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."


Home PageTable of ContentsAbout The AuthorOrder The Book


Customized Book Publishing & Manuscript Services




Questions or Comments? Click Here