THOMAS L. CHIU
HE CALLED HER
THE TWO PAINTINGS
When the mayor of the town of Motherwell received notice of
an upcoming exhibition of a painting by a major European artist, he was
very thrilled. For the occasion, he decided to use the town's only school.
Of course, everyone at school shared the mounting excitement.
These events came rarely to Motherwell. Almost hidden by geography, and
forgotten by the larger communities, it was short of a miracle that this
event was going to take place there.
Antoine naturally joined all the pupils of the school in preparation, for
this event was going to be not only an exhibition, but also a competition
of sorts. Everyone in town, including all the teachers and pupils, were
invited to participate.
Tonelli, the celebrated painter, came from Tuscany, from a hilly, expansive
town, similar to Motherwell. His paintings most often depicted lives of
the commoner; thus, one would see a miller at work, a fisherman casting
his nets, peasants with their naked torsos basking on farms. Moreover, there
was a sense of urgency, an outburst of energy in many of his works. The
children he created on his canvases often cried with joy and laughter. Wide
and deep in emotions, the paintings brought Tonelli respect and acceptance
in many countries. He was a great artist, indeed.
Finally, the day came. The competition was to be in the form of a written
comment on the painting. The only judge was Tonelli.
Antoine took a long time studying the painting before him. After what seemed
a whole day, he wrote down four words, signed his name, and handed in the
paper.
Days passed.
The volume of paper submitted was overwhelming for Mr. Tonelli. Every day
he read the comments. He mused. He was exhilarated by many of the wonderful
words said about his painting. Towards the end of the pile, he held the
paper of Antoine.
The maestro at first could not believe what he read. He was angry. He cursed.
He threw the piece of paper on the floor. He stood up and moved slowly towards
the window to view his perennial landscape, the Tuscan hills he loved and
worshipped. Yes, Tonelli, the painter, had reasons to be upset.
His wife was no longer with him. He was alone. His world was at its twilight
stage, a world with no glitter and glamour.
It was during the recent months that Tonelli painted this particular work,
which was the center of the competition. He wanted this to be his last opus,
to be his masterpiece and his great legacy to the art world.
Now, this unknown, this stranger, this nobody from this tiny town had dared
to make such a harsh comment on his work. It broke Tonelli's composure.
He could not sleep for days.
The servant engaged to serve the artist found him on a lounge chair by the
terrace, asleep with his food left untouched.
When aroused after some time, Tonelli suddenly screamed, "I was blind,
I was blind." He recognized the meaning of the four words he had read.
Hastily, he picked up the paper he had thrown away not long ago. He read
again the hand-printed author's name and immediately made his decision.
It was going to be Antoine's prize . . . for making the maestro stir with
the truth of his recent work and life.
The four words were, "There is no heart."
Customized Book Publishing & Manuscript Services
Questions or Comments? Click Here
