Later, I was checking out assorted belts when I turned to make a comment to Bette and she was not there. I went to find her and saw her looking up at a painting on the wall. As I approached her I heard her talking to herself, saying, “Oh my God! Oh, my fucking God!”

I looked up at the painting. I would guess it was about 20 by 20 inches in size. Not that many paintings were square but it was the color that hit me first. There were bright reds and yellows. The focal point was a lone man wearing a cowboy hat. His head was bent so that his face was not visible. He was leaning over a guitar, presumably strumming it, head turned toward the neck of the instrument. He was sitting on a stool with his legs spread open. The curve of the guitar base was resting on his right knee.

It really was a striking piece of art. I had walked right by it however, without looking up where it was safely on the wall. Bette, on the other hand was always on the look out for a new discovery.

I strained my neck to see the single signature, “Chavez”.

Bette was actually breathing hard with a fixed gaze. I waved a hand in front of her but she seemed to look right through it. I looked back at the painting for more details. I was struck with how the artist defined his figure with a bold outline, as simple as if a child had done it.

Of course, I had to interrupt her concentration by asking her a question I had asked once before, “What do you see?”

In Mendocino I had asked her what she would look for if she saw a painting of a woman baking bread. At that time, she said, “The yeast.” This time, looking at the musician, she said she saw, “The color”.

Without taking her eyes off the painting, she added, “Just look at the explosion of color, Sis. Look at his fingers.”

The hand on the neck of the guitar was almost abstract, with reds blended with a darker gray. Each finger was then stroked with a line of yellow. The hand strumming chords was more real, orangy, edged with that same yellow and outlined in black.