Ana watched mesmerized as her father dipped his paint brush into a glass of water. The colors swirled and created an art of their own, pretty like the pictures her father painted. She wanted to dip her finger inside the glass and see what happened. She wanted to capture the slowly unfurling colors. She looked up at her father to see him watching her with a smile on his face. “It’s so pretty papa!” she cried out. “Yes Ana, it is pretty, but remember beauty comes at a price” The then twelve year old Ana hadn’t understood that, but now fifteen years later, at the peak of her career, in the building she housed her art collection, looking at the portrait of paint swirling, she remembered that day and her father in startling clarity.