The stories surrounding a painting rarely begin where we think they do.

One Sunday, I almost decided not to stop by. A bartender who had spent time around my work was talking with a guest and pointed across the room, “That’s the artist I was telling you about.”

We spoke for a while. His attention wandered through the horses and other paintings. Later did I look him up and notice something that caught me off guard. Among the few things he chose to say about himself was Le Petit Prince.

That detail stayed with me. It is not a book that most people in the United States grow up reading in school. It belongs to another literary tradition, yet somehow it had found its way into both of our stories before we had met.

I have learned not to overexplain these moments. Some collectors choose a painting, and some paintings seem to recognize their collectors. I still do not know which happened that Sunday, only that a conversation that almost never took place gave The Little Prince another chapter in its own journey.

— Papayon