The first painting I ever paid money for I don’t actually own, though it’s hanging in my living room. Let me explain.

A couple of years ago, a painting called “Chicken” caught my eye in a gallery in Sacramento. I’d gone there for a six-week consulting job that erased my money woes, lifted me out of depression, and probably saved my life. Grateful, and wanting to mark the transition, I decided to buy something that would remind me of this moment—a pot or a set of pots, or maybe even a painting.

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