On a cloudy February morning, heading home from an uneventful trip to the Sunday flea market, I reluctantly turn into a deserted parking lot. I noticed two dealers were here at opposite ends. Little did I expect this would turn into a year and half long pilgrimage where I would learn much about the self-taught artist Horace Pippin. It was one of his paintings, telling a specific story that I carried with me to friends, to new acquaintances, to libraries,...