I met this artist, Zac, while he was live-painting an event I was playing at with EE (Resonate 8 at Metro, in case you're curious). He's around my age and lives around here (moving somewhere soon; we're acquaintances whose social circles touch tangentially). The night I met him was the same night I had my first date with a man I would still be with if the timing hadn't been bad and he didn't have an addiction problem. I bought the painting he was working on that night, because it was a special night. That painting is more enjoyable for the sentimental value than anything else, and so I wanted to see more of his work. I went to a gallery where he was showing some of his work, and I bought another, smaller painting.
I usually don't like to know the names of paintings when I'm looking at them, in museums, galleries, or otherwise. I think it drops me into a "things you can't unsee" kind of place. I very rarely appreciate the work more after hearing the title. And then, even when I know the title, knowing the story behind naming a piece makes it even worse. Analysis of the work, and "why they painted it that way" hidden messages are great. I love those. But the title rarely adds anything and sometimes doesn't even sit well with me, especially on abstract works that are viewed more subjectively. But, it's important for posterity that I know the names of the works in my collection. I've listed the title, but I won't tell the story of how it got that title, because it is not deep.
Abstract works of art often overwhelm me with chaotic energy. I don't own many of them. I prefer to buy (look at, and am drawn to) paintings of a figure, usually a woman, in a setting alone. My painting collection became eerily consistent in that way without trying. This painting is the first abstract painting I felt drawn to enough to purchase. It hangs in my project room just above the side of the desk.