The story of how the Three Graces came to me is, in truth, the story of my friend Pierre. He was the one who found them, and a decade after his passing, they remain one of my most cherished inheritances.

Pierre was a good man, a loyal friend and a dedicated colleague. We met at work; he had come from Bretagne, France, and brought with him a meticulous, devoted approach to our consulting projects. I, by contrast, was more inclined to cut corners and maintained a certain detachment from our clients. Pierre became a patient mentor of sorts, showing me the value of his methods, and our professional respect blossomed into a deep friendship. Fate even placed us living just a block apart. We visited often, sharing conversations that wandered from the mundane to the meaningful.

One evening over a glass of tequila, I noticed a sculpture on his floor: the Three Graces. He had bought it from the Louvre Museum shop after a recent visit. Pierre knew a great deal about Greek mythology, and he explained how these graceful, headless figures represented Aglaia (Radiance), Euphrosyne (Joy), and Thalia (Abundance). We talked about how such statues were not merely art, but statements. Ancient symbols of wealth and status, somehow like the glorification of a luxury car or a huge yacht today. For Pierre, though, this piece was a personal talisman, a quiet homage to beauty and wellness.

Yet, for all the years I visited, the Graces remained on the floor, never displayed. I even mentioned how it saddened me to see that piece of art languishing forgotten, slowly being buried in dust. Pierre always had the same excuse: he was waiting to paint the wall before hanging them properly. The years slipped by, until illness arrived, and then one terrible day, a heart attack took him. I was the one who found him, lifeless.

In the aftermath, his two daughters began the difficult task of dissolving his home. Belongings were sorted into piles: trash, donations, items for sale. His eldest daughter thought of me, knowing I loved books, and offered me a wheelbarrow’s worth. I went to the house and retrieved all the books I could. As I prepared to leave, my heart already heavy, I saw a flash of familiar stone with its curvy lines discarded pile. There they were, the Three Graces, waiting for the trash!. I remembered something a Cuban art salesman once told me: “True beauty should not be left alone.”

Hesitantly and shyly, I asked Pierre’s daughter, “Are you throwing the sculpture away?” She gave a dismissive shrug. “My mother never liked it. My sister thinks it’s awkward. My friends say it’s too heavy, too lavish, too...". Then with a cheeky face asked" Would you take it?” A grateful smile broke through my sadness. “Of course!,” I said. “It will help me remember Pierre and his refined taste.” And so I took them, though the Graces were, as I was warned, exceedingly heavy.

At home, my five-year-old daughter laughed and christened them “Madame Fesses.” My son, ever practical, observed, “They’d be better if they had heads and feet.”

Now, when I look at them, I see more than stone and sensual curves. I see a friend who appreciated radiance, joy, and abundance but never found the perfect wall to hang them on. In his memory, I wish for all my friends what these figures represent: to be radiant, to be joyful, and to live in abundance.