the avetha painting

"There are always two blank pages within my books - the first and the last page. I left them empty for all of you to flourish your own beliefs or draw blood."

David S.

-

The Avetha Painting was a piece done by an artist's obsession with expressing his passion, influences and trauma in a single painting.

Nothing new right?

Level Six.

At a brick apartment with a giant blank grey wall on the western side, he stood facing it, staring at a row of very thin paper placed side by side spanning from one end of the wall to the other. Behind him, stood a wooden table filled with an array of paint and brushes at his disposal.

He knew I was here to see him but never acknowledge my presence; as if swallowed in his own thoughts. For hours he stood there where the only movement he had was to his head pivoting left to right.

But then a flinch.

Picking up everything he needed, he ran to the farthest right empty sheet and started dabbing it with paint. As if a man possessed, his painting began. For days and nights, all his energy was spent on this painting.

Why am I here? You might be wondering by now.

His fixation was nothing new to us. A psychological aftermath of a trauma? Random strokes of genius? All there is to know for me is that I'm here to make sure he stays alive. Night after night at the very center of the table, a single bowl of wholewheat noodles and a glass of sugar water is placed. After every morning, it's emptied.

Six days and six nights, he took.

Each sheet of paper by itself were already beautiful pieces of artwork. All of them different than each other - without a single recurring theme. However if viewed from right to left, each painting's tone had slowly began to be darker and darker.

Standing there in full view, I watched him as he took down one painting at a time in a random order. Every single one was dabbed with water by hand and placed on top of each other - slowly and at precised locations. 'the devils of details', he once said.

It was then left laying there for three days as he took his much needed rest.

Today.

I stared at the painting which can only be described as a beautiful feminine structure with her right arm across her chest holding her left hand as she picks up a maroon flower. Behind her were wings-like contours drawn using words with a light scenery on one side slowly turning into a dark gloom on the other.

As he awoke from his long slumber, he stood next to me in silence.

"Who is she?" I asked.

"She was my obsession - my love." He replied.


two years ago, there was an incident.
his once then fiancé had died as victim of a hit and run whom which he had unwillingly become a full witness to. the perpetrator was never found.



the avetha painting.
by M