17 April 2012
It was a cold chilly afternoon in the fall, and with nothing left to stave off the cold, she decided the only thing to keep her warm would be a cup of hot tea. Usually, she would prefer the titillating art of ‘’four legs’’ all wrapped up in one. Memories, she heaved with a sigh, walking toward the kitchen to put the old kettle on to boil then, suddenly an overture to the wildest of imaginations.
She saw the fear and she saw it in his pale eyes. He was shaking and he looked absolutely clueless. She asked him, are you ready to paint? Yes he retorted. But I have only painted on one canvas and it’s been the same I have painted on since the day I got it. Her mind craved for answers beyond the bounds but she didn’t want to strain him. Painting is a pretty complicated art and it needs time and practice to really perfect, she interjected, gesturing him towards the red couch. Thank you, quite a gracious and bonny lady you are… He whispered. Charmed sir, shall we focus on the basics, we haven’t got all day she affirmed with a simper. Slowly he took out his painting brush and she reached for it and proposed, let’s do it together. We started drawing lines and dots and all of a sudden, the novice painter got excited and was almost painting out of line with jerks. His heart began to beat fast as if it were about to explode out of its safe place. She thought he was in some kind of delirium until he quivered in his frenzy, ‘’I am about to make a mess and I wouldn’t want to make a mess on your canvas’’. You know, when it’s your first or second time, you could really make a mess. Make a mess wherever you want, leave trails of ecstasy. That is why it is called painting. I would try to keep your brush in between the shades… But without a mess, well it wouldn’t be an original one, would it! She exclaimed. So the brush took its final plunge into the bucketful of paint, and out on the canvas, the novice painter started to paint vigorously, then gently he stroked the canvas, leaving trails of wet paint with a moan. There were cries, and tunes, and whispers! It was as if she heard a falcon singing a tune in the night and that was the scariest tune she had ever heard, nevertheless liberating. Then suddenly, the clawed brush wept her name and took the stab on her canvas and it felt as if the coldest rain had just hit her and a thousand knives stabbing all over her body, and the light in her shut out and for seconds. She was in heaven. I haven’t been excited this much in years, I didn’t know painting could generate this much buzz, he expressed. Well, I am thrilled to pieces. She murmured. Walking out the door, he leaned in slowly towards her and declared, ‘’what a graceful wreck you are!’’ And he glided off without looking back.
She smiled and thought to herself, with memories like this, who needs a cup of hot tea or four legs! She was an old canvas discovered by a novice painter, and that in her opinion was just enough to keep her happy for the rest of her life, whether she made it to a gallery or not!
The Old Canvas And The Novice Painter • Opuss № I