The painters soul

A famous artist undergoes an interesting transformation in order to fulfill his masterpiece.

It was on one august Sunday morning that a man lost his soul. Although this man did not lose it to the devil, rather he lost it to a painting. A good painter does not paint for form but rather for essence, he express’s himself through his work. This painter achieved the ultimate ideal of an artist. His life and genius were all leading him up to this one moment and a chance meeting would seal his artful martyrdom.

Augustino Ferrero was the most prominent painter of his time. His talent was recognized early on when he was in the orphanage. By the age of four he had taught himself to read, write and was already starting to perform sketches of people. By age seven he would read books and ‘paint’ them as he would say. He once drew a portrait of the count of Monte Christo that almost seemed to narrate the book, a thousand words culminating in those vengeful eyes. When he was in his adolescent years, he was already winning multiple awards for his sketches. However, he wanted to develop a different style of painting more unique to his own personality.  He wanted to broaden the mind of the viewer and baffle the critics.

He developed his own style of painting that combined abstract realism and landscape. His inspiration came from an idea to ‘unite the world on canvases’ as he would say. One painting was of a city silhouetted and filled in with colors from the tundra and desserts. It absorbed ones sight into it leading from side to the other with waves of color and depth, that made one believe a city actually existed there. Its purpose he said was to exhibit the “transient nature of our creation.” Another painting showed a glacier seemingly disintegrating into waves of blue down the side of a canvas, revealing a lush rainforest in the middle. The sensuous blue waves mixing seamlessly with the ornate greenness of the rainforest gave one a sense that the glacier was falling apart in front of one’s eyes. It was thought to be about global warming and has been used in many ad campaigns since then. However when Augustino was asked about it, he answered ‘is not that how glaciers look?” 

Art critics were classifying it as neo-classical impressionism, others wasted time arguing whether it really was a new style or not as most critics do. Augustino did not care much for what the art world, he preferred to work in isolated areas where ‘he could hear god speak.” When asked what type of painting he was doing he would merely say a ‘colorful one.’ He enjoyed answering questions enigmatically and this helped give him a sort of mysterious persona that many enjoyed trying to decipher. He sometimes seemed incredibly charming and witty with his knowledge on a variety of subjects. At other times he seemed silent and broody, never even acknowledging other people’s presence. Lately he had felt like he needed to redevelop his style. Up till that he had only felt like he was manifesting his vision on canvas; not reality. He wanted something more, to create something completely unique and wonderful.

Augustino had a beautiful modern glass home in cinque Terre, Italy. It was lodged at the side of a mountain and offered a magnificent panoramic view of the surrounding mountains and ocean. He enjoyed the profound feeling of peace the area offered. The charming small towns seemed almost encapsulated by time in an ethereal bubble. Augustino once commented that “Columbus had gone the wrong way when he was looking for the Garden of Eden,” and the areas majestic hills, cliffs and flora added to this perception.  Augustino alongside his home owned a small Italian style cottage by the shore, in which he would do most of his work. Every day he would walk down his usual route to make sure that his equipment was safe, for there was always the danger of flooding. It was a Wednesday afternoon that some idle curiosity propagated him to take a different route to his cottage. On the way, he saw a curious looking old man who even with his poor farmer’s clothes had a look of dignity in his face and long silvery hair.  What really caught Augustino as odd though was the white in the man’s eyes. That he evidently looked blind but was tending his garden with the grace and skill of an expert. The old man then looked up and waved to him. Augustino approached him and Augustino said in Italian “Bonjourno, my name is Augustino.” “Salvadore, last of the independence,” “Which movement may I ask?” Salvadore smirked and said “all of them at one point, when my hair was still brown.” “Pardon, I see you here seemingly blind but are tending to your garden quite skillfully, how do you do it?”  “its easy when one is not so distracted?” Augustino frowned a bit, thinking the man might be mad and asked “what do you mean?” “Well it is true that my eyes do not see color but these are mere shades of light. They are transient vanities of the mind which compels one to think that only the things one sees are real and nothing else. All the while it misses out on the true beauty inherit in all life, that prima materia which modern society has ignored in fear; for it would send their fragile superficialities to oblivion and leave them with something mistakenly believed to be unknown or mysterious. They believe thus out of fear for if they would ever take a chance, they would realize it is the most familiar thing to them.” Salvadore then stepped back toward a nearby table with a bucket of water and attempted to serve himself a cup of water but had trouble finding the cup. At which point Augustino got the cup for him and served him some water, at which the old man responded with a sad smile with a glint of pride in it and a nod of his head. Salvadore then continued “You have many distractions beyond just your sight. I see them like barriers put up in front of your soul vanity, ambition, hope and fear. The body is transient, the soul is not. Thus stop burdening it with so much weight and give into the universal truth that exists within you. There is nothing new under the sun. The only journey left for all of us is not outward but inward toward yourself and finally realizing the ultimate truth.” These words said not as lectures but rather with unlimited compassion were touching something deep within Augustino; a part of him which seemed to have been in catharsis for all his life. There are words said once in a while in life which seem to possess potency in the mere vibration produced from them, as though the language spoken was universal.

