painter
the following is the last entry of a painter in his diary, which he was holding when his body was found drifting aimlessly in a river.
i am a painter. i paint things. when i was young, i drew, sketched, etched, painted, copied, and whatever other artistic things you can think of. so when i grew up, i realized i wanted to be a painter. a painter that everyone loved. a painter with no enemies. no hatreds. just all love. free love with everybody. free. like the song from depeche mode, "let's make it clear, that this is free love, no hidden catch, no strings attached, this is free love". yep, i'm a song junkie too. i'm no writer. my specialty is painting, so i rely on the song writers to express my feelings while i paint. that way, i can also paint what i feel.
i paint for people. for my friends. foes(if ever i had any). family. anyone. and it was always free. why should i charge? i was given this talent. i didn't pay for it, so why should i charge people for borrowing or using my talent? that's just unfair, right? so now, people who might get a hold of this diary might be wondering, "how the hell does he live? how the hell does he satisfy his daily needs?"
now now, people. let's not be hasty. i said i painted for people for free. yep. and most of the time, they're happy with what a paint for them. and when a person is happy, he or she will most likely be generous. so there, people give me stuff, like food, love, hugs, whatever i should need for the day. i don't ask for things, they FREELY give it. of course, i wouldn't refuse such generosity, some people might be offended. so when someone asks me what i WANT in return, i tell them i don't want anything. but if someone asks if i NEED anything, i tell them what i need at that moment. a hug? some food? some sweet words? a smile? easy things to do. that way, everyone would be happy and we're not even talking about money here.
money is the root of all evil. everything should be free.
but then, what about the selfish people? those that take and take? oh i have no qualms about them. we people aren't perfect, and sure enough there'll be people more selfish than we are. or they just can't stand of thinking about giving anything away. if they're giving something away, it must be something they don't need anymore or they'll get something equally as good in return. well, i've seen some selfish people, and all i can say is, i still paint for them. why? because i'm not as selfish as them and maybe i can CHANGE them. change them to be like me. but i doubt that. but i still HOPE.
why am i writing this anyway? because in a couple of days, or minutes or hours, i may have used up all my paint. and without paint, my life is over. all i know is how to paint. ever since i learned about painting, i knew painting was for me alone and i will always be for painting. but why? why did i run out? was it my fault? did i paint to much? did i give away to much? i don't have any paint left. even for myself. oh how i wish i could paint what i feel right now and be happy again. but like i said, my paint left me. no one would actually give me paint for free.
so maybe i'll just dwell on my painting memories, as far back as i can remember. i have drank a whole bunch of aspirins and whatnot and i am leaning over this bridge. does anyone know of this place? this is the bridge between despair and delirium. but right now, it's my bridge of life and death. i may live through this suicide, but i may not. it all depends on me. so i'll forget about what's happening in my body and focus on my memories.
where should i start? ah! the start. yes the start. what am i talking about? the start of everything happy. the start of me painting in color(because i always painted in black and white before)
my first colored painting was an abstract. it was full of my emotions. yes it was abstract. full of shades of red. yellow. green. white. no dark colors here. a patch of blue for the sky and some for the sea, but that's about it. you see, my first painting was of a turtle. a turtle so fine, so perfect, so happy, swimming in a huge sea of colors and emotion. i'm actually analyzing my own painting. still, when i first saw that painting of mine, i knew. i knew my succeeding paintings will be in color. of happy colors.
and sure enough, i was happily painting for other people in color. i painted smiles for them. i painted a bright future for them. i painted life. i painted a caterpillar slowly weaving its cocoon, then i painted its cocoon, so tender yet it protected the caterpillar. the cocoon looked like my first painting.
then i painted the caterpillar emerging from it's cocoon. now it was a butterfly. it didn't leave its cocoon though. the shell was still tightly wrapped around its tiny body. people asked why, but all i said was that the cocoon was important for the caterpillar. the shell was its protection from outside forces from the wind, from predators, from the rain.
