What the eye Beholds

Sometimes the shortest stories carry the most profound and enduring message. An indictment to our incurious nature that life carries no mystery that is not already revealed to us. With opened eyes.

                                                                                                  

                                                                                               What the eye Beholds

                                                                                                                By

                                                                                               Carlos Lorenzo Estrada 

                                                  

                                                                             1884 within the Southern province of Spain 

     The great Decadent Artist Fedrico Pangini looked toward his young protege Saldivar Zaragoza as he placed an apple on the rustic table before them.  The spectral particles of dust drifted down along the sunlight that swept across the room through an open curtainless window.  It ignited the tabletop reflecting the crimson sheen and perfect symmetry of the sacred object atop it.  He watched as the impetus prodigy struggled with his creative genius, which revealed itself in a small crease upon his troubled brow.

     "Inspiration is dead." The youthful Zaragoza spat staring at the blank canvas before him.  "There is nothing new.  All art looks the same.  It is all boorishly contrived s**t."

     "What do you see before you?" Asked the grand master in solemnic wisdom.

     "An apple." The young man countered, as the words fell from his lips with indifference.  "And you?"  He was left to ponder an answer for several long quiet moments before Pangini relieved him of his youthful ignorance. 

     "I see...the first original sin." The Decadent replied in deliberate reflection.  "It is strange in a room full of artistic genius each can view the same object and see something different from one another.  You vacillate between art and nihilism, while I see the beginning of all things.  And it is through these endless revelations that the beauty of life itself is revealed to me."

   

                                                                                                             L'chaim 

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

The opening paragraph is very well done in it's visual description of the scene, and I believe I saw it much as you intended. I've drawn and painted since the age of 13, but could never make much more of a subject than what it appears. Pangini would have probably thrown me out for my lack of insight. Saldivar, I imagine, took the teachers words to heart.
This is quite interesting--it held my attention throughout.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

thank you, Samuel, for taking the time to read this short story. I used to draw quite a bit in my youth back during the 70s. I still do occasionally though it's more illustration type. I loved the work of frazzetta who drew fantasy art. Even now in my mid 50s I find myself more like Saldivar, wishing I could be Pangini. I struggle with patience. My comfort is reciting a story rather then committing it to paper. Wish I could have taken my lit teacher's advice to heart and worked on the technical aspects of writing. But I'm just as stubborn now as I was then. Thank you for taking the time to read this story. I appreciate that.

[Chris Shaw]

Art is subjective. Each one of us will see something different and that is what makes it all the more exciting. An apple is never just an apple. Love your imagery here of dust motes floating. Now they are never just dust motes. Good to read you.

Chris

[mattavelli]

Hello, Carlos! :)
I think this is great. You pulled me into the scene with lovely descriptive language, drifting movement and rustic texture; then you gave me attitude to shake my head at, and gentle authority to make things right. I think the whole thing is beautiful. One of my oldest memories is lying beneath a window, below the beams of sunlight, watching the dust float and blowing it into swirls. It is a magical image.

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Funny you should mention that memory. The falling of dust comes from a similar memory I had as well back in about 1979 sitting atop my bunkbed. I was so fascinated by how the dust danced between the beams of sunlight. Thank you for taking the time to read this.

[Tony Dincau]

Bravo Carlos! Well done, you pulled me in with artistic grace laced with eye-arching wisdom. Your writing is direct but breathable. Thanks for sharing!

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

Thank you, Tony, for taking the time to read this. One of my struggles is to not be too wordy in my writing. I tend to overly describe which is a part of my nature. My lit teacher in the early 80s told us in class that the best writing speaks to all our senses. Touch, taste, smell, sound, sight, and if possible empathy or the characters perspective of the world. He would give me high ratings for content but in the technical aspects of writing I would score low. Because of run on sentences bad punctuation and other things. It's easier for me to tell the tale then write it, because I get more animated and passionate and allows me freedom to add more flourishes and paint to a tale. But at times little or less can say more. Thank you again for your kind words.

[Tony Dincau]

Well said. I agree with your lit teacher.

[Marina]

And that is the beauty of the arts.....it's all in the interpretation. We all have unique eyes for seeing the world and the objects in it. If we delve a little deeper new answers appear before our eyes. Such an interesting vignette, Carlos. Very much enjoyed. 💛

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

I wish I would have added your words to the story. There is an insightful and profound truth in them. Art is so subjective, some find beauty in simplicity, while others in the abstract. But it is sublime how art can draw us all together, and can speak to our spiritual nature. Thank you again for the kind words, your writing is amazing. Continued success.