Henry sat down on the ragged ottoman and sipped morning’s first steaming cup.
Mmm. Delicious. What is life without coffee?
Seagulls squabbling over a small fish drew his attention, and he gazed out through the adjacent, open window.
A whole sea of fish, and they all want the same one. Reminds me of humans. Sometimes, though, there is only one that will do.
A piece of stale pastry was his breakfast. Tossing it in his mouth whole, he quickly followed with a sip of coffee.
Not so bad, once you moisten it up. Lupita made wonderful churros. She made wonderful love, too.
He turned his eyes to the canvas before him and said aloud, “Please don’t be jealous, my darling. You are the only one that matters to me now.”
From his second story window overlooking the blue Pacific, Henry looked out at the world and took deep breaths of the warm, salt air.
This is the place I’ve always wanted to be. Here, I can breathe. Here, I can see the world with clearer eyes.
Henry finished his coffee, sat the cup on the windowsill and stood up. Taking five steps forward, he stood on the spot where he’d remain for the rest of the day, and even into the night. He dipped his favorite small sable brush into a bit of yellow ochre and began to paint.
My darling, I’m here. In last night’s failing light, I misjudged the highlights on your beautiful face and hands, but now will make it right. You’ll see.
Standing before the large canvas, blending colors and defining shapes, he created life.
I love the way you look at me, Emelina. You didn’t know you had a name? Ha! Of course you do! You’re Emelina, the world’s most wonderful and beautiful woman! Your lips are full, your eyes large and dark, your breasts generous, and your hands, yes, your hands! Hands are important. Eyes are windows on the soul, but with hands, we touch and feel.
As he’d done for the previous six days, Henry stood and painted, barely aware of his surroundings, or even his own bodily functions.
Never have I had a good woman. Never has one returned the love I so generously gave. But you, Emelina–you will be different. You are different.
Near midnight, Henry applied the last brushstroke, sat back in his chair and gazed at the completed painting. Dressed in her lavender and white evening dress, beautiful Emelina peered out from her world with expressive eyes. Two glasses and a bottle of red wine sat on the table before her. Clearly, she waited for someone.
This must be what Leonardo was thinking when he painted Mona Liza
Thanks, Sam. I have no doubt that Da Vinci felt very close to the images he created.
This is really quite wondrous Sam .. a compelling story poem from beginning to end .. I was once an aspiring artist (still am on the quiet) and so I can relate .. Subsequently awarded the dubble 👍👍
Thank you, Neville. I’m glad you relate.
I’m happy other writers are seeing your work. It deserves much more attention than just a few comments. I think I may have read this once before, but the emotion you’ve created is still like new. You know how to set a scene and deliver every time. Excellent story Sam.
Thanks, Tim.
Sam, you know I’ve read enough of your work that I am honest in my comments. So I can say I am so proud of what you have done here. This is quite spare, and all the more lovely because of it. You convey the beauty of the artist’s creation through his eyes rather than his brush, and the love he has lavished her with, not the paint. He might have no talent at all; but that is not what he sees — nor us, because of it. It is very fine, my friend, one of your very best.
FD
Thank you so much. Long before I tried to write stories, I smeared paint around on canvases–nearly always painting women. This story, then, wasn’t hard to write. Don’t know if you ever looked at my photos, but several examples of my artwork are there.
I checked out your photos once before but didn’t see any paintings. Did so again just now, and at that other site, but no joy. Someone steal them, Sam?
I don’t know how that’s possible. There are many drawings and several paintings there.