Hermit on a Dark Night

A few years ago, a mysterious painting surfaced from an estate holding. It ended up for a time at our house, because its purchaser got wind that my husband restores oil paintings. The one catch — as is too often the case — was its sketchy provenance: No signature, no obvious artistic style. But it was old — older than most of the items that normally cross our path. And not American — probably Italian. How did it end up here? Continue reading “Hermit on a Dark Night”