Painter Part 2
“You think I’m crazy.” He looked the young man in the eyes. “That’s OK. Really, it is to be expected. You and I were born in different worlds. I am an alien. In this world we ignore the thermometer on the wall and check the temperature with our phones. We walk past the bookstore to the coffee shop with Wi-Fi to buy a book. We use our thumbs to talk to anyone in the world except the ones we’re with. This building and I have more in common...” The old man left the sentence unfinished and placed the final brush in the wooden box and slid the thin wooden lid shut. “Tell me, have you ever sat in the woods from dark to dark?”
“I’m sorry, what do you mean?
“Have you ever gone into the woods long before the sun rose and stayed put until long after it set?” The young man shook his head. “When you lean against a sturdy trunk or sit upon a stump or scoot yourself back into the prickly petticoats of a striking young pine and just watch and listen from dark to dark, you see that otherwise imperceptible variations in light make features of the landscape appear and disappear, change colors, move, sit still, transform. A stump becomes a bear’s rump. A short stretch of a distant creek solidifies into a narrow granite shelf. A heavy, broad-shouldered, five-point buck turns and vanishes into thin air. Our eyes are magnificent instruments but light is their master. When I moved to the city, I forgot that lesson. More than a year ago I photographed this building on a warm sunny evening. A few days later, I sketched it from the photograph and eventually began to paint. Several weeks passed and the painting was about half done when I passed this old building again on a grey, rainy morning. I almost didn’t recognize it. I stood there in the rain for two hours, comparing what stood before me with the painting in my mind. Rocks, bricks, doorknobs, window frames, steps, downspouts, soffit, everything. Everything was different. It was as if the building I’d painted had been demolished and another built in its place. How could I paint a building that never looked the same from one moment to the next, one day to the next, one month to the next? I couldn’t solve that problem in my brain so I decided to watch and see if a solution presented itself. From that day forward, I began a study, a research project with my eyes and mind, to understand this building. If I was going to paint it, I had to paint it so that anyone on any day from any perspective would swear on their mother’s grave that it was the one.”
“That seems...impossible.”
“We’ll see, won’t we.” A young woman joined the young man and slid her arm around his waist. “Ah, so this is why you wait and talk with a crazy old man.” The three smiled and the two prepared to leave. “Tell me, have either of you heard of Willy’s Supper Club?”
The young man nodded: “Everyone’s heard of Willy’s but I’ve never met anyone who has actually been.
“I’m going there now. Would you two like to join me?”
“Very kind of you sir, but that’s a bit out of our league.”
“Mine too. I traded one of my paintings for a month of free suppers.”
“With Willy?”
“Willy himself.”
The young man looked at his girlfriend and then back at the old man: “We’ve heard that Willy’s gets a little...odd.”
“I’m an old man. How odd can it be?” The three walked to the bus stop.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Like? Give my novel a shot: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
“I’m sorry, what do you mean?
“Have you ever gone into the woods long before the sun rose and stayed put until long after it set?” The young man shook his head. “When you lean against a sturdy trunk or sit upon a stump or scoot yourself back into the prickly petticoats of a striking young pine and just watch and listen from dark to dark, you see that otherwise imperceptible variations in light make features of the landscape appear and disappear, change colors, move, sit still, transform. A stump becomes a bear’s rump. A short stretch of a distant creek solidifies into a narrow granite shelf. A heavy, broad-shouldered, five-point buck turns and vanishes into thin air. Our eyes are magnificent instruments but light is their master. When I moved to the city, I forgot that lesson. More than a year ago I photographed this building on a warm sunny evening. A few days later, I sketched it from the photograph and eventually began to paint. Several weeks passed and the painting was about half done when I passed this old building again on a grey, rainy morning. I almost didn’t recognize it. I stood there in the rain for two hours, comparing what stood before me with the painting in my mind. Rocks, bricks, doorknobs, window frames, steps, downspouts, soffit, everything. Everything was different. It was as if the building I’d painted had been demolished and another built in its place. How could I paint a building that never looked the same from one moment to the next, one day to the next, one month to the next? I couldn’t solve that problem in my brain so I decided to watch and see if a solution presented itself. From that day forward, I began a study, a research project with my eyes and mind, to understand this building. If I was going to paint it, I had to paint it so that anyone on any day from any perspective would swear on their mother’s grave that it was the one.”
“That seems...impossible.”
“We’ll see, won’t we.” A young woman joined the young man and slid her arm around his waist. “Ah, so this is why you wait and talk with a crazy old man.” The three smiled and the two prepared to leave. “Tell me, have either of you heard of Willy’s Supper Club?”
The young man nodded: “Everyone’s heard of Willy’s but I’ve never met anyone who has actually been.
“I’m going there now. Would you two like to join me?”
“Very kind of you sir, but that’s a bit out of our league.”
“Mine too. I traded one of my paintings for a month of free suppers.”
“With Willy?”
“Willy himself.”
The young man looked at his girlfriend and then back at the old man: “We’ve heard that Willy’s gets a little...odd.”
“I’m an old man. How odd can it be?” The three walked to the bus stop.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Like? Give my novel a shot: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
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