For all of her extravagance and spare-no-expense approach to business, Mrs. Herndon was frugal with her words and downright miserly with her compliments.
In her brusque manner she explains how the exchange will be made then, with no wasted words, she departs.
Sunrise is not for another hour but a celebration is in order. A martini would be nice but I pour myself a mimosa instead. In the dimly lit loft I raise my glass in a toast while looking directly into the eyes.
It's all in the eyes...
Twenty years ago I was nobody, just another starving artist waiting tables in a short-lived trendy cafe while waiting for someone to notice me.
The person who noticed was Mrs. Herndon, heiress to the Herndon Hotel empire. She was an extremely wealthy woman and, as I was to learn, an extremely adept businesswoman.
After dining with friends at Michele's on 18th Street, she decided to enjoy the warm spring evening and walk the three blocks back to her brownstone. She stopped in front of Rigel's gallery and watched as a new painting was being hung in the window.
The shop was closed but the proprietor asked if she would like to come in for a closer look.
The painting he was hanging, the one she was looking at, was called The Jaguar. She bought it that evening and in doing so, set in motion a series of events that would make me a very wealthy man.
Shortly after the sale of The Jaguar, the owner of Rigel's informed me that the person who purchased it had requested a private showing of all of the rest of my works. He had not told me who the purchaser was and, honestly, I didn't much care. If they had money then their name was unimportant.
I pulled together everything I had - 28 pieces - and brought them over to Rigel's on a Thursday evening. On Friday morning he presented me with a check for twenty-eight thousand dollars and a contract for the exclusive showing of my future works.
After signing, he told me who had purchased my work and asked that I try to keep the information private.
By the time I got home from Rigel's there were three messages on my answering machine asking for interviews and two from agents looking to represent me.
Being who she is, everyone watched Mrs. Herndon's actions and those who wanted to be like her mimicked those actions. If Mrs. Herndon bought my paintings then everyone wanted to buy my paintings. And the prices were suddenly staggering.
By making me famous she increased not only my wealth, but her own.
It became a ritual and a media event to have an unveiling of one of my paintings at the opening of a new Herndon Hotel.
I was relieved when she commissioned me to do an elephant for the opening of the new Herndon Hotel Dubai. All I could think when she asked me was that elephants are easy.
Standing behind her as she pulls the golden cord, I watch as the drape falls away from the frame and the proud elephant, trunk raised, is viewed for the first time. We smile for the cameras and listen to the applause echo throughout the hotel lobby.
I hear the praise. "Stunning". "Magnificent". "His best work".
Amid the camera flash, the clapping and the cheering, Mrs. Herndon looks over at me.
She is not pleased.
"It's not wild." It was a statement, a fact.
I started to protest.
"Just look at the eyes."
She was right.
"The zoo?"
I nod.
"I expect that it will be redone and this one destroyed."
Sitting in a shallow trench Assam, India I realize that elephants are not fearsome. Yes, they are large but they do not have the same predatory characteristics as the large cats, gorillas or raptors I have painted in the past.
Bored, I fidget with the camera sitting on the tripod beside me and wait for the guide to return from the bushes where he has gone to relieve himself.
The bushes rustle as he returns. I stand up and call to him to prepare the jeep. The response is a loud trumpeting and a rumbling of the earth. Instinctively, I dive down into the trench and the elephant passes directly over me.
The tripod tips over and as the camera hits the ground the shutter snaps.
I raise the glass and take another sip of mimosa before unclipping the single photograph from the corner of the canvas.
Perfect. She said it was perfect.
How wonderful it would be to have a patron, even one who is critical. Interesting story. I'll watch for belligerent elephants (smile).
ReplyDelete