“I’m saving my money so I can buy some of Diane’s art at her open studios,” he tells his mother. When my friend relays this to me, just a few days before my show, I feel my heart melt. I also feel a dash of hope for the world.
Everything about this feels right.
Except, I have no art he can afford.
You see, he’s seven.
That day I put on my task list, “create a ‘make an offer’ box of art so that River can buy something.” I look around my studio, which is bursting with art made over the last decade, and I find at least 60 pieces to put in that box.
He is so excited about the art show. His mother tells me, “If it weren’t for River, there’s no way I’d be coming into town on a Sunday to come to your art show, even though I love you. It’s all him.”
So, as they come in at 2 pm, right when the show opens, River immediately hands me a card, looks up at me with his big brown eyes as though to say, “Open it. Now.”
Which I do.
Immediately.
Out falls one of his large first grade photos, and inside the handmade card he’s written:
“To Diane,
I can not wait for your art show!
Love River”
I am speechless.
Everything about life feels right at this moment.
Here before me is a seven-year-old boy who is an artist in his own right, as well as a bourgeoning cowboy. And he wants to spend his hard-earned money on art. My art.
My mind and heart do back flips.
I at once feel there is hope for the world if this little boy sees the value of art alongside the value of ranching and farming. His parents are ranchers. They own Browning Beef – a cattle ranch where they raise grass-fed cows in Spangle, WA. Both of them rope cows, herd cows and Frankie, his mother, is steward of managing the beef selling business. River knows all about ranch life.
“River, I hear you want to buy some art,” I tell him. He looks at me and quietly nods. “Come, here’s the box of art to look through. This is a box where you can find something you like and then you can make me an offer.”
He smiles and gets to work. He stands there in his cowboy boots, plaid shirt and with serious focus, he looks at each painting in the box.
I can feel my own excitement that he is going to purchase his first piece of art. When he comes to me, about forty-five minutes later, he has four pieces in his hands. He wants them all.
We sit down on the grass, and I ask him to tell me why he chose the pieces he did.
“Well, I like this one because it’s abstract.” (I can’t help but think that most seven-year-olds would not know the word ‘abstract’).
“And I like this one because I want to be a farmer when I grow up, and it reminds me of that.”
“What about the other two?” I ask him.
“I don’t know, I just like them.”
Nice, I think.
He knows what he likes. He has a quiet, unassuming confidence.
After he shows me the art he’s taking home, he pulls out $30 in cash and gives it to me. He beams as he hands me the money. I take his cash in my palms and offer a little bow of gratitude.
“Thank you, River. I hope you love your artwork. Thank you for buying these pieces.”
When I talk to a friend later and tell her the story, she puts it in perspective for me. “He is a collector, and he has spent nearly all of his life savings on your art.” This bit of information floors me and gives me hope.
Hope that we all put our money where our hearts lead us and support what we value.
(This blog piece is written with the permission of Frankie Browning, River’s mother.)
