“My art has been praised in many circles, but it has not fetched me money,” I sensed a tinge of sadness in his voice, as he continued to stroke the canvas with his brush.
It was beautiful to holiday at the same place where we’d first met, but Harry was now an embittered man. Yet, he was capturing the scene for posterity, as he said.
I made an effort to inject some tranquillity in his mood.
“You know, Harry, we make money only when our talent meets somebody’s requirements. But companionship and love are about meeting each other’s emotional needs, not financial.”