39TH St. Flea Market

A wise woman once suggested to me, "Those that are at peace are those who can live with longing."

I passed up a Picasso today.

Okay, so it wasn't a real Picasso. Not a really real Picasso. It was an etching. What was interesting about it was that it had been imprinted backwards. Why it spoke to me was in part because of the gilded frame inlaid with a sort of raffia. Very 60s. Very clean in its arrangement. It was the sort of thing you might expect to see in an apartment furnished for the visiting head of the Art History department at a University. Right up my alley.

Price was steep, $125. Off the bat the woman knocked it down to $100. Still a bit pricey for a backwards etching, or was it? Upon further reflection what drew me to the piece so much was not its beautiful framing (which the woman noted to account for the price) - it was its fallibility. Its somewhat broken nature in the reversal of the impression. I wanted that mistake on my wall, for its uniqueness and for its assurance that even Picasso failed sometimes. Well, at least those handling his art did -- close enough.

I asked the woman if she took credit cards. She said "No." I said I'd think about it, and started walking for the ATM. First off, where was I going to put it? Second, how could I get around feeling crappy about spending $100 for a backwards etching of little but cerebral value? Spending any sum of money is a matter of justification, so I argued with myself all the way to the filthy ATM on 9TH Avenue.

On my way, I passed one other item of interest -- a tray. Sounds unexciting, I know. However, this too had the look of "mid-century", something in recent years I've come to love. A black background with inlaid wood birds with small beady eyes, and a stark, stilt-standing nature to them. I took note, but said nothing to the dealer.

When I returned to the flea market with cash wadded in my pocket, I had to walk back past the tray. No one was around. I hovered awkwardly. Where will this go? I thought. No matter, I had to go back to the Picasso.

Walked on. Reaching the etching, I asked if I could take a picture to think about it later. Permission granted (though with a note that she would not be returning for three weeks, i.e. hurry up and buy now dumb ass). Picture taken I walked a few paces, and went back for the tray. Wasn't going to leave empty handed.

Bought said tray. Delighted. But Picasso still loomed. I'd have to pass the table one more time before exiting. I thought about asking for $80 instead of $100. That would take down some of the bite. I reached the table. My breath shortened. My feet hesitated...

I passed it by.

Reached the end of the street and turned onto 10TH Avenue. The immediate need faded with each block. The longing subsided somewhat. I could live with it, and be $100 richer for it.

Not ready to pat myself on the back for it just yet though. You know what I did. I know what I did. That little cute-ass tray. I substituted. Hardly the real nature of living with longing. I absorbed the lesser of two longings to distract from the greater, so that I wouldn't lose. I would suffer some concession, but I wouldn't lose to longing all-together. A slight of hand and wallet. A subtle massaging of the mind, and quelling of ego.

The tray's great. A backwards Picasso is better. I can live with that.

INFO:

39TH St. Flea Market
39TH St. btw 9TH & 10TH Avenue
Saturdays and Sundays (weather permitting)