A Painting above the Couch

When I was growing up, we had a large painting hanging over our couch.  Memory is an interesting thing because as I sit and try to recall exactly what it looked like, I cannot.  I believe it was oil painting of a sunrise at the beach.

Our brains are not like video cameras recording a second by second account of our lives.  They aren’t large enough for that. Rather brains record snippets of information and then we seek to retrieve a memory, the brain pulls up the snippet and fills in the detail.  As Dan Gilbert describes in his book, Stumbling Upon Happiness, “Our brain quickly reweaves the tapestry by fabricating—not by actually retrieving—the bulk of the information that we experience as a memory.”  It does this unconsciously so we can’t tell what is real and what is not.  That is why eyewitness accounts of an accident scene can vary so dramatically.

So I can’t remember exactly what the painting above my couch looked like.  I do remember spending hours, though, staring at it, dreaming of going to the ocean and playing in the sand.  Admiring the colors and the brushstrokes.

For years now, I’ve been trying to find the perfect painting to hang above our couch.  I would frequent art galleries when I traveled to see if there was something that spoke to me like that childhood ocean painting.

When LaPriel and I were in Maui last December, we were strolling through the art galleries when we discovered an artist whose work we had not before seen.  His name is Alexei Butirskiy.  He is Russian and he paints both street scapes set in major world cities and scenes from the U.S. mountain west.

There was a painting of Amsterdam that particularly spoke to us.  I had never given much thought to Amsterdam until Breanna and I spent a few days there last May on our way back from France.  Looking at that painting reminded me of the exhilaration Breanna and I felt as we rode our bikes over the bridges and by the canals.  It reminded me of the powerful experience we shared visiting the Anne Frank house.  It was the kind of painting I could imagine hanging above our couch.

Still, I refused to purchase a painting in Maui.  I could see myself overpaying and getting home and then realizing I didn’t even like it.  The art dealer we dealt with was very patient.  She didn’t push and spent much time educating us about giclees.  She didn’t seem to mind that we didn’t buy the piece.

When I got home I occasionally sat on my couch and looked at the wall and tried to imagine the painting there. Finally, I realized I wanted my kids to have a piece of art that could both inspire and bring back memories.

I gave LaPriel Still Water for her birthday.  Sitting on our couch has never been so pleasant.