Oil Scripture

Mat nodded towards her and smiled slightly. He walked amongst the assorted paintings, feeling like a child in a toy store, the splatters of paint made an image that was so vivid to see. It almost seemed like they were speaking to him, in a secret hushed tone, a language he yearned to speak so he could join them, become a part of their culture. He continued to gaze upon the colours with curiosity, desperate to know what it was they were trying to tell him, trying to see through their colours.

He didn’t notice it, but her eyes followed his slow movements, the way his feet scraped the floor carelessly as he looked in wonder, his face revealing little about who he was. It was what she thought she could do best, seeing into people, figuring out who they were without having them tell her. The descriptions they’d choose were polished through years of practice, years of having the same set of questions thrown in their directions, no, she didn’t want to hear practised answers, she wanted to know the story behind the face.

It seemed that this approach became a part of her paintings over time, her way of thinking leaving a mark upon the brushes of colour. Leaving encrypted messages became her trademark; it was almost as if she wanted other people to see the way she did. Through time she realised that the day she would find another who saw things her way was the day he returned into her life.

He, the only way she’d refer to him, not wanting to hear his name, the pain to hard to bear as she remembered what he had done. He was the only one to see life like her, the only one who had such a strong influence on her life. She had learned how to cope without him the hard way, blocking her memories of him out, although not very successfully.

She continued to watch him, gazing towards his expression, in a hope to be able to see the real him. She frowned before returning to the work she had previously been doing. Placing the paintbrush delicately in her hand, as if it were a newborn child, she began to add to her latest piece, her mind a flurry of wistful thoughts. As she placed the colours onto the canvas he wondered, wondered innocently through her mind, if it weren’t for the paintbrush in her hand she may have considered accepting her wondering thoughts. She always tried hard to not think of him, she lived in fear of what his memory would do to her.

Mat paused at one piece of artwork; four black and white faces were assorted into different groups. Next to each photo was a small canvas landscape; there was no description, no explanation to the faces. The simplicity of the piece made Mat look closely at the artwork, trying hard to see if there was any hidden meaning, after all that was what Professor Violante had taught him best. However, hard as he tried he couldn’t seem to figure it out, it felt like the answer was right in front of him yet he couldn’t see it. He almost scolded himself for not being able to understand the artwork, turning towards the artist who had created this piece in the hope of an answer.

She felt almost entranced by the colours. Her paintbrush moved swiftly across the canvas, it took her a while to come back to earth, her name being called by her only visitor of the day. She brought her eyes towards the art student before her, his demeanour difficult for her to describe, it was almost like he drew questions out of her, inviting curiosity without asking for it. He dressed plainly yet he seemed to be screaming out for attention, for someone to listen to his story, to accept him for who he really is.

“Do you mind me asking what the story is behind that piece?” Mat questioned, pointing directly at the piece he was referring to. Persia smiled and stood from her seat, brushing herself off as if she wanted to seem more presentable to Mat, like she wanted him to accept her. Once she saw the piece her smile faded, although she loved this piece it brought her back to memories of him, his name permanently engraved on one of the many name plates.

Jamie.

She closed her eyes briefly before returning her gaze towards the black and white photos of the strangers she had met, the strangers who had shared a piece of their lives with her, a derelict painter going nowhere. Sometimes you can’t escape your past, no matter how hard you try.

“This is a set of photographs I took when I first started out as a professional painter, struggling to pay the rent with only a camera in my hand and the clothes on my back to keep me going,” she closed her eyes once more before returning her gaze to his smiling face, “I took the same bus every morning and on this bus were people who had no relation to each other, had no care or concern for one another as their lives moved swiftly past themselves. I wanted to change that, I wanted to bring them together some how, learn about them, find out their stories,” she said. Her mind returning to her past as Mat nodded in understanding.

She had struggled during that period, it was true, but she never took notice of it. What she looked forward most during that time was meeting the riders of the bus. There were the regulars whom Persia had become good friends with, the old couple who pushed her to go further with her art career, and the young twins that always wanted to see her new creations. She smiled warmly as she remembered them, sometimes when her mind was left drifting she would think of them, how she missed them and wished she had never lost contact with them. Although the memories made her smile, they made her realise how much she regretted severing all her ties from her former home. She came to realise that this piece filled her with sadness as well as joy.

