“Please sir. Just buy one of my paintings. Just one,” Arthur pleaded. He held up his favourite canvas. It was a painting of the café that he goes to everyday. “See this one here? I’ll give it to you for half my previous price.” The man just shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, sir, but that painting is hideous.”
Arthur walked home, his canvas safely tucked under his shoulder. As he walked down the gravel path, he kicked a loose stone. He watched as it hit a well-dressed woman. Looking up at her face, he stopped in shock. “No,” he whispered. Arthur knew those eyes, apple green and wise with age. “No it can’t be,” he replied. He blinked and looked at her face again. No, the woman’s eyes were brown. Arthur rubbed his temple and kept walking.
He must be hallucinating, for the umpteenth time. “Was I drinking too much absinthe?” he asked himself as he placed his painting on the shelf next to the door. Arthur looked around his small, one bedroom house. There were various sketches and paintings scattered around his tiny home. Walking up to the table, he picked up a sketch book and opened it. There she was for a second time today, the same green eyes. Her hair was the brightest orange and those lips… soft and curving into the most beautiful smile. Arthur kept turning the pages. There she was again. Sometimes just the eyes or the nose or maybe the hair. The same woman in every painting…
“I saw her , again,” Arthur said looking at his friend, Paul. They were sitting at a table in Terrace Café.
“The mysterious muse strikes again,” Paul muttered as he took a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, I don’t know why but every time I see her face, I just feel so…happy. Like the world’s a brighter place with her in it–”
“You!” howled a voice from behind. Arthur turned around and opened out his arms.
“Me!” he said jovially.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here today!” said the manager who was making his way closer to Arthur.
“I know, I know it’s my tab but… what if I give you this painting of your beautiful café. I painted it myself.”
“I can clearly see that!” the manager said. With a swift movement he picked up a knife and slashed a hole right through the painting.
“And stay out!” he shouted as Arthur picked up his wounded painting.
Arthur never fully understood why people didn’t appreciate his work. Was it because they couldn’t see life the way he saw it? Couldn’t they see the bright magnificent colours surrounding them?
“Yes and they’ll never appreciate my work,” he thought to himself. He hurried home, took out a blank canvas, paint and a bottle of absinthe. “This will be my last painting.”
He stood back and admired his work. Arthur had been painting his entire life. He learnt the skill while growing up in the orphanage. That’s where he learnt to paint life. The painting was of the same woman, but this time he recognised her. “Mama,” he whispered. He now knew what happiness felt like.
“This is the last painting to be done by the famous artist, Arthur Noble,” the museum curator said, “he was found dead in his house, this painting was drying on the easel next to him. Many people have speculated as to who the woman really is…” The crowd looked up at those haunting green eyes. The plaque read “1890”
“That’s one hundred and twenty-two years ago,” someone whispered. Arthur was finally appreciated.
Author's note:
This essay was done for school under the topic "Happiness". It is loosely based on the story of Vincent van Gogh. Like van Gogh, Arthur is struggling artist but unlike Vincent, Arthur grew up without a proper family. Vincent had his brother and sister to support him and I think this was what kept him going for so long.One of my favourite paintings of van Gogh's is "The Terrace Cafe at Night" and that was main inspiration for the story and another inspiration was an episode of Doctor Who called "Vincent and the Doctor" in which the Doctor and Amy visit Vincent van Gogh. I hope you enjoyed my "essay" and begin to appreciate art a little more now.
"Cafe Terrace at Night"
