After knocking on the door with no response, I set up my easel in front of the yellow house trailer and started a painting of it. It was an old trailer at the coast with a large slightly bent T. V. antenna mounted to one end. The early morning sun made the faded yellow glow against the blue sky. An hour into the painting, a man chewing tobacco walked up. He watched me for some time as I worked.
"Painting my rental unit I see," he said.
"Hope you don't mind. I knocked on the door but no one answered."
"No one rentin' this time of year. Watcha gonna do with that when you're finished?"
"Sell it. This is how I make my living."
He thought on this a while as I worked. The sound the tobacco made was a bit distracting.
"How much you git for something like that?"
"Up to three thousand sometimes a bit more."
He was silent for a few minutes-then leaned over, spit and wiped his mouth. "Ain't life strange," he said, "I only paid a thousand for the trailer!"
That's art. At least, that's my art. Traveling, meeting people, and making a reasonable living doing what I would do if I didn't make a penny at it.