“Each painting is meant to represent their life, at least how I depicted it from what they told me,” she continued, looking back into Mat’s green-brown eyes, “I always wanted to know what their life was like, as if I wanted to live through them in these pieces. One bus ride was all I needed, either they would tell me their life story, or they would hide in their shell, accusing me of different things before swiftly getting off the bus muttering under their breath. Those were the ones that interested me the most, they made me curious because they never opened up, never told me any part of their life,” she took a breath slowly and looked nervously back at Mat, waiting for some kind of sign that he thought she was mad.

“What are the stories behind these people then? What did they tell you?” Mat asked.

“Well who would you like to know about?”

“All of them. Unless you don’t remember them all,” Mat suggested. He smiled slightly as he looked at her expectedly. Persia swallowed, knowing full well he would pry the story of Jamie out of her; he just seemed to have that affect on her.

“The first is a couple whom I cared for greatly, Sally and Ben” Persia started, “they took good care of me, persuading most of these people to talk to me, claiming I was the next ‘it’ artist,” she smiled, embarrassed, “they were happily married for 51 years when I met them, having becoming friends as children, they were the ultimate childhood sweethearts. I have never met anyone so attached to each other, so in love and so happy, no matter what day it was they were always smiling, always cracking jokes, I could never be sad around them.” She indicated towards their landscape, “That’s why their landscape is in the summer; I felt that best represented their attitude towards life, taking it as it came with a smile on their faces. The swans represent their love for each other, beautiful and eternally present.”

“What about the house?” Mat questioned, referring to the white house situated in the backdrop of the scene.

“That’s their dream home,” she smiled, “I used to joke that Ben was going to try and become the next President because he always said; ‘I want a big house, a big white house with lots of rooms used for important things.’ I always asked him how his campaign was going,” Persia chuckled quietly to herself as she remembered.

Mat watched her as she concluded her story, her imagination was beautiful, and to hide their love in the form of swans was almost poetic. He took her fragile frame in once more, attempting to figure her out, figure out what drove her so far, so far as to connect with people whom she would probably only meet once in her life.

“What about this guy?” Mat asked, pointing to the last of the four photos. Persia’s jaw clenched, regret coursing through her veins, why had she agreed to tell him the stories behind her artwork? She took a breath in before looking back at Mat, he sensed her discomfort yet he didn’t let her escape his question. He wanted to know his part in her life; he wanted to know who these people where like she had done all those years ago.

“His name was Jamie,” she started, taking a breath in before continuing, “for the first few months, I travelled on the bus and he wasn’t there, but then he just appeared one morning, having already been filled in by Sally and Ben. He smiled at me and ushered me to sit next to him, he told me to ‘fire away’ and so I asked him questions about himself. I remember the look he gave me, like he was disappointed in the effort I was putting in for his questions. He told me to forget all the typical questions I always used, told me to close my eyes and whatever question came to head first I had to ask him,” she paused and looked at Mat once more, fearing that he couldn’t care less about her stories. Mat smiled gently, urging her to continue.

“After a while he began to ask me questions, he wanted to know what kind of a person I was. He told me that he just wanted to see if he would like me. He seemed to invite confidence without asking for it, it was like I could tell him everything even though I had just met him. I hadn’t even noticed the bus go past my destination, only when it had terminated did I realise what was going on, he was so, absorbing. I just couldn’t say no to him.”

Mat nodded understandingly, looking to the artwork and then back to the artist.

“He invited me to walk with him, claiming that he wasn’t going anywhere special. So I said yes. While we walked he asked me what I was going to paint for his landscape, I don’t know what came over me but I asked him what he wanted in it, I guess it seemed appealing to me at the time, I just wanted to please him.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he wanted me to be in it,” she told him, “I refused to paint myself so he asked for a butterfly, he told me that it would remind me of him. He claimed butterflies were free to do what they wanted, flying through the sky, beautiful and elegant,” she said sadly. Persia didn’t like the memories coming back to her, they hurt too much.

“Is that why you’re tense? Is it because of him?” Mat asked, Persia looked into his eyes and nodded slowly, her eyes revealing the sadness she felt inside.

“What did he do to you?” Mat questioned.

“That’s what the rest of the paintings are for, to tell you the story of Jamie and me,” she told him before returning to her unfinished piece, a sadness running through her.