Eye Of The Beholder, page 1

posted on Jul, 1 2021 @ 08:09 AM

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Once a fine artist was painting a portrait of his good friend in a small Abbey courtyard, when a man came to him to commission his work

The man spoke to the artist, with a heart full of love, about how he wanted a portrait painted of his wife. A painting which captured how beautiful she was to him, so that when she looked at this beautiful painting, she could understand exactly how he sees her. And she would understand just how beautiful she truly is

The artist could see that the man had found true love, and so carefully considered what he was being asked to do. “Though it would honour me greatly to be the one who gives the colour to an expression of love such as this, I fear I may not be able to give you what you want"

The man insisted to the artist, that he could. And that he had chosen him specifically by such belief

The artist agreed, and after the man had left, his friend asked him why he had told the man that he believed he might not be able to give him what he wants? The artist replied to his friend, “Because how could any comparable beauty ever live up to the beauty of one’s true love?”

Trying to assure the artist, his friend said “Perhaps it is not by perfection that we see such things to be beautiful, but by the imperfections, which make them perfect”

Seeing the wisdom in his friends words, the painter took a brush full of black paint, and blacked out the portrait which he had been working on

When his friend asked why, the artist said, “If the things which I present to others, to be as perfect, cannot be seen as such, then I would rather they are never seen”

“I shall paint you. But I need start again”

Later, the artist went to begin work on painting the wife of the man who had visited him. But first, he made it very clear to the man, that he would not paint her as the man saw her, nor would he paint her as she, or any others saw her. He would only paint her as he was able to see. But he promised that what he captured of her, would be as perfect and honest as possible

When the man presented his wife, the artist found that all that he was able to see in her, were the things he was unable to see

Though he understood very well the love and beauty that the woman represented to her husband, he was unable to see it as her husband did. As he was not him

And though he understood very well the things he had been told about the type of woman she is and her character, he would not get a chance to know her well enough to know this for himself. Or know who she was

Painting her would represent the artists attempt to express the enigma of something he understood very well, but had never known. Something which he respected and valued greatly, but had never experienced for himself. True love. A pure love, like the one he saw within the mans eyes, for his wife. One he was yet to find within his own life

Over the next two and a half years, the artist painted the woman. And every time he did, his vision betrayed the art he was trying to create. As if painting the reflection of his view, continually changed 'how' he viewed her

There was something within her that he could not seem to capture

No matter how many times he tried, and how many countless hours he would spend, he wasn't happy with his work. And so, refused to declare it as being finished, or hand it over to the man and his wife

Eventually, the man who commissioned the work, gave up on ever seeing the finished painting, and told the artist he no longer wanted him to paint his wife

The man said to the artist, “All the beauty has been lost from what I was trying to achieve. The gift I hoped would bring joy, has turned into a nightmare. All it has brought us, is prolonged pain and uncertainty. It is no longer special for my wife to be painted, it has become a chore for her. I now ask her to endure something that was supposed to make her feel beautiful. Honestly, I no longer care if I ever receive the painting”

Hearing these words the artist sadly replied, “Then it is done”

Leaving the man's home for the last time the artist took his masterpiece with him. Finally feeling as though it was finished

He thought that whatever it was that he couldn't seem to capture, must not have actually been there

But although he had closure, it was an empty feeling. Like it had left a hole in his heart. Maybe he was never supposed to get it right, whatever it was. Maybe it was there to not be found. But if so, then why did it feel so important that he find it?

And why did it seem to hurt so much, that he had to give up on it?

The artist would have painted, to paint the woman for the rest of his life, just to know what it was that was missing. Had her husband allowed

Not long after this, the artist came across the man and his wife in passing and apologised to them for what had happened

He said to them, “I feel it important to tell you something which may, or may not hold value to you. That, though I regret I was unable to present you with the beautiful piece of art you had hoped for, the experience of its creation, has brought me to regard it as my finest work. And it is more precious to me, than any of my other works"

"I hope that knowing you gave me this special thing, might offer you back some of the beauty, that you had once found lost”

Later that night when the wife was alone, she cried every tear she had to cry within her

She cried harder than she had ever cried before

Because over time as she had sat while the artist painted her, she had fallen in love with him

Completely and hopelessly in love with him

Every time she had seen how he had painted her, it had taken her breath away. His art was something more beautiful than anything she'd ever seen in her life

But he couldn't see himself, or how amazing he was

Every time he painted her, he looked at her like there was something so perfect within her, that he would never be able to do it justice

She couldn't understand why someone able to create things more beautiful than her words could describe, would be so hard on themselves

How the pain that she saw in his eyes, could possibly live within such beauty

Or how a man like him could ever look at her, like she was the one who held a beauty far beyond his own. When she didn't think there was anything inside her that could ever possibly match what she saw within him

She fell in love with him. And her heart broke for him. Every single time they saw each other for the painting

A man with a heart so beautiful, that although it seemed desperate to know love, it couldn't seem to feel it. Or, it wouldn't allow itself to feel it

She cried because the man who had given her this love, honestly thought he had taken something from her

She cried because, as he spoke of his attachment to the painting she realised he loved her too. Though he didn't understand it

And she cried because she knew, that she would probably never get to see him again

And that he would probably never realise, that the thing he found so impossible to recreate on canvass while he was painting her, was love

“Mona Lisa smiles, even though her heart is breaking”

- Compendium