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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Reaching for the Stars” Down in the Dirt, v201 (11/22) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology The Paths Less Traveled the Down in the Dirt September-December 2022 issues collection book		get the 422 page September-December 2022 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# perfect-bound paperback book:

The Portrait

Bill Tope

My brushes danced wildly
across the canvas, stretched
tight over the easel, illuming it
and brashly coaxing the hues
and the textures of the water
colors into striking portraiture
and perspective.

My fingers were nimbly daub-
ing, caressing and filling in
the white spaces where noth-
ing before had ever existed,
either in my mind or in this
universe.

Never had I toiled with such a
mania, such purpose, such re-
lentless ardor! My arms reach-
ed first here, then there, stretch-
ing everywhere at once. I dare
say I was obsessed. My limbs
ached. Sweat beaded my
brow.

Onto my palette I squeezed out
turquoise, for her eyes, and then
some ochre with just a hint of a
warm Naples yellow hue, for her
life-like flesh tones. I concluded
with a brilliant carmine for the
majesty of her gown.

At last she was complete, like a
symphony is complete after it is
first performed. She stared
down at me, resplendent, glowing
with life. With the life I had given
her. I felt at once abhorrence
and elation. Here was I, an errant
Pygmalion to a prohibitive Gal-
atea. But, Ovid wasn’t there with
his Metamorphoses and Venus
didn’t magically appear and im-
bue her canvas features with the
breath of life. On the canvas
she remained.

Nor did I feel life stirring within
my own hollow, bloodless frame.
I cast a paint-spattered cloth over
the easel and quitted my studio,
never to return. Who was she?
What was she to me? And why
had my mind conjured this eph-
emeral creature and then my fing-
ers snatched her from my gray un-
consciousness and out into the
sunlight of reality? My physicians,
and this institution, have been
pondering that very question for
nigh on fifty years.

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