They toured around the Metropolitan Museum of Art and Liesl was breathless.
“You know someday your art could be here.”
“Oh gosh, no.” She stared at him incredulously. “These are the masters.” She stared at a Van Gogh. “His cypress paintings are divine.”
“You are very talented in your own right.”
“Not comparable to Van Gogh,” she giggled at his stern expression. “Isaias, my art may as well be stick-figures compared to this.”
“Not true. Your art speaks to people, Liesl. I heard the conversations you had at your show. People feel your art. They get lost in the emotions you convey. The painting I bought years ago, for example, brings me to a relaxing place. When I’ve had a day where everything has gone wrong, I can sit and stare at the painting and feel the calm surround me.”
