I used to own the Mona Lisa. I will tell my grandchildren the story.
Forty years ago the Mona Lisa hung on my living room wall. My parents had it and left it to me. During the time of my parents people walked freely through the house to see the picture. More and more, items were taken from the house and, as I began to care for the painting, I kept the doors locked. Despite the locks outsiders continued to slip in and take my belongings and I became fearful that they would take The Mona Lisa. I added a security system and also a guard for days and nights.
One day someone came to the door and I answered it abruptly until I saw that it was my friend. I invited him in and as we walked toward the living room I explained to him that there had been another breakin the previous night and I had been meeting with security. We walked to stand before the Mona Lisa. “It is beautiful,” he said.
“Of course,” I replied. “It has been in my family a long time. It is my treasure.”
“Yes,” he said. “But I see that it has caused you to lock your doors and spend your hours discussing security.”
It was true that the painting had become the greatest effort of my every day. “You are right,” I agreed. “I spend much of my time watching over it or worrying about it.”
“You know,” said my friend, “That I have a collection of valuable art at my house. I have already a Van Gogh, a Picasso, a Renoir. I could buy your painting and it could hang with the others in my gallery. I am well prepared already to protect all the artwork as a group.”
“No, no!” I exclaimed caught by surprise at his offer of purchase. “I could never part with the Mona Lisa. It has always hung here in the living room. It is priceless to me.”
“Well,” said my friend, “You know I will care for it properly. You know that I can protect it. I will offer you a squillion dollars for it. If someone breaks into your home and slashes the canvas it will be worth nothing. Let me help you before a crisis.”
“A squillion dollars,” I whispered. “That is a lot of money. You are right. I cannot allow it to remain at risk for damage. I will sell it to you under one condition. You must allow me to come lunch at your house every day. You must set a table for us directly in front of the Mona Lisa and I can at least feel at home during those hours I am there looking at the painting.”
My friend was delighted at he prospect of my daily company and we sealed the sale with a handshake.
The next day the Mona Lisa left my living room and moved to my friend’s gallery. With great relief I unlocked my doors and dismissed the security service. Exactly at noon I presented at the home of my friend. As agreed he had prepared a table in front of the Mona Lisa. I walked to the wall where the painting hung and felt that the oil, perhaps, looked even more splendid in the gallery lighting than it ever had before. I felt satisfied that it was safe here surrounded by paintings from comparable masters. “You have hung it well,” I admitted taking a step closer.
“Not too close,” my friend gently admonished placing a forearm across my waist. “It is the rule at the gallery to keep a 2 foot distance from the paintings.”
Without moving closer I reached out my left index finger intending to touch just the corner of the frame as I had done on many occasions in my living room.
My friend reached out to stay my wrist. “You mustn’t touch it,” he explained. “It will set off the alarm.”
During luncheon I was satisfied to sit and gaze at the Mona Lisa. That afternoon I had the carpenters cut a picture window into my living room wall. I looked out to the sea beside my home and to my new boat moored at the dock. From that day I went to the gallery every noon and sailed my boat every afternoon. But as the weeks went on I grew more tired of the gallery rules. I became frustrated at not being allowed the simple contact with the painting that had been my possession for so many years.
Finally the day came when I could only go to the gallery to look at the painting one more time and I knew I could no longer stay only to eat and watch.
“How is your freedom, your new life?” the gallery owner asked as we stood before the painting.
“I have no worries,” I answered. “My headaches are gone. My doors are open.”
“You are standing here a long time before the Mona Lisa. Does it look different to you here?”
“No,” I replied, “The Mona Lisa looks the same. It hangs as well on this wall as the next. I am different. With the absence of worry I have lost the pride of possession. With the release of responsibility I have lost my rights of ownership. I cannot come here anymore because I cannot bear to see the change that has taken place in me.”
So I tell my children and their children I will leave my money to them. You should use the money to buy something you love, I say. Buy a valuable painting that can be your life’s work and accept the risk of it.