After a long pause, Augustino just stood there pensive while the old man continued to work on his garden. Augustino then asked “what is that?” Salvadore then looked at him sternly and said “close your eyes…..now can you feel your legs, your fingers? Do you know where your arms are?” “yes but that is because I know them.” “Ah, but that’s how I see these plants, that is how I see you. I know and I love them because they are me and I’m them. Separation is our ultimate delusion, the animals in nature know this because they travel by feel; they trust their instinctual feeling of love. While we have become distracted from reality by the apparition of power, Love let that be your only guide to truth.” Augustino raised his hand abruptly and told him to stop. He could not defeat his argument and if he let it be internalized it might change him and his entire world. Salvadore understood the internal struggle his young friend was going through and just gave a sad smile, continuing to work on his garden. Augustino pensively walked away from the old man down the road toward his cottage in a daze. He at first struggled to deny himself the information given but could not help feeling their validity. Every time he tried to brush off the idea, it kept coming back to him as though they were in continual orbit. He was experiencing a fearful struggle between himself and fear of losing his vanity. Eventually the words from the old man resonated in his head and the idea found firm ground and repeatedly resonated, developing more and more in his head. The old vanity within Augustino and something was beginning to replace it.

Augustino arrived at the cottage in a contemplative daze. Thoughts were racing too fast in his head to be audible or understandable, they merged and became emotions. He served himself some bread and water on a table outside. The ocean breeze always seemed to comfort him, its scent taken from waters and places far away. He could almost feel the places and people that venturesome wind had been through. This made him think of the old man’s words of universality but now with more of a sense of peace. He finished his meal but his thoughts were still racing, he could think of no words any more only that pensive pain one sometimes feels that requires outlet. He knew he needed to paint and he began taking out his equipment. Inspiration then told him what to paint, an eye and heaven combined and he knew there were only two colors needed for this work black and white. He started silhouetting the eye, thinking at first that it would be as wide as the canvas but leaving room above and below it. However, his hand felt guided, and every brush stroke felt like it was revealing something new about him. With every sweep of his brush, he became more and more overjoyed for it felt not as if he were painting but rather that he was the canvas. Hours flew by as he threw in flecks of white in exactly the right places to enhance the dynamism of the picture. After twelve hours a shallow silhouette of an eye with a hollow iris that would have left mathematicians wondering if there truly was no perfect circle. Its haunting size surprisingly did not make it fearful or daunting; in fact you would have had a hard time thinking of it in any other size. Its lines were exquisitely curved with bits of white seemingly filtering through the color absorbing one into it.

Augustino looked at his painting with the pride one gets when they have done some that’s honest. However, he was now presented with a problem; he did not know how heaven looked like. He felt a great fear at first but then he saw a white dove fly by and rejoin his flock traversing the sea. This simple dove seemed to carry away his fear and fill him with a sense of existential calm. A sensation then overcame him that compelled him to put his brush on the canvas and to start painting unwittingly. Idea’s lost their connotation; they became only feelings and impulses that drove his hand to action. He lost himself in the painting, no longer feeling hunger, thirst or want. There was only himself and his brush. Time and space were leaving his perception; there was only his art. After three days Augustino Ferrero finished the painting with one final stroke and breathed his last. The old man went to the cottage the following morning. He then looked at the painting and for the first time in his life Salvadore Ferrero could see his son. 

Author's Note

I wrote this years ago and I saw this painting and I just thought it was perfect for the story. Hope you enjoy.