“I would like to make an exchange,” he said.
“Exchange what?”, I answered angrily.
He got upset.
“Sorry for the tone of my voice, but I am a little bit upset that you want to exchange my flower. You trusted me then, why you don’t trust me now?”
“How did you know it was about the flower?”
“I just knew.”
“I never said I trusted you – I said you can do whatever you want.” “I was concerned when you took them in November.”
“But, you trusted me.”
“First of all, I don’t trust you and I never will trust you.”
“Didn’t you notice how perfectly it fits with the leaves, how the color comes through?”
“It’s too small, it was cold,” he whined.
After a few days I called him. “I just printed it.” I could feel his silence.
“Really?” He was trying to overcome himself.
“It is pretty big,” I said, “The print.”
“I could buy it,” he insisted.
“I talked to the gallerist and he announced that nothing will leave the gallery before the end of the exhibition.”
He called again.
I read him the story.
He asked why such a small work needs a story; I should give him the story.
“No,” I said.