To Learn the Art of Gift Giving

The old man was about to do what no other person in the sleepy southern town would ever think to do. Not that they ever would, anyway, but even if they wanted to, they couldn’t. This endeavor was for one man only. At this point in his life, he could do nothing else.

A stranger, a foreigner, a man of mystery begins to purchase hand-drawn portraits of people off the wall of a local coffee shop. One by one, he manages to contact the subjects and arrange a meeting with them. Some skeptical, some fearful, some curious, all are recipients of a gift — their portrait.

As we grow old, our vocation is to become a gift giver not unlike Theo of Golden. But we are born takers. We are people of the hustle that peddle products and services to one another. We know how to amass power, acquire knowledge, and gain the competitive advantage, but we are untrained in the art of giving. Not a bait-and-switch, not a lead-magnet, not a value exchange. True giving.

The art of giving begins with the act of seeing. This is where Theo began his journey — beholden to the portraits hanging on the wall of the coffee shop, possessed by the stories that the faces represent, Theo saw gifts.

Seeking something deeper than a well-drawn portrait, Theo asks the artist a seemingly unanswerable question:

“Asher, what makes for good art?”

“It’s hard enough to define what art is, much less good art, I wonder if there is such a thing. Maybe they are just good responses. But I guess if a work of art makes us see something in a new way, or makes us feel something we ought to have felt all along, or shows us a place in the world more clearly, maybe then it qualifies as good. If it makes us better somehow, maybe that’s what gives it value.”

Theo remained silent.

“That means of course, that art varies from one person to another doesn’t it? And that good art could come from a child? Or a master? I don’t think the critics, especially the moderns, appreciate that idea very much. I think they like telling us what’s legitimate as art, and what has worth and what doesn’t.”

Asher looked at the old man. “Theo, I get the impression that you’ve thought about this before. What do you think makes for good art?”

“I don’t know if I have an answer either, other than this. It might not make a lot of sense. But for anything to be good, truly good, there must be love in it. I’m not even sure I know fully what that means. But the older I get, the more I believe it. There must be love for the art itself, love for the subject being depicted or the story being told, and love for the audience. Whether the art is sculpture, farming, teaching, law-making, medicine, music, or raising a child. If love is not in it, in the very heart of it—it might be skillful, marketable, or popular— but I doubt it is truly good. Nothing is what it is supposed to be, if love is not at the core.”

Something about love—love for the art itself, the subject, the story, the audience—makes for good art. Beyond good art, I believe there is something here that turns a product into a gift. For Theo, love turned lead to gold when he gave the portraits to their subjects. Love turned the heart of stone that showed up to the park for an unexpected conversation into a heart of flesh that felt comfortable sharing deep pain, suffering, or loss with a complete stranger. Theo himself is offered as a gift to the people of Golden, Atlanta — sometimes nothing more than a listening ear — but love was at the core.

At the same time, we wrestle with Theo to put words to transcendental things — the good, the true, the beautiful. Still, something deep within us is drawn toward them like tides reaching for the shore.

What if a tangible action has something to teach us about transcendental ideals? If love is at the center of Theo’s giving, what if giving is a pathway to love?

The art of giving gifts, however small, is something that I can hang my heart on. When you create something as a gift, it implies another person, and that gets you out of your own self-interested head. Second, it implies a cost. Whether it be time, thought, money, skill — something was required from you. And if we are honest, giving implies risk. Creating, owning, and giving something away is a vulnerable thing to do.

Here we see the pathway to love: A gift, for another person, that requires sacrifice, and implies vulnerability — embodied, generating something that did not exist before.

When we are surrounded by takers, let us learn the art of giving, and be led closer to love.