there was a painting on the wall
in the utilityroom den
a room that to his mind should have been left outdoors if the intent
from the get-go was to incorporate it into the house halfass
he had been a carpenter
it piqued him with its shoddiness the poor glazing abysmal insulation ill electrical maybe if the subcontractors were blindworked
with their eyes closed they could be proud of their effort
he didnt like the
room but he had to go through it to get to the backyard
the painting on the wall he tried to allow that it was the rooms
redemption he had to try very hard
but it only became harder when he
learned to story of the painting
it was hung on the wall offcenter right acrylic on canvas a gloss laminate to pop the colours was applied
when the family – they painted it together – decided it was finished
a gorgeously rendered blue
feather like an ethereal broad spearhead floated in the upper righthand corner tantalising slight maroon ribs adorned it
his daughter painted it
she told him that beside it were three other
feathers but they were obliterated overpainted by her zealous youngest daughter
who preferred to smear paint than paint he
liked to smear paint with his hands and fingers but she smeared
and worked her palette to nearly black a deeply bruised pinkpurplish swirl
she consumed two of the three feathers his daughter painted
the third one her eldest daughter whited-out before she painted over it
the two had at the painting
unsupervised while his daughter was helping tend to the birth of a Gypsy Vanner
her elation at the colts birth
was sorely diminished when she returned home to learn her portion of the canvas
was violated
it was understood the painting quartered the girls had the lower half because they were shorter
they dragged a diningroom chair to the playroom where the painting hung
and stood on it
he supposed his daughter forgave
them
audaciously they said their mother
just quit painting She could have
painted them again NO It was her portion of the canvas and you both
knew it
the girls didnt like him much
he didnt treat them like children
why would he he knew they were
intelligent and greedy they used their
childhood as leverage they seemed to forget he raised
their mother who was intelligent and
never greedy
the disconnect was stunning
the childrens lower half of the
canvas was a fascinating display of haste and possession if they couldnt have something to themselves
they despoiled it
left across from the surviving
feather was a goldcoloured orb arced with cobaltblue and applegreen concentric fibers
which occasioned to thicken and form ribs without rhyme or reason almost band-like as they wind outward
at
its center is a hazel eye which refuses to look at the feather
towards the left edge from the orb
lazes a thick graywhite snot that erodes and is heavily interspersed with bright
applegreen forming a kind of optic nerve
beneath the orb untouched unmired by the girls is a muddiedgreen anatomical
heart seeded like a pomegranate fruit
the
seeds the colour of a pomegranate
it is a difficult painting to say I like it
he adored his daughters featherher execution liked his soninlaws make-up
artists eye and small distinct portions of his granddaughters marled and suffused
greed
the painting emoted
the best thing it did was
distract him from the rest of the room as he walked through it
1011, Day-between-Two-Ts, 26 2.
20
1217, Moanday,
31 8. 20
