There was a painter in Harvard Square today. He held a canvas on his lap and drew his head close to the surface as he touched it up. He displayed other paintings on the table and bench to either side of him. I stopped to look at the paintings. They were all very different - abstract African figures, impressionist corn fields, seascapes. I tried to find one that I liked. I searched for some consistent mark of his work in all the paintings. I wondered if they were all his and what the one he was painting looked like. I must admit, part of me suspected that it was crap.
A girl approached him then. "Do you know another black artist named Jake?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Isn't this his painting?" she said, pointing to a sunrise over the plains.
There was a pause. He studied her.
"Well, yeah..." he answered, "I sell his stuff, too."
I walked away as she began to respond. They were going to be there a while.
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