I bought from him for years, mostly when he needed money for his rent or electric bill, frankly sometimes buying things I didn't want or need, just so I could be in line in case he ever got a real score. He was one of those guys who could be in the business for years, yet never could quite catch on to what made a good or tolerably decent painting. I would have to wade through stacks of canvas clad detritus, he liked late sixties modern and I had an aversion to it like fingernails on a chalkboard. His wife collected swizzle sticks.
I mostly lost money on what I got from him, occasionally broke even but made the mistake of making more than he thought I should one time and that was the end of the equation. He was real heavy and his heart and knees were bad. Surprised he made it as long as he did.
No one hates you like somebody you've done favors for, it's a truth that trumps even my new law regarding the enmity of small differences. Peeled off five hundred dollar bills so Bill could get his power turned back on for his children and never saw him again or my money. But shit happens and things eventually come around, or so I am told.
Anyway Kevin had been up in Ojai, or Matilija or one of those small divots near Sespe creek and had gone to an estate sale in an old cabin and found a whole passel of photographs from Santa Barbara from a very prominent artist's family. His name is not important to this tale. He was a descendent of the land grant spanish nobility that once ruled California. (Once Kevin found a bunch of unknown photos of Thomas Eakins that we sold at auction in New York for top dollar.) Anyway I bought the Santa Barbara photographs, which included many early photos of the dons and hidalgos and early homes and adobes.
The next day a handsome older brunette with high cheekbones and a dignified air asked me if I had any work of this artist. I stammered, "I have a whole collection of family photographs." It was totally out of the blue, I swear, the chances of it happening were beyond my calculation. That particular artist, happened to be her great grandfather and she walking in the next day. She was a bit disinterested and even dare I say, nonplussed, "Oh that's Ynez" or "That's Don Ignacio."
I asked her if she had any interest in the collection and she said "No, we have plenty of family photos already." I thought it a shame but what could I do. There were some beautiful old glass plate negatives of ranchos. I ended selling most of it to a photography dealer up around Santa Barbara.
***
Years went by and by chance one day I met the man's husband, who asked if I knew anything about the artist. When I recounted my story he admitted the woman was his wife. Day before yesterday I am unpacking from the show, not wanting to talk to anybody, totally exhausted, when I hear a solid rap at my front door. I saw the tall and erect man, in his nineties I would guess and had to let him in. No telling when he would make it back. His son in law, the man I had met earlier, was in tow. "Would it be possible for him to see the family pictures, he asked?" I of course, assented.
He went through the photos and saw pictures of his mother in law and her family from the turn of the 19th Century. Some of the stuff he couldn't make sense of and I know that I have something else mixed in. I had given up on this stuff.
He was moved by the old photos as was I at his reaction to them. I gave him a photo of his mother in law with a small dog from 1917. He talked to me about growing up in Pasadena in the twenties and the amazing artists that swirled around the place. The Huntington, the cotillions. Incredible really.
I am now sorry I sold the rest of the photographs. We are going to develop the negatives we have and see what else is there. He is going to try to bring his wife over or I will give him the batch to take home. I don't even care about money. Just the odd coincidence that brought these photos to me, quickly followed by the people that should have them.
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