This painting was an estate sale purchase that I planned to resell but my inner voice (one of them) kept telling me to wait. I hung the painting in the corner of a room where I could walk past it often while I mulled it over.
The house where I purchased this was long and narrow and built into a hill so the basement felt as though it went on for miles -- back and back and back until it ended in a man cave filled with lots of table saws & wood, tools and the usual jars of nails and screws. In one corner there was a stack of old picture frames and the very old supplies of someone who was a painter.
Which is where this painting comes in. Covered in dust and signed & dated 'Earl Martin 1945.'
I can't get the picture out of my head of Earl Martin at home, in the basement, maybe listening to the radio for news about WWII and loving his dog so much he painted this portrait. And then knowing that painting sat in Earl's man cave for 65 years...
I guess I can tell the inner voice to shush. I'm keeping it.
Who's a good boy?!