A single stroke of his brush vibrated the paper. But not because of the contact the bristles had with the pages. His touch had tone. A quality. He started painting ever since he deciphered his first color—a light and kind shade of blue. It was upon this moment that he first painted a sky, then an ocean, then a simple but precise blue circle. Never did his canvas see the light of an empty white. He always had something to paint. From when the first beams of the sun appeared above the horizon, to when the moon bid an adieu to the last cloud before the very same sun came up again. And boy did he improve. He improved so much so, that those few who happened to see his painting kept encouraging him to paint. Oddly enough, this made him want to paint less but, and this he was too young to truly notice, made his paintings better. Though he had no ambitions to be a painter. Not even an artist.
This boy lived in an apartment with his grandparents. His parents were around at times but more often than not made it about their business for travels and work which kept their own property standing strong. What made this property unique was its surroundings. A typical playground for inspiration. Ponds and parks, swings and children playing on them, dogs running off leash. Even the weather there seemed to be less stable. But he could not bare to live alone. Why his grandparents didn’t simply move in with him to this property, who knows?
‘How should I draw this candle…?’
‘Do you want to draw the candle or the flame?’ said his grandpa who was by no means painter himself but saw it fit in his ways to help the boy.
‘Good question. I guess I wanted to draw both?’
‘Maybe a different shade? One that could contrast the color of the actual candle and the flame. Or something that doesn’t contrast?’
‘Oh, grandpa…’ he said in earnest, squeezing out the last drop of paint.
‘ You know, I’ll leave it to you. I see you are running out of paint. Let me go get you some more. I actually found a new store that has paintings and paint!’
‘Some paint would be great. But I still don’t know how to draw this candle. Grandpa sat down again. ‘Correct me if I am wrong, dear grandson. Have you not already drawn plenty of candles before?’
‘I have…’
‘Oh, I see. You want to draw a different one.’
‘Not quite…’ said the boy.
‘Could you please explain it to me?'
‘I want to draw a candle. A simple candle. I know how to draw them.
But I want this candle to be different.’
‘How so?’
‘I want to capture the moment the candle becomes lit.’
‘Oh…’ said the grandpa feeling as though a cool breeze had struck him. Maybe you could draw a few candles in a row? Something like one row starts off with the candle not lit and the other—'
‘Grandpa, grandpa… I know, I thought about this already…’ he said.
‘I see.’
‘Something about that doesn’t feel right. I want to capture it in a single picture. In a single painting.’
‘In a single painting’ –repeated the grandpa. ‘–you know what, I think the best I can do is spare you my advice.’ The boy smiled warmly.
‘Now I am even more excited to go get you more paint…’ said Grandpa.
•
The flames of the candle danced in the boys’ eyes, from the center to the corners and back to center. He could not seem to catch them even though he tried. He stopped only when the flames started to turn blue. It almost scared him. He was so entrenched in this painting that he did not notice his grandpa return.
‘Ok, here is the paint!’
‘Thank you. Woah… It’s…amazing.’
‘I honestly couldn’t tell…’ laughed the grandpa.
‘How much did this cost you?’
‘There will come a day when this question would be important but do not worry about it for now. Just enjoy it.’
‘The texture… the flow…’ gleamed the boy.
‘Want more?’
‘It should be okay for now. But, grandpa, I would like to go to the store with you when I run out of paint. By the way, I tried to paint the candle but it didn’t work. So I just painted something else instead.’
‘What is it?’
‘A grasshopper.’
‘A grasshopper?!’
‘Yes…’
‘Why a grasshopper? I mean, don’t get me wrong. You did a great job! But it’s legs. They seem to be a little too short…’
‘I’m aware. I made it that way…’
‘How come?’
‘Because I wanted to capture the grasshopper mid-jump.’
‘Upon mid-jump? Like the candle flame?’
‘Exactly…’ said the boy. ‘I still don’t know how to do it though.’
The grandpa felt as though the same wave of cold air had struck him again, only this time it was that much denser.
