This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

Editor's note • Robert Kirby was last seen in Key West, Fla. This is a reprint of an earlier column.

At a recent art auction, I was staring at a painting when a woman glided up and said, "I just love the way he explores light, don't you?" My confusion must have been obvious. The woman sniffed and went off to talk through her nose to someone else. I peered down at a card. The title of the work was "Morning in Bordeaux."

Things came into focus then. What I previously thought was a great workup of a baboon's bottom was actually a sunrise in France. That's the genius of art. You're looking at one thing when something else appears.

I have always had an appreciation for great painters. The true masters are able to transform even commonplace subjects into breathtaking views.

Although I am partial to the work of Mort Weiner, especially his early period, I have to say that my true favorites are Mel and Wally. They painted the inside of my house several years ago.

I wanted to engage Mort. He did a spectacular job for a neighbor. Unfortunately Mort only did garages. Also his medium was oil and I needed latex. He recommended Mel and Wally.

It was the first time I commissioned real painters. It was pricey but cheaper than the divorce my wife promised after I painted her kitchen.

Back then I was naive enough to believe anyone could paint. A brush, some paint, a careful eye and a little practice and greatness was inevitable.

Not accordingly to my wife. It took me four days and considerable introspection to paint her kitchen. She was overcome when I finally showed it to her.

While I admit that my brushwork was amateurish and some detail had failed to emerge, I hardly think it fair to title it "You Painted This With a Live Chicken, Didn't You?"

Mel and Wally were craftsmen. They used a drop cloth. Also, they had their own ladder. And they painted around rather than over electrical outlets. They painted with detail I could never hope to achieve.

Even so, I studied under them for several days by getting in their way. It was Wally who taught me the most important part of being an artist: knowing when to stop. He was careful not to hurt my feelings.

"Who painted your refrigerator?" he asked.

When I told him that I did, he said that even the most avant garde painters he knew probably would have stopped with the linoleum.

I kept these gems in mind when I painted the downstairs bathroom last weekend. I finished late Sunday and immediately had a showing.

This time my wife offered faint praise. "Did you know your hair is the same color as the bathroom?"

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley