Art – Part 2
The scene before Mary was indescribable. It was as though she was looking through a lens at the colourful canvas in the middle of the room, all else around her faded into gray obscurity. She didn’t even notice Dave turn slowly to look at her as he was roused by the shattering of the wine bottle.
A wave of emotion crashed over her. She felt elated, euphoric even, and yet at the same time Mary was sad and angry, perhaps upset that she would someday have to look away. She was inspired, moved, jealous, enraged, in love, and everything in between; sentiments she couldn’t put a word to or even fully grasp flitted through her mind like a great flock of birds-of-paradise, each exquisitely unique though none could she identify. She stood transfixed as the painting surged in through her eyes, dwarfing anything her other senses had ever told her.
It was the most beautiful scene she had ever perceived.
How long she stood there Mary could not be sure. The painting seemed to transcend time; old visions and memories stirred from the most obscure depths of her psyche and the associated upwelling of long buried sentiments was nearly overwhelming.
Eventually Dave came and stood by her, he was still holding a paint brush in his right hand. She could hear him breathing. After a while he murmured a greeting.
“You… you, uh, did this?” Talking felt difficult as though Mary hadn’t done it for a while and her words felt insignificant and clumsy in the presence of the artwork before her.
“Yes,” he replied, his throat constricted with emotion. “I finished it this afternoon.”
“It’s perfect,” she whispered, barely audible.
Side by side they stood and marveled at the overwhelming perfection of Dave’s work. Finally he took her hand and began to lead her from the room. It wasn’t until Mary stepped on a shard of the bottle that she took her eyes from the painting and regained enough awareness to walk to the door. As he shut it behind them she slumped against the wall breathing heavily.
Instantly Mary’s mind began racing. What if the canvas fell over? What if someone stole it when she wasn’t looking? What if a bird flew into the room? What if the house caught fire? She thought furiously of the appliances in the house. Were any of them a threat? Maybe she should unplug the stove to be sure.
She desperately needed to check on the painting, to make sure it was okay and she turned to pull the studio door open. Dave put his hand on the door and held it shut.
“Move, David,” she snapped, as anger rose in her. “This is more important right now!” She strained harder to pull the door open, but still he held it fast.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Hey! It’s okay,” he added, raising his voice momentarily. “Trust me. But I am glad you like it.”
Slowly Mary calmed down and relaxed her grip on the door knob, gathering her thoughts.
“Of course I like it, it’s amazing! It’s like – the best painting I’ve ever seen! It’s stunning, literally!” Her excitement was growing now that she could articulate once more.
“It was kind of funny,” explained Dave. “I had been working on it these past few weeks and I was liking it more and more. I knew it was almost done, or that I was almost content with it, and then when I applied a brush stroke on it this afternoon it was suddenly complete. I just knew it was. I stepped back and looked at it, and, well, I think I stood there for a very long time before you came up.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling, and Mary giggled to herself as the realization hit her-
“You’re going to be rich! We’re going to be rich! This is your masterpiece, people will love it!” She could barely contain the emotion in her voice.
Mary began to giggle uncontrollably, an infectious, childish sound, and Dave couldn’t help but laugh along with her and they stood hugging in the stairwell, laughing, elated together.
Abruptly David looked down, still grinning. “Jesus, Mary, your foot’s bleeding! And nice toenails.”
“Hmm, so it is,” dismissed Mary, without looking at her foot. She was too happy to care about a little blood loss right now. It didn’t hurt anyway so couldn’t be that bad. Part of her euphoria was from her certainty of an imminent windfall of money and part of it was a persisting high from the beauty of the painting.
“This call’s for wine!” she yelled out in a sing-song voice, descending the stairs in a sudden hurry. “The last bottle is all over your studio floor. Once it drips through the roof we’ll just have to redo the ceilings,” she threw over her shoulder with a wink as she disappeared around the corner.