but people argued that the shell only made the caterpillar/butterfly heavier. and soon enough, he'll be too weak to fly. he'll get tired of carrying around that heavy shell. but i didn't argue with them. they were the type of people who put their parents in nursing homes the moment the parents grew too old to care for themselves. they were the type of people who didn't say thank you.
i painted and painted for other people. for the sad ones, i gave them more smiles. bigger smiles. brighter colors. but i didn't realize that i was running out. i earned some hugs. even kisses. food. shelter. happiness. but my paint supply was running out.
soon, i was using some dark colors instead to save my bright ones for special people. i used the blues, the blacks, the purples. the grays. i used them all and suddenly, people weren't happy anymore. i tried painting my first painting using those colors, but they just didn't look right.
so i turned back to my bright colors. and everything was alright again. i have never felt happier. but recently, my paint ran out. every bright color ran out. i don't even have whites anymore. all that's left are the dark ones, blue, black, gray, purple, brown. but i still kept painting for people. only this time, i painted bleak landscapes. empty voids. bruises. but what could i do? no one gave me new paints. even if i asked for paints, no one would give them to me that easily. it's just like asking for a million dollars. and to top it all off, the people weren't satisfied with my drawings anymore, so no one asked in return.
oh. i forgot to tell you. there's this one color that i couldn't run out of, no matter how much i used it: RED. it signified many meanings and it satisfied some people. but not all people like red. i used red to paint love. death. happiness. sadness. red can be positive or negative, it just depends on how you see it. i see it as love and happiness, but people see it as death and sadness, because paired with the dark colors, red looks a lot like blood. but blood signifies life too, right?
so there ends my story. a weird story of a painter. waiting for death to come to him. because his paint...just ran out.
i saved the last of my paint for this moment. one final time between the bridge of despair and delirium. i saved my first happy paints. some green, yellow, orange, red, whites. and here, i draw my last painting. i can't paint my first drawing anymore. i used too many bright colors there. so i improvised.
i painted a turtle, using the remaining green i had. and added some happy colors, yellow, white and orange. the turtle has a heart around it, my heart. i'd love that turtle no matter what, even in death. it made me happy. it gave meaning to my life. and now, like all other people who are to weak to handle things, i kill myself. but i'm not yet dead. i'm not yet done. i will be happy one final time as i paint this last painting. i MAY survive this and maybe someone would be willing to give me some paint, or i may not and that'll be the last of me. but still, i will try to be happy. for myself. for the people i knew. for the people i loved. and most especially for my turtle. my first painting.
and as i use up my last yellow, white and orange. i still can't understand why my reds never seem to dwindle. even my dark colors are almost empty. and using my last blue, purple and black, i draw the sea.
a turtle with a heart around it, to protect it from the dark, empty void of the ocean. my final masterpiece. i'm so happy for my turtle. finally free from my paints. she won't be tired of my painting her anymore. maybe she'll come back, asking me to paint her again. or maybe she won't. time can only tell. but for now, i shall await what happens. i will be happy for her. that's what she would have wanted if she was REAL.
sadly, i don't get anything in return. i didn't sell my first painting. and obviously i won't sell this last. so if anyone comes along and plans to buy that last masterpiece, please, anyone who's reading this should say that last painting is not for sale. not now. not yet. but who am i to say that when i'm dead? still that's my final request. a bit of selfishness from the selfish people rubbed off on me.
i will be happy. i will wait, not for death anymore. i will wait for the paints to return to me. i have finally understood. i just need to wait. i shouldn't be impatient. soon, my paints will be back and i can paint turtles and smiles and happiness again. soon, i will be smiling and putting all of this behind. i may be burning this diary, but i will still keep my first and last paintings.
my head is hurting. i just vomited something. some things. my body is rejecting the poison. guess i'll live through this. but my head is spinning. i feel dizzy..like blacking out. i feel so...
the painter was brought to the hospital and doctors aren't sure whether he'll live or not. as of now, he's in a coma, a peaceful sleep. he smiles while he sleeps. doctors say his chances are 50-50. and it's just a matter of time.
poor painter. i wish the best for him. no one knew his name because all he had was a waterproof bag with his two paintings and the wet diary in his hand. let's all pray for this unknown painter so he can continue to paint for us!
