Mullis: The art of a fair trade during Spring into the Arts

I was one of three authors signing their books at Battle Creek Books during the spring art walk. My table was near the back.
A bookshelf separated me from a group of musicians playing Beatle covers and original creations. There was a cello and, at times, a young child singing. Occasionally, one of the musicians would scramble past to corral a toddler helping himself to the free cookies.
After one pass, I complimented the music. He told me to listen for a song he wrote about Franny Glass, a character from a J.D. Salinger novel.
“I thought it would be perfect for a bookstore.”
I smiled.
Paintings were everywhere, including one of a starry night over a fat river. Multiple times, while the music played, I found myself staring at it.
A gentleman stopped and picked up my novel. He had worked at several newspapers over the years, including the Battle Creek Enquirer. He was familiar with my column. We talked about journalism, which led to a conversation about a fiction project he had started long ago.
My oldest daughter joined us. She was holding two small ink drawings she had purchased. When the gentleman found out she was a musician, he mentioned a couple songs he had written.
While they talked music, another gentleman stopped. He had a beautiful painting under his arm. I complimented what I thought was his purchase. He told me its title – something in French that translated into something in English about bathers.
He pointed to my book, saying he had seen it before and wanted to buy it one day. He liked the artwork on the cover and the blurb on the back.
As we chatted, I discovered the canvas he carried wasn’t something he bought, but something he painted. In fact, all the paintings hanging in the store were his paintings, including the one that kept catching my eye. I asked how much he wanted for that one.
He hadn’t priced it. He hadn’t even titled it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to sell it.
I could respect that. If he parted with the painting, it was a true separation. I told him if he ever changed his mind, he could let the bookstore owner know.
He looked at me, then the painting, then my book.
“Would you trade me a book for it?”
Joy filled me, something I couldn’t name. He could have paid for the book. I could have paid for the painting. Money is a good thing, but it rarely compensates for the hours, sometime years, that go into creation. But he knew. And I knew.
We were making a fair trade.
My daughter chuckled as I scurried off to my personal books to get a copy. Unbeknownst to me, she snapped a picture of me signing my book, while he signed his painting. She also texted a photo of me holding this painting to my husband so he could clear some wall space.
The retired journalist returned before closing. He had a CD of his music for my daughter and the first page of his stalled short story for me. It read well and I encouraged him to continue.
A small grin.
Later, we drove home with the painting lying flat in the back of the car, listening to the CD, watching the streetlights blur in the rain.
That joy returned, but I knew its name – kinship.
Few artists are lucky enough to make a living from their art. Most of us make do with chump change and “real” jobs and rejection letters and self-doubt. We do it because when we get it right, art heals the creator as well as the receiver.
It’s a fair trade.
Nicole L.V. Mullis is the author of “A Teacher Named Faith.” You can reach her at nlvm.columns@gmail.com or www.NicoleLVMullis.com.