The Artist and the Painting

The painting had changed again during the night. The self-portrait was nearly erased, only a faint outline remained, barely visible through the stains and smudges. A new image was gradually forming where the original had been - a grotesque caricature of the artist.

Yotsero didn’t turn at the sound of knocking. He already knew who stood outside.

“Come in.”

His guest entered the studio. Still, the artist did not move from his spot. He merely raised a hand and motioned for Giulio to join him at the canvas. Both men stared at the image, each lost in thought.

“You said it keeps changing day by day?”

“Yes. It’s happened countless times now.”

His guest looked incredulous. “Are you sleep-painting, my friend?”

Yotsero might have taken offense at the suggestion, but he did not. He simply shook his head. The noise of his beard rubbing against the rough fabric of his shirt made a faint scratching sound, loud in the silence.

Giulio knew the room was always under observation and that formidable guards protected the property and their beloved master. “Nothing unusual has been seen, I take it.”

“Nothing. No one enters. No one leaves. It’s the painting itself. It is remaking itself into its own idea of me.”

“The creation creating the creator instead of the other way around?”

“It happens all the time, Giulio.”

“What will you do? You must do something.”

“I will give it every opportunity, of course, but if it continues, I’ll have to destroy this piece and create a new one.”

Giulio turned to go. “You said this happens all the time?”

“Oh yes, it has been going on for a very long time. You’d be surprised at how often the painting thinks it knows more than the painter.”

“Rather arrogant, I’d say. I had no idea your handiwork was so rebellious.”

“Yes. That’s why there is so much pain and suffering in many of these pieces.”

Giulio studied the paintings. Each one seemed darker than the last.

“I’ve given them every opportunity to correct themselves, but my patience is running out. I want them to trust me. I know what I’m creating, but most of them believe they can do a better job than me.”

“It’s very foolish for the painting to believe it can argue with the painter.”

“Yes, my friend. It is foolish indeed. Still, it happens every day. And I get blamed for the chaos my paintings create.”