i am a painter. i paint things. when i was young, i drew, sketched, etched, painted, copied, and whatever other artistic things you can think of. so when i grew up, i realized i wanted to be a painter. a painter that everyone loved. a painter with no enemies. no hatreds. just all love. free love with everybody. free. like the song from depeche mode, "let's make it clear, that this is free love, no hidden catch, no strings attached, this is free love". yep, i'm a song junkie too. i'm no writer. my specialty is painting, so i rely on the song writers to express my feelings while i paint. that way, i can also paint what i feel.
i paint for people. for my friends. foes(if ever i had any). family. anyone. and it was always free. why should i charge? i was given this talent. i didn't pay for it, so why should i charge people for borrowing or using my talent? that's just unfair, right? so now, people who might get a hold of this diary might be wondering, "how the hell does he live? how the hell does he satisfy his daily needs?"
now now, people. let's not be hasty. i said i painted for people for free. yep. and most of the time, they're happy with what a paint for them. and when a person is happy, he or she will most likely be generous. so there, people give me stuff, like food, love, hugs, whatever i should need for the day. i don't ask for things, they FREELY give it. of course, i wouldn't refuse such generosity, some people might be offended. so when someone asks me what i WANT in return, i tell them i don't want anything. but if someone asks if i NEED anything, i tell them what i need at that moment. a hug? some food? some sweet words? a smile? easy things to do. that way, everyone would be happy and we're not even talking about money here.
money is the root of all evil. everything should be free.
but then, what about the selfish people? those that take and take? oh i have no qualms about them. we people aren't perfect, and sure enough there'll be people more selfish than we are. or they just can't stand of thinking about giving anything away. if they're giving something away, it must be something they don't need anymore or they'll get something equally as good in return. well, i've seen some selfish people, and all i can say is, i still paint for them. why? because i'm not as selfish as them and maybe i can CHANGE them. change them to be like me. but i doubt that. but i still HOPE.
why am i writing this anyway? because in a couple of days, or minutes or hours, i may have used up all my paint. and without paint, my life is over. all i know is how to paint. ever since i learned about painting, i knew painting was for me alone and i will always be for painting. but why? why did i run out? was it my fault? did i paint to much? did i give away to much? i don't have any paint left. even for myself. oh how i wish i could paint what i feel right now and be happy again. but like i said, my paint left me. no one would actually give me paint for free.
so maybe i'll just dwell on my painting memories, as far back as i can remember. i have drank a whole bunch of aspirins and whatnot and i am leaning over this bridge. does anyone know of this place? this is the bridge between despair and delirium. but right now, it's my bridge of life and death. i may live through this suicide, but i may not. it all depends on me. so i'll forget about what's happening in my body and focus on my memories.
where should i start? ah! the start. yes the start. what am i talking about? the start of everything happy. the start of me painting in color(because i always painted in black and white before)
my first colored painting was an abstract. it was full of my emotions. yes it was abstract. full of shades of red. yellow. green. white. no dark colors here. a patch of blue for the sky and some for the sea, but that's about it. you see, my first painting was of a turtle. a turtle so fine, so perfect, so happy, swimming in a huge sea of colors and emotion. i'm actually analyzing my own painting. still, when i first saw that painting of mine, i knew. i knew my succeeding paintings will be in color. of happy colors.
and sure enough, i was happily painting for other people in color. i painted smiles for them. i painted a bright future for them. i painted life. i painted a caterpillar slowly weaving its cocoon, then i painted its cocoon, so tender yet it protected the caterpillar. the cocoon looked like my first painting.
then i painted the caterpillar emerging from it's cocoon. now it was a butterfly. it didn't leave its cocoon though. the shell was still tightly wrapped around its tiny body. people asked why, but all i said was that the cocoon was important for the caterpillar. the shell was its protection from outside forces from the wind, from predators, from the rain.
but people argued that the shell only made the caterpillar/butterfly heavier. and soon enough, he'll be too weak to fly. he'll get tired of carrying around that heavy shell. but i didn't argue with them. they were the type of people who put their parents in nursing homes the moment the parents grew too old to care for themselves. they were the type of people who didn't say thank you.
