In some strange universe of possibility, my dad could’ve been a drywall contractor, so I most likely may have also been a drywaller. I would have a lot of drywaller friends and be active on drywaller Facebook pages, where I’d post pics up of my work showing the flatness of the walls, and special applications where I’d form an arch … and so on. I would have valued a Level 5 finish they way we value a “Fudge Flat” refinish or a stain with no picture framing. Or maybe I’d be in some other trade like welder or electrician, and I would’ve applied myself to those trades as I do wood flooring, just because I like making things so much. I could’ve been anything I wanted but lucked out that I’m a wood floor craftsman (I use the term loosely being in the midst of giants). I am at peace with my lot; I’ve written about feeling married to this craft and about keeping the love alive, and feeling appreciated because of little rewards like a smile when the client hands me the paycheck, or getting a nice referral or five-star review.
Being an A-type personality who is also self-employed, I truly am the captain who sails where he wants. I call the shots, and if I want to sell more parquets, the team follows me. If I wanted to sell more commercial work, we would end up working nights and probably far from home, and we do none of that because that’s not what I personally want to do. I like staying close to home serving the residential market. I go where I want. (I’ve never used so many “I’s” in consecutive sentences before, but you get the point.)
With this mindset, I take you back to 2022. I completed a large contract and had a little bit of loot left over after paying the suppliers, labor, etc. What to do with the loot: fix up my truck, buy a tool, work on the house or focus on a shiny thing I saw that caught my attention? The shiny thing was actually two things: two wristwatches I bookmarked under “Fancy watches” for months and months. One was twice the price of the other, but the cheaper was tickled my fancy just the same. What to do?
I put the question to one of my Facebook wood floor groups and was encouraged to go for the watch. The admin of one said, “I can absolutely relate to this—buy the watch.” Another member said, “Buy the watch. Life is short.”
Boom! Now which one? I liked them both.
I bought both to put my thoughts to rest. The whole bill was only $600—one was $400 and the other $200. I have a small “estate” of about 20 watches, and the combined value for all is less than the cost of an edger, so I’m not letting this get the best of me. Fashion isn’t a price, it’s a look, and I lucked out on liking a few watches that don’t cost that much.
But something else did get the best of me, and that’s what this article is about. At Surfaces in Vegas in 2020, I cruised through the Venetian Grand Canal Shoppes and saw an art studio. I wanted to act like I’m a “regular” rich-type person that actually goes shopping at the Venetian Shoppes and walked in. This shop had paintings in oil or watercolor, crystal, jewelry—and some sculptures, as well. I oohed and aahed like you’re supposed to when in special places like this, and I exchanged banter with other patrons, feeling like I was pulling off this impersonation of a luxury-type person. I fooled ’em … and rounded the corner to walk out.
Then … I saw her … and I stopped dead in my tracks. For several minutes I stood there staring at a sculpture of a young girl called “Joyful.” I got out my phone and took some pics, which caught the attention of a sales person, who came over and asked how I was doing. In the short minutes that followed, I learned about the sculptor, how much “Joyful” cost, and what she was made of. I wrapped up the conversation and left, spying a gelato vendor across the way.
I got home from Surfaces and went back to work, but as the months went by I still thought of the little lady named “Joyful.”
Then in 2021, COVID was still hitting full blast, and the next Surfaces Expo ended up being a strange version of the show in June. In 2022 I attended using a walker and motorized wheel chair after surviving the traffic accident I have written about, and I only stayed for one day.
In 2023, though, I went back to Vegas walking upright, and by some quirk found myself back at that same shop inside the Venetian staring at “her” once again. I partly wanted to check up on her, to see if she was still available—just out of curiosity– which she was, kinda. The first Joyful I saw was about 3 feet tall and out of reach financially. She would’ve cost about the same as a brand new work truck. I could’ve brought her home, but what would I do with her? Put her next to the TV? Out in the yard with flowers? I don’t live in a mansion, so all I really had was an appreciation for a fabulous work of art.
This time though, three years later, she was remade in smaller form, about 18 inches tall, and she fit quite nicely on the glass display case:
Her price was now about the cost of a big machine, so I guess that was “better”?
I felt doom and despair—that same thought any guy feels when they see a pretty girl. The curator of the shop took my name and contact info, and we chatted for a few minutes. I managed to walk away and add this to my list of experiences during that week. In short, I survived intact.
Then came Surfaces 2024, and once again I’m standing in front of little Joyful (it was totally by accident, I assure you):
The curator remembers me and walks up to say hello. She says the sculptor will be visiting this shop (or is it gallery?) this year, and she’d call me beforehand to see if I want to meet her. Right … that’ll work, I live in California, but I’m a nice guy, so I say “Sure.”
Well, then comes April, and I’m working at a home installing a floor and the phone rings, and it’s the curator calling from Vegas to see if I’m interested in meeting the sculptor on the phone when she comes to the gallery (I decided on “gallery” now) in June. The day ends with me thinking more about little Joyful—really pondering if I like her this much. This kind of fascination with art is outside my normal thinking, and I wonder if she would look nice next to the Makita posters I have on the wall, or maybe the DeWalt posters … (I’m kidding, but that’s where my mind went).
Well, I set myself to thinking seriously about Joyful, and about whether to just shut this whole process down and move on or jump in with both feet and drop a down payment. Day in and day out, I circled the flame, and in June I made the call and placed an order. My version of little Joyful did not exist yet, so I was reserving one of the numbered pieces yet to be made. About a week or so later, the curator called and put the sculptor on the phone, and we had a wonderful conversation for a few minutes. The curator said she would throw in a book detailing all this sculptor’s works, including Joyful. Apparently, she has many sisters and brothers, and the sculptor is noted in her industry, much like our own wood floor masters are noted in our industry. I kind of like this place I’m at all of a sudden.
Wrapping this up, little Joyful arrived at my house in early November and was placed on a table prepared in advance just for her. The little book arrived a week later and was placed next to her. Inside the book was a handwritten message from the sculptor addressed to me in blue ink.
Wow … it really happened, but you must promise not to tell anyone! It would not look right if a guy like me bought something like this. I mean, I rag on stain with my bare hands instead of wearing gloves, and I hit boards with hammers and even sweat on hot days. Imagine if everyone found out I bought a piece of art like this!
In short, like the watches I bought after the big job I finished in 2022, I likened little Joyful to a reward that I chose and acted on in the same way. As I see it, I’m making all this hard work and toil worth it. She represents something the ladies and men like us can achieve if we so desire. I have to believe that I am not alone here. For my part, I needed a reason to justify staying in it— and little Joyful was mine.
As the years pass, I have this beautiful example of bronze art that will never rust, tarnish or get moldy.
I feel content all of a sudden.
