Portrait

Short Essay - Really an exercise of the strength of my writing that I am quite proud of.

‘Portrait.’

A Short Essay

His face is like a plaster statue with eyes exempt of detail; just a wide white space with carvings of an almond. Perhaps the artist grew lazy and reckless with their piece of art. Perhaps they ran out of time, or wealth, such values one would dare say sprawl higher than beauty. Nay, I like to believe that the artist didn’t add the features for a reason. Because the rest of this face already drew so much intensity in attention that eyes would be a dangerous focal point. Medusa. I also believe that the artist would leave these eyes out of his work purposely so his audience can decipher what they see in the soul themselves. With such a beautiful face and body, primma donna folks would draw beautiful eyes that scream trust and protection. Wise men, however, know that beauty is pain, and would draw grey, shadowed eyes, begging for empathy. What was constant, however, is he is a work of art.

Sometimes I look into this face and am reminded of gazing at portraits at an art museum. The location where he belongs. A canvas, decorated lightly with several shades and the delicates of brushes. Motionless. Emotionless? No. He was packed with the slow, thrilling emotions you must search for. Search into his face as you would search for meaning in the Mona Lisa, or an early century man’s interpretation of Hades or Achilles. A canvas of untimely and precious, tantalizing and silently screaming. Sometimes a shrill, other times a whisper. Rarely a yawp. You would not dare to touch a piece of art - to stare was the best you would get. But the best you would get is not said in a pitiful way. With the best art, staring is enough. It is a fallacy that there is shame is not being able to touch. Instead, use senses. To not touch is not something you are in sorrow for; instead, you’re grateful to have the privilege to stare. He was that kind of beauty.

However, I was not in love. No, it would be ignorant to say that I was. Infatuated by the art that lay in front of me. Humans may be so interesting that the highlight of your day is to just stand and stare. Sometimes humans are so intriguing that witnessing them doing nothing is like receiving a lesson from a masterchef. If you blink, you miss seemingly years of detail. To do nothing but stare and breath was it’s own majesty. And tame I find myself not so interested in the pain to one caused by others; instead pain to one caused by oneself.

We feed off each others frustration and worry. My mind was an abstract composition of paint and graphite to his masterpiece. Sappy. That is a young person’s synonym for melancholy. His life was melancholy. I would say, without any professional ability to diagnose, bipolar. The poles were not separated by terrains and biomes like Earth, however. The poles had one distinct expression to define themselves each, both of which would shock the audience. The south, a merciful, hopeless gave that screams nothingness first, anger second. One time he had taken all the plates from his dining drawer and the meat tenderizer from the utensils. He smashed. He smashed until the shatters and splinters rang in his ears, overtaking any sound in his home. He smashed until he imagined dozens of people erupting ‘mazel tov!’ and bouncing resiliently to their feet at a Jewish wedding. He cracked and slivered until his hands had light gashes like roadlines which he dexterously avoided. His kitchen floor was a wasteland. Sometimes he would see which shards had the most pointed edges. Ultimately, each shard would be destined to a landfill.

The north pole was not a scary place. It was wonderland. A tender man who enthusiastically swept the shards left carelessly on the ground by an anxious settler. The wise men were wrong; these eyes were full of life, excitement, hope. His crimson hands were turned black when he cleaned them with iodine. Pain is temporary. The calm before the storm, the storm, and the calm after the storm. That was destiny.

K. Wiseman, 8/1/17

Author's Note

Please focus upon description.