It was a battle within. Some days it’s all he could think about; other days, he didn’t see the point of even trying. He was not a naturally gifted artist but the paint pulled him to it like few things had in life. It was therapeutic. He never grasped the intricacies that made other artists’ works stand out, but his works had a clarity of emotion that was hard to duplicate. Today his hands became meticulous from the moment they held a brush. They seemed to take on a life of their own as each stroke seemed not to add, but instead peel back a layer of reality to reveal what was hidden beneath. The process was long. He could feel the energy being sapped out of him as it only can when your heart is being wholly committed to a task. He had never painted to gain praise, but he could feel the anticipation rising from within about how people were react to this piece of his soul on canvas. The last strokes were his initials JS in the bottom corner. Slowly he set his brush down. There was nothing more to be done. It was complete.
The events of the following weeks became a blur of single moments. A nervous excitement filled him as he stood in the back of the auction house. He did not care how much it sold for. He was here to see if this snapshot of his soul could move someone else the way it had him as he created it. The cloth draping the painting fell to the ground as the auctioneer introduced his piece. “We will start the bidding at…” This simple phrase usually played the first note in a symphony of words and action, but the room remained silent. It was almost as if the room became a painting itself as no one moved or spoke. He waited as long as his hope would last before he slipped quietly out the back door.
“Excuse me sir,” said the secretary in the lobby, “You must stay if you wish to collect your commission.” The echoes of his brisk steps quickly became the only trace left of him in the auction house.
His mind swam as the thoughts came crashing over it like waves. Did I really think people would like it? How could I deceive myself into thinking I was a real artist? Why did I even try to do this? By the time he reached home he had made up his mind that painting was just a waist of his time.
At the auction house, the people sat in disbelief. They had seen works of art, but never a piece that seemed to unmask emotion and reveal its essence. Slowly people realized that they could spend a lifetime trying to match their heart to this canvas. The first hand went up slowly, but the bidding did not crescendo for another 30 minutes.
Bob Garrison sat in his office looking over all the paperwork that accompanied his newest piece. As head curator for the J. Paul Getty Center, he was responsible for maintaining the prestige of one of the world’s foremost art museums. This new painting brought with it a sense of mystery along with its 4.3 million dollar price tag. It had been in circulation for almost 17 years and could only be traced back to an independent auction house. Many researchers tried to discover the unknown artist who created a masterpiece, but none had succeeded. Like a man married for years, he let his mind drift back to the moment he realized he had found something truly special. His outstanding track record, along with months of convincing, had finally swayed the board to acquire this piece. His prize was now displayed in the east wing.
It was not hard to hear the echo of little feet in this hall of the museum. The little boy sat down on the bench and folded his arms in frustration. He could not understand the point of looking at pictures for so long. His increasing antsyness had gotten him in trouble and banished to the bench by his father. He looked over at the man who sat on the other end. He was staring at a painting as if he were watching a movie. The boy looked at it too. It was pretty.
“Do you like it?” the man asked without taking his gaze off the art that hung on the wall.
“I guess. It’s better than lots of the other ones.”, replied the boy.
The man chuckled unexpectedly and looked at the child with a bemused smile.
“Hey!” exclaimed the boy “It’s got my initials in the corner.”
“What’s your name?” asked the man.
“Jack.”
The stranger smiled a big smile. “It’s got my initials in the corner too. Would you like to hear a story?”
