TM 346 What haven't you finished?
There's a painting in his studio that remains uncompleted. It's been there since he moved from New York. It's draft number twenty-four, and will probably be another to add to the pile of not good enough to keep. Harry's been attempting to get this particular painting right for as long as he's been seriously painting. Each time it's the same. He looks at it when it's nearly done and there is something just not right about it.
Her eyes aren't the right shade. Her nose looks off. The hands aren't quite right. Her hair should be a darker red. No, it's supposed to be a lighter. Maybe her hair should be up instead of down. The shape of the face seems slightly off. The smile isn't quite reaching the eyes.
There's a painting of her in the penthouse that he grew up in. It's beautiful and to most people it would seem perfect. To Harry it's always seemed off. He can't remember the day it was done. Maybe it was made before he was even born. Everything is a little fuzzy when it comes to his mother. His father would stare at that painting for hours though. He'd drink his scotch and he'd stare at it as if he was waiting for her to step off the campus and back into their lives.
At least that is what Harry assumed when he was a child. Now that he's a man he wonders if his father saw the flaws in it that Harry does. That her face wasn't quite right. That smile wasn't broad enough. Her eyes didn't seem quite as bright as they did in the photographs of her. His mother was perfect, at least in the frozen in time memories her son has of her. So, he's determined the painting he completes of her will be perfect too.
If he's honest with himself, he'd admit it will never be done. A dozen or more paintings will be completed and given away, but he'll always go back to that one. Draft after draft will be tossed out and he'll start again. Because to finish it would be to let a piece of her go, and Harry can't do that. Not yet.
Probably not ever.
Her eyes aren't the right shade. Her nose looks off. The hands aren't quite right. Her hair should be a darker red. No, it's supposed to be a lighter. Maybe her hair should be up instead of down. The shape of the face seems slightly off. The smile isn't quite reaching the eyes.
There's a painting of her in the penthouse that he grew up in. It's beautiful and to most people it would seem perfect. To Harry it's always seemed off. He can't remember the day it was done. Maybe it was made before he was even born. Everything is a little fuzzy when it comes to his mother. His father would stare at that painting for hours though. He'd drink his scotch and he'd stare at it as if he was waiting for her to step off the campus and back into their lives.
At least that is what Harry assumed when he was a child. Now that he's a man he wonders if his father saw the flaws in it that Harry does. That her face wasn't quite right. That smile wasn't broad enough. Her eyes didn't seem quite as bright as they did in the photographs of her. His mother was perfect, at least in the frozen in time memories her son has of her. So, he's determined the painting he completes of her will be perfect too.
If he's honest with himself, he'd admit it will never be done. A dozen or more paintings will be completed and given away, but he'll always go back to that one. Draft after draft will be tossed out and he'll start again. Because to finish it would be to let a piece of her go, and Harry can't do that. Not yet.
Probably not ever.