i painted and painted for other people. for the sad ones, i gave them more smiles. bigger smiles. brighter colors. but i didn't realize that i was running out. i earned some hugs. even kisses. food. shelter. happiness. but my paint supply was running out.
soon, i was using some dark colors instead to save my bright ones for special people. i used the blues, the blacks, the purples. the grays. i used them all and suddenly, people weren't happy anymore. i tried painting my first painting using those colors, but they just didn't look right.
so i turned back to my bright colors. and everything was alright again. i have never felt happier. but recently, my paint ran out. every bright color ran out. i don't even have whites anymore. all that's left are the dark ones, blue, black, gray, purple, brown. but i still kept painting for people. only this time, i painted bleak landscapes. empty voids. bruises. but what could i do? no one gave me new paints. even if i asked for paints, no one would give them to me that easily. it's just like asking for a million dollars. and to top it all off, the people weren't satisfied with my drawings anymore, so no one asked in return.
oh. i forgot to tell you. there's this one color that i couldn't run out of, no matter how much i used it: RED. it signified many meanings and it satisfied some people. but not all people like red. i used red to paint love. death. happiness. sadness. red can be positive or negative, it just depends on how you see it. i see it as love and happiness, but people see it as death and sadness, because paired with the dark colors, red looks a lot like blood. but blood signifies life too, right?
so there ends my story. a weird story of a painter. waiting for death to come to him. because his paint...just ran out.
i saved the last of my paint for this moment. one final time between the bridge of despair and delirium. i saved my first happy paints. some green, yellow, orange, red, whites. and here, i draw my last painting. i can't paint my first drawing anymore. i used too many bright colors there. so i improvised.
i painted a turtle, using the remaining green i had. and added some happy colors, yellow, white and orange. the turtle has a heart around it, my heart. i'd love that turtle no matter what, even in death. it made me happy. it gave meaning to my life. and now, like all other people who are to weak to handle things, i kill myself. but i'm not yet dead. i'm not yet done. i will be happy one final time as i paint this last painting. i MAY survive this and maybe someone would be willing to give me some paint, or i may not and that'll be the last of me. but still, i will try to be happy. for myself. for the people i knew. for the people i loved. and most especially for my turtle. my first painting.
and as i use up my last yellow, white and orange. i still can't understand why my reds never seem to dwindle. even my dark colors are almost empty. and using my last blue, purple and black, i draw the sea.
a turtle with a heart around it, to protect it from the dark, empty void of the ocean. my final masterpiece. i'm so happy for my turtle. finally free from my paints. she won't be tired of my painting her anymore. maybe she'll come back, asking me to paint her again. or maybe she won't. time can only tell. but for now, i shall await what happens. i will be happy for her. that's what she would have wanted if she was REAL.
sadly, i don't get anything in return. i didn't sell my first painting. and obviously i won't sell this last. so if anyone comes along and plans to buy that last masterpiece, please, anyone who's reading this should say that last painting is not for sale. not now. not yet. but who am i to say that when i'm dead? still that's my final request. a bit of selfishness from the selfish people rubbed off on me.
i will be happy. i will wait, not for death anymore. i will wait for the paints to return to me. i have finally understood. i just need to wait. i shouldn't be impatient. soon, my paints will be back and i can paint turtles and smiles and happiness again. soon, i will be smiling and putting all of this behind. i may be burning this diary, but i will still keep my first and last paintings.
my head is hurting. i just vomited something. some things. my body is rejecting the poison. guess i'll live through this. but my head is spinning. i feel dizzy..like blacking out. i feel so...
the painter was brought to the hospital and doctors aren't sure whether he'll live or not. as of now, he's in a coma, a peaceful sleep. he smiles while he sleeps. doctors say his chances are 50-50. and it's just a matter of time.
poor painter. i wish the best for him. no one knew his name because all he had was a waterproof bag with his two paintings and the wet diary in his hand. let's all pray for this unknown painter so he can continue to paint for us!