He waited 10 years to buy this...
This week I listened to an episode of 'The Diary of a CEO' podcast where Tony Robbins was being interviewed. It was a wide-ranging conversation about meaning, purpose, and what really gives life depth. But it was something Tony mentioned right at the end that struck me.
He told a story about a close friend of his who had longed to buy a particular painting for over ten years. When he finally did, he paid $87 million for it.
Naturally, Tony wanted to see the painting.
When Tony arrived at his friend's house, he found himself staring at what looked, to him, like a red square.
Tony admitted he was underwhelmed and offered to paint a similar painting for the cost of a tin of red paint.
Seeing his reaction, his friend exclaimed, almost in disbelief: “But it’s a Rothko.”
And that’s where the story shifted.
To Tony, it looked like a simple block of colour.
To his friend, it was the life’s work of a man. A human being who poured his inner world into paint. Someone who struggled deeply and ultimately took his own life.
For him, it wasn’t just a red square.
It was something the artist had touched. Something that carried a human story. A connection between two people who would never meet, but somehow understood each other.
And it made me think about how we perceive value.
Not price, but meaning.
That scenario felt very familiar to me.
Years ago, when I worked at an auction house, I was fortunate enough to handle original paintings by Laura Knight. An artist whose work I’ve admired for many years.
Holding those paintings filled my heart with an unexpected kind of joy. Not because of their monetary value, but because I knew they were something she had touched. Something her hands had worked on, thought over, lived with.
And that connection has stayed with me.
I’ve been to Lamorna many times, the place where Laura lived and worked with her husband. And last year, I finally made it to Staithes, where she previously had a studio. I stood outside it, beside a painting of her on the exterior wall, and felt unexpectedly moved.
To walk the paths she must have walked. To stand where she once stood.
It felt like reaching back through time and touching something human and enduring. A quiet conversation across generations.
It reminded me why art matters so deeply to some of us.
So much of the value of art isn’t obvious at first glance and often isn’t shared by everyone around us. Sometimes the people we live with don’t “see” what we see at all.
But that doesn’t lessen the value.
The true worth of a painting often lies in:
- the story behind it
- the human hands that made it
- the hours of thought, doubt, and decision
- and the quiet, repeated pleasure of living with it
Day after day. Year after year.
When I paint, I often ask myself one simple question.
Would someone enjoy looking at this every day for the next ten years?
Because that’s where real value lives.
Not just in the cost of canvas or paint (though quality materials matter) but in meaning, memory, and the way a painting slowly becomes part of your life.
If a piece of art speaks to you, even if others don’t quite understand why, that connection is enough.
And if you’ve ever hesitated because you felt you needed to justify that feeling, perhaps this is your permission not to.
Of the original paintings I have available, each was created slowly and thoughtfully. With the intention of being lived with, not just looked at.
If you’d like to spend time with them, you can browse them here...
P.S. Some artworks mark a season, a relationship or a feeling rather than an occasion. If something here resonates, you don't need to justify why.