How a piece of art came to be mine

After eating a bit more than we should have at Le Pigeon last Thursday night, we decided walking a bit was a good plan.  Our path led us by some local shops, so we stopped into one, Redux, that offered a wide variety of strange goodies.  Redux turned out to be hosting a small showing by two local artists.  One of them, Adam Burke, was displaying primarily paintings of strange insects in settings that were at once both natural and otherworldly.

That's where it started.

I wandered the shop, looking at this and that, but I kept coming back to one of Burke's pieces, The Tower.  You can see it by going here and clicking through the samples until you come to one with a large blue tower in its center.  The piece struck me as decidedly alien, yet barely so.

The last thing I need is more art.  I have about five dozen framed pieces sitting on the floor, awaiting wall space for display and time from me to hang them.

Yet back to this one I came, time and again.

I almost exited the store, but then I came back again for a last look.

At which point, of course, I decided that though I most definitely did not need more art, I was going to buy this one.

It's not with me yet, because the show is still going on, but in June it should appear.

This sort of orbiting process is typically how I acquire art:  For reasons I rarely know, a piece speaks to me, I orbit it for a bit, and then I find myself opening my wallet.  I never worry whether I know the artist, or whether I like her/his body of work, or whether the piece will prove to be a good investment.  It talks to me, and then if it speaks clearly and loudly enough, I bring it home.