Femme au Plateau

I love our home, and one of the things I love most about it is the art we have everywhere. Almost all of it is art from friends — beautiful pieces that speak to our relationships. I suppose they have value, but the point to me is that they are given with love and meaning — and they just happen to look amazing as well.

And I love museums and experiencing art there. Since my first trip to France in high school, I (like everyone else in the world) have loved the Impressionists, and within them have always had a special place in my heart for Henri Toulouse-Latrec. What can I say, it appeals to my circus side.

Yesterday, there was an estate sale at Joe Kingman's townhome. Joe was the father of Brant Kingman, who used to have an art studio/gathering space I frequented; there's an awesome photo somewhere of Patrick and I one New Year's Eve there not long after we first started dating. 

And hanging above the fireplace in the living room was an original lithograph by Toulouse-Latrec.

Now I mean, there were gorgeous other original pieces all over the house including another Toulouse-Latrec and a Jim Dine and a de Chirico and such (and wooden duck decoys, and old sheets and other household things, but I digress). The two Calders, purchased at the time that Dayton's had a gallery selling fine art, were apparently the first things to go. Interestingly enough, this work had been purchased from another estate sale in Wayzata years ago, from some prominent local art collectors. 

But I kept on coming back to the Toulouse-Latrec.

Never have I ever thought I could buy a piece of museum-quality art before. Other lithographs from this run are in MoMa, and the British Museum, and the National Gallery of Art. This was the kind of piece I would go to a museum to see, not gaze at from my couch. Yet here it was.

I couldn't stop thinking about it. Thinking about how we have tried to be stewards and build for the future. Thinking about what it would mean to own something like that. Thinking of how it related to other pieces we have, and how it was evocative of Hazel Belvo's work in many ways. Reminding me of going to Montmartre for the first time with my mother, or our 10th anniversary spent in Paris. Thinking of sharing the enormity of a purchase like that with my husband.

We went back after yoga today and it was still there, and they were willing to negotiate on price. It was still a big stretch, but as Patrick's friend Garrick says "Opportunities always come before you are ready for them."

So we bought it.

It's now hanging in our dining room.

I'm still absolutely vibrating with excitement.