A woman of substance

I'm sceptical of the Dutch
One of them stole my beloved
He was a painter
Made her beautiful on canvas
And she fell in love
I wrote a poem on a torn
Piece of paper-
And I’m not a Lutheran-
Nailed it on her door
The usual stuff of the aching heart
The painter got arthritis
In his hands  
Could not hold a paint brush
She sent him to nursing home
And now she smiles at me