On my very first night in Prague a few weeks ago, I was wandering around Old Town, getting a feel for the city.
Ok. Ok. Truth be told I was completely lost and didn’t even know which way was North.
Just south of the Old Town square, the streets are narrow, windy and make no sense whatsoever. It’s easy to get lost.
Which I was.
Anyway, in the midst of trying to get found — standing under a street light with my hair askew and my map out — I looked around, and staring me in the face was a vision of loveliness and mystery.
Nina.
We met. It was intense. I tingled. It was a little like magic.
But I had to someplace to be. And she was busy in her little gallery.
So I took off.
And for weeks I thought about her. Her red scarf around her head. The innocent stare.
And — I’ll come clean — I tried to find her at her gallery again a few times, but fate just kept us apart.
Ok. Ok. It wasn’t fate. It was those weird twisty old town streets. (And my complete lack of a sense of direction.) I couldn’t find her because had no idea where her little Old Town gallery actually was. With all the tiny alleys and turns, I just COULD NOT for the life of me find the gallery again. And I tried, believe me…
And then, one night last week, I thought I’d found the gallery again. Finally!
But it was boarded up.
Closed and empty.
Nina was gone.
She had left the city and I’d missed my chance.
Or so I thought…
Until tonight.
Tonight… I found Nina again.
And knew that I had to come clean. I had to tell Cher — my significant other — about her.
The phone call went something like this.
“I’ve got to tell you… I’ve been thinking about this girl for three weeks. Ever since I saw her on my first night here… I couldn’t get her out of my mind. And finally I found her again tonight… I am just so amazed and excited!!!”
After Cher slammed the phone down in tears and I spent 4 hours trying to get her to talk to me again, I finally got a chance to explain.
Because, you see, Nina is not actually a girl.
Nina is a painting.
A painting that I saw on my first night in Prague and have thought about regularly, ever since.
Now, I’m not an art aficionado.
My idea of art is usually Stan Lee.
But, I’m getting older now. More refined.
And I’ve been to Vienna and seen Klimt’s “The Kiss”.
So… apparently I’m ready for art in my life.
At least I think I am.
And I thought, hey, maybe I’ll buy a painting while I’m here in Prague. THAT would be a cool souvenir/memory.
What if I bought Nina?
It’s a small canvas, about 14” x 30”. Maybe I can’t afford her. But what if I could?
What if she wasn’t too expensive… I think I mean even pay $400 or something like that.
I could afford that!
So… now I’d found the gallery again. (Which was it’s own comedy of errors — the gallery ended up being about 1/2 mile away from the area that, for two weeks, I was CONVINCED it was in.)
So… I screwed up my courage and went in to see Jan, the absolute bear of a gallery owner. (Seriously, Jan was the the least friendly guy I’ve met in my travels.)
I browse the gallery for 5 minutes.
Partly to see the work.
But mostly to get up the courage to ask Jan about the price of the painting.
And then finally… I do.
“How much for this painting, here?”
“140,000 crowns.”
I gag. And my brain starts to short circuit.
I don’t really know how much 140,000 crowns is, but I know that it’s a LOT. And a LOT more than I can afford.
My brain is trying to do the math. Just to figure out what the exact —
Carry the one —
Divide the —
Wow.
I figure out the price. And I realize two things:
- That’s a lot of money for a painting in a little gallery on a side street in Prague.
- My career as an art aficianado is over.
For those of you not familiar with the Czech crown, 140,000 crowns is, at a good exchange rate, $7368.42.
WAY too rich for my blood. I could buy 3 Toyota Shitboxes for that price…
Needless to say, Nina and I were not meant to be.
And someone really needs to teach me the cost of art.
On the plus side, I did buy a copy of a print from the gallery… It isn’t a Nina. But it is lovely. And I can appreciate it without taking out a mortgage.