‘Grandpa, I’d like to go with you to the store tomorrow, okay?’
‘Of… of course.’
The next morning, they went to the paint store.
‘Hello!’ said the storekeeper.
‘This is my grandson. The painter I told you about. He still has much to improve on regarding his technique and the way he articulates his colors.’
‘I prefer, the use of colors…’ said the boy warmly. ‘To articulate in this case means force. I never force my paintings. They just seem to come out of me.’
‘Come out of you?’ intrigued the storekeeper.
‘Yes…’ said the boy.
‘What do you like to paint?’
‘Things that I consider to have life to them…’
‘Paintings that have life to them, you say?’
‘Yes…’ the boy responded.
‘Hm... tell you what… do you have any samples of your work?’
‘I’ve never really thought of them as samples…’ said the boy.
‘I want to see them. Do you mind?'
•
Morning came. His grandpa helped carry two paintings in both hands and him the other two in his. He entered the store with a confidence that the storekeeper quickly realized and looked at these paintings. And, he rejected every single one. The boy was shocked. He ran out and despite his greatest efforts cried. Through these cries, he could hear his grandpa scolding the man.
And, the boy vowed to never return to the store again.
Time passed, and the boy felt as though he hasn’t painted in weeks. And this was the case. Both of his grandparents worried as all the boy did was sit in his room. He took the paintings that were in his room and put them into another. His paint and brushes dried as did his tears.
The boy could not explain his sorrow. He felt distraught, no doubt. But, for some odd reason that he could pinpoint but wanted to deny with every living breath, he, felt free. He stared to admit that his expectations were too high. As if the storekeeper could have granted him not something he necessarily wanted but something that he valued. The opinion of a professional. And when he realized this, he felt released. Less flawlessness meant more space to grow. ‘But I am still a kid’- thought the boy,- ‘I still have time to grow!!!’ And at this moment birds had a crisper chirp; the stars glistened a little brighter.
A knock, heard at the front door. Grandpa hastened to open it.
‘Hello…’ said the storekeeper.
‘You? What’re you doing here?’
‘I came to see the boy…’
‘A sudden change of heart? Finally fixed your glasses prescription?’
‘I came to give this to your grandson…’ and handed him a tube of paint.
‘Paint, eh?’ said the grandpa in what was now a lighter tone.
‘So, could I give it to him?’
‘I guess I’ll pass it on. He’s out right now with his grandma at the store.’
‘Please do…’
And the man left.
Meanwhile at this store the boy felt the sudden need to paint. ‘Grandma…’ he began as his eyes grazed over the white surface of a chocolate box. ‘I am getting hungry. Perhaps it is time to go home?’. His grandma, as all grandma’s, happily agreed.
But, during the walk back home the boy saw something. Frivolous and joyful, he saw children playing. A rubber ball rolled towards him. He looked at it and could not understand why the children were staring directly at him. He picked the ball up and all he felt were the texture of the colors on the rubber. One of the kids ran up to him, snatched the ball from his hands, and ran back to play.
They came home. The boy went to his room. Grandma was unpacking the groceries when grandpa showed up.
‘The man came by…’
‘Which man?’
‘The storekeeper.’
‘Oh, a change of heart so late?’
‘No, not really. He left this…’ said Grandpa showing the paint. ‘I’ll go give it to him.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea…’ said Grandma softly.
‘Why? He needs to paint! Don’t you see that his soul is draining?’
‘Personally, I feel as if it’s growing…’
‘Growing?’
‘Precisely. Let us discuss this later, I think I have an idea.’
The family sat together. ‘Kid…’ said grandma. ‘What do you think about moving back to your property and to start to live your own life? We will visit you every day! But, it will be your life. As you see it. I want you to be free. Even from us.’
The boy started to feel butterflies. At first. Then he looked out of the window and saw the kids playing with the same rubber ball that he just kept in his hands. For a moment, he imagined himself among these kids.
