The Price of Art

Last Sunday, I bought three oil paintings on various landscapes of Oxford from Henry, an itinerant painter in his seventies. His workshop that day sat across from the Royal Oak on Woodstock.

The paintings were views of the Port Meadow and the Radcliffe Camera. The colors were warm and lively, and the brushstrokes brilliantly executed. I could almost smell the mixed scent of horses and flowers as I gazed upon the details. So I asked him how much were the paintings. And to my surprise, he asked how much I was willing to pay.

“That’s an intriguing way of conducting business,” I thought. But not having been trained in art connoisseuring, I had no clue how to gauge the worth of paintings. All I could think of was that these are just simply brilliant, a delight to look at.

So I told him I was willing to pay whatever he charges.

“Are you a poor man or a rich man?” He asked me.

Again, his response caught me by surprise. How on earth would any businessperson not standardize the price of his product?

“Hmm… I would say somewhere in between?”

“Ok.” He paused, pondered for a minute, and gave me a quote.

“Sure!” I was overjoyed. That sounded like quite a reasonable price for paintings of such quality. To be frank, I was a little nervous as I waited for his verdict — what if he had thrown out an exorbitant sum that I was not willing to spare? That would have mesurely be very embarrassing, as I would never want to bargain with a kind old man, especially after I had promised to pay what he asked.

“You know, I don’t want people to go beyond their means to enjoy the beauty of art. It should be something all can enjoy.” The old man said, after we wrapped up my purchase.

“Many kind souls have helped me in my previous life. I feel indebted to them…Giving back by doing small things like this. It is the least I can do.”