Yesterday I moved one such piece on to a new life. It was a painting my father bought when a young man in New York City. The piece was a signed oil by a rather unknown Austrian artist whose father was a bit more famous and thus more successful. Nevertheless, because the painting is almost 100 years old, despite its condition issues, there is always a chance that it could accrue in value.
I ended up selling the painting for a store...literally. Well, not literally because I also got about half the asking price, which was fairly modest, to begin with. The story is that a man bought the painting for his brother, who is beginning to show an interest in collecting art.
Now, we've all heard those Antiques Roadshow stories where a person pays $25. for a piece at an estate sale and it turns out to be worth $25k. Not the case here. However, a little TLC and a good cleaning will definitely be advisable for the new owner. That will raise the value fivefold and make for a desirable and aesthetically pleasing work of art.
What seems to stick with me every time I sell something with childhood recollections is that I tend to react emotionally. The aforementioned painting hung over the fireplace in my family home. It was part and parcel of my folks' conception and portion of postwar promise. It was more than a work of art, it was home and hearth. No matter how many times we tell ourselves that nothing lasts forever, and even when we have finally come to believe it for keeps, it still manages to pluck the heartstrings with a final tune.
The answer, my friends, isn't blowing in the wind, but it is doable. I like to make a new narrative and go with that. For example, some person, who will no doubt outlive me and my entire family will soon be very pleased with his new acquisition. He might even give it the care and energy it deserves. It may even be connected to yet another version of all things possible in the American that we know exists. New life for an old-timer. Yeah, that works.
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