Life with an artist is neither simple nor logical. All day Sunday, Maria looked ill at ease, got uncharacteristically grumpy. “This is no good,” she said of the yellow/orange color. “Tacky,” she said. “Cheap.” I started to reassure, her, but I knew better. I just shut my mouth.

Whatever you think. There is no arguing with an artist, and I noticed that she wasn’t asking me for my opinion. I was going to complain that I lived here too, what about my opinion? But I decided, for once, to shut up. Good call.

Almost from the first, she mumbled that she had the wrong color. So last night, she finally decided that she had chosen the wrong color, but no matter: it would be a base, she would get the right color today and start over.

This morning, we were the first customers at the Ace Hardware Store in Cambridge, she and Nancy chose one that was markedly more orange. In a few minutes, we’ll try it again, I’m going to do some of the painting. I hope she is happy with it today. A dissatisfied artist is not a happy artist.