To touch a heart.

I was in the gallery on Saturday when a woman came in from Indiana--here visiting her daughter, who lives in Arvada.

She drifted around the gallery, and I visited with her gently as she was drawn to works large and small along the way. She got to the wall with Marie Channer's paintings and was transfixed.




The one that first caught her eye was the little girl gazing sleepy-eyed back at the viewer--sorry I don't know the name of the painting right now. From there she started oohing and aahing, left and right, up and down.

It was fun for her to know Marie lives "right up there, on the mountainside," as I described it. She loved the picket fence painting (Waiting), then saw the lace with tiny feet. That was the end of her searching. She sat right down on the floor, holding the image in her lap. Silent.

I thought she was going to cry as she held it close, rocking back and forth. She'd study it, then hold it close again. Then study it some more.

She really wanted it, but her trip had already cost her more than her budget so she didn't feel like she should spend the money. She settled on a postcard--I was so happy we had one on hand!--but I could see it was a less-than-satisfactory compromise for her. You know, you can tell when a painting speaks to someone's heart. That one grabbed her and wouldn't let go.

She took Marie's brochure. I encouraged her to drop the artist a line some time, that Marie would love to hear from her. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to get her contact information. My bad.

Like the work of so many of our artists, Marie's work really does penetrate to the heart. I felt honored to be with this woman when it happened to her.