It was the opening of a new exhibit – a collection of paintings by an emerging Canadian artist who, like Theo, had also originally come from Czechoslovakia. This young man’s roots were much more humble than Theo’s, his journey out from under the Communist thumb much more complicated. He was a skilled and multifaceted artist, crafting whimsical and mythical creatures that emerged on the canvas amidst thunderous storms and whirlpools of light. Theo had been drawn to his work and had been eager to coordinate this launch at the gallery. This was the part of his job that Theo enjoyed most, discovering the work of emerging artists and introducing them to a public eager to buy. True, it was somewhat burdensome that this opening was taking place just a few weeks before his trip to Prague. Coordinating that excursion meant that there was already a lot on his plate. But his upcoming trip couldn’t interfere with the work he had here in Toronto. Theo’s eyes traveled the room. There was the artist in one corner, pacing with the proud but anxious look of an expectant father.
