Talking Art!

While catching up with a friend and a business associate this weekend in New London Ct, I had the distinct pleasure of meeting and chatting with some unbelievable individuals. For those unfamiliar with New London, it is a unique town that lolls beside the Thames River. My first destination was Flavours for Life. However, I was en route to Jeffery’s Barbershop. I ended up at the one on Elm Street because I was unaware that the owner owned multiple shops, and I just put the shop’s name in the GPS. I was supposed to be going to the one on Banks Street. When I finally arrived on Banks Street, I could see the view of the water to my right, which was adjacent to the railroad tracks. It immediately drew visualizations of a working-class American city 50 years ago and beyond when ports and railroads were our country’s primary sources of transporting goods. I appreciated the historic appeal of this street as I drove down it and said to myself Bank St. It must have been the place to make money at some point, and this town is trying to savor that vibe.

My friend Kevin greeted me with a smile and a manly hug, as we always do when we see each other. It could be a year apart or just a day or so, like recently. It’s something I am getting used to. We first went into the Flavours of Life. This shop was colorful with culture and relaxed my tension from the hour-long drive. I met a vibrant young lady and her teacher there, but we abruptly left because we had appointments to get haircuts at Jeffrey’s Barbershop Spa.

As we strolled into the Barbershop Spa, my friend knew everyone, and they greeted him with hugs and handshakes. The place was an upscale barber shop. Everyone was dressed formally and smiled, but behind those smiles was a professional demeanor that we are here to give you the best service possible. I enjoyed my haircut. For one, it was a treat from my friend, and for two, the service was terrific: Hot towel and facial massage in a relaxing environment. Afterward, I had an opportunity to chop it up with the owner, who explained how he went from your typical minority barbershop to a high-class barber shop, spa, and school. He said bluntly he had to get educated. He educated himself on what educated people wanted and gave it to them.

While my friend Kevin was doing his version of Superman and changing from hike mode to nightlife mood, he led me to the local for-profit art Gallery. I looked around at all the art and talked to the lady who was an artist herself who was working. One picture caught my attention. Well, two, both for different reasons. The first one that caught my attention was over two thousand dollars. These were small paintings priced from fifty to a couple of hundred dollars, and the one that didn’t stand out was costly. The other one was a lion. I distinctly remember the name from the picture. It was Emily Werner. She wrote a thanks to Marvin Espy. I pondered there, questioning why that name was familiar; however, I could not recall it.

When Kevin returned looking fresh and clean, I thought this dude went home, showered, left me here, and laughed to myself. Then, I went to another art gallery-type place called Hygienic Art. It was an odd name for an art gallery. It appeared to be an old dinner or shake shop. This non-profit Gallery was another wonderful place, and like the Local, it featured many local artists. I found a bag that was the perfect sentimental gift for my mother, and it was handmade, making it unique, as is my mother.

Then Kevin said let’s go. I am behind schedule, and we still need to see Marvin. Then, it all made comical sense to me. Marvin is a Notable artist who joined our manhood Yoga class. We drove separate cars a few blocks away and arrived at Marvins Gallery. There was a young man who was sitting by the piano. He appeared to be a football player or wrestler. His hands danced on the piano keys, creating a piece of mind on the piano that is hard to find in modern times. Immediately, the large GTO painting caught my attention. I rushed over, and it was five figures. My mood changed. I was like, I do not belong here! Then Marvin came up, and we exchanged pleasantries. I reset my brain.

These paintings began to speak to me. Maybe not in the language of their creator. In the tone of a musician. Some spoke gentle words like my grandmother; others were harsh statements from my drunken uncle. One picture cried on my cheek, causing me to wipe my eyes. While another whispered in my ear that he was afraid. I was overtaken by emotions, so much so that I would look at a picture, and when it spoke, I would go to the next one and return. At this moment, not only did I realize the value in art, I realized the value in myself. There is no price on something that makes you happy. Stop! I did not buy a piece that day; It felt like shopping for a wife—many beautiful masterpieces. So, the first art piece I purchase from Mr. Epsy will speak to me in my love language.