform, Nextdoor, asking whether I was selling my work. My reply was a single word: “Yes.” Yet behind that word lay years of seeing, feeling, and becoming.

The next message arrived as an image of three of my favourite paintings, one of which had already found a home long ago. Seeing them grouped together again felt like memory folding in on itself. It wa a reminder that art never truly leaves us, even when it has moved on.

We arranged to meet on Friday at the local library, a place that already holds echoes of my past exhibitions. It seemed appropriate that such a moment would unfold there, surrounded by stories, silence, and accumulated thought.

When the exchange was completed, I realised I was not losing the paintings. They had simply reached the point where they needed to continue their journey without me. I said goodbye not with sadness, but with gratitude for what they had taught me, and for the quiet truth that creation is never meant to be possessed forever, only carried for a while.

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