Playing with the ball. Feeling something more than just the texture of color.
Going crazy. Yelling and squealing. And this feeling, which was new for him, strangely, started to make his butterflies go away. And he agreed with Grandma.
•
The first thing he noticed when he arrived were the surroundings. A famous rubber ball rolled towards him. And with his will, he kicked it back to the children who were playing with it, and they quickly asked him to join. It was so simple! And so great! Grandpa came to visit.
‘How’s everything going?’ he asked.
‘It’s going well… how about you?’
‘Okay, I guess. We have missed you back home.’
‘I miss you and Grandma also…’
‘Have you been painting?’
‘Save it grandpa! Please! I just don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Ok, I’m sorry. It’s just…’ and he reached into his pocket. ‘The man came by…’ Although the boy knew right away who Grandpa was talking about, he still asked: ‘Which man?’
‘The man from the store…’
‘Oh… that man. What did he want?’
‘Nothing really… but he brought you something.’
'Let me guess… paint?’
‘Paint.’
‘Let me see it…’
‘Here.’
And the boy tossed it into the thick grass behind him.
•
The boy, alone in the empty large home was looking out the window seeing kids as usual playing out there, and thought to myself: ‘Could I draw them? I am a part of their moves. It’s simple. But why? Oh… because there’s a life in them already. . But what about the candle… What about the grasshopper?' He stood. Slowly feeling as though his soul was returning to his body, ran outside and asked the kids to help him find a tube of paint. They searched and searched until one girl found it, and he snatched it, turned back to say 'thanks', and ran off.
With a set up canvas dug out from the recesses of the basement, he placed it down and took a moment to think. Then he fiercely opened the tube of paint which outside was coloured blue and so he thought to simply draw a cloud. But then the paint cracked to reveal every single color of the rainbow in it. He was shocked. He spread it onto his palette and the colors each seemed to gravitate away from one another. And as if out of instinct, began painting a candle and the colors came together.
He looked at it. Stared. Focused even harder. Hoping he would see the moment the candle flame disappeared and appeared again. But the flame did not move. He continued to stare at the picture. It was like somebody put a stone on his head, his eyelids, and the stone became heavier and heavier. But he still looked at the candle hoping to see a single spark. He felt that he could not stand it much longer. The sweat started to cover his eyes, and when he was ready to give up, through this sweat, he started to see something. He could not believe it himself but it was the beginning of the flame. And despite his exhaustion, and his body praying to rest, he was in absolute awe. He didn’t even notice the moment he crashed.
He awakened the very next morning, looked at the painting, and saw that the flame was gone. But this time, he wasn’t scared. He knew how to bring it to life. His body was still aching reminding him how not easy it is. But now he was ready. He took another canvas and started painting a grasshopper. He finished only half and ran out of the storekeepers paint. He rushed back to the store.
‘Mister!’ said the boy.
‘Oh, hello young man. What brings you back?’
‘My… my… painting. It came to life!’
‘What did you paint?’ said the man in a very calm tone with what appeared to be the slightest touch of readiness.
‘I painted a candle.’
‘And…?’
‘It came to life…’
‘Just came to life?’
‘No… first it took my soul out of me!’
‘Really?’ and his voice became even softer. ‘Okay…in this case I’ll give you some more paint. But please remember, this is the last one for you. I don’t have much left. There are others who might need it. Use it wisely.’
The boy returned to finish painting the grasshopper. At first, nothing happened. But then, just like the painting of the candle, it too came to life. Only this time, the life was different. The grasshopper looked as though he was in pain. It appeared the grasshopper that was trying to jump from one grass petal to another and could never quite reach it. As if he was suspended in the air so much so, that the force of gravity kept pressing down on him. The paint ran out, again.
The boy ran back to the store and asked for more paint to make the grass petal just a little longer. The man refused. So the boy stormed back to his grandparents’ house and got some regular green paint. He ran back. He painted the grass petal longer. And the next thing that he saw was the grasshopper landing on this petal.
~
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