Chapter 5: The Unveiling
Word began to circle like a prairie fire that Julian was back on the art scene…back in Eldridge. Of course his studio — once a sanctuary— became much livelier place. Art lovers, critics and curiosity seekers streamed to his door, hoping to see the recluse painter rise again.
But Julian kept his feet on the ground. He learned the hard way that glory, fame and recognition are temporary compared to an internal sense of fulfilment. He painted on, his brushstrokes faster and more assured; the color of paint that covered over all hail-fellow-well-met smiles or punish me now nods filled up canvases until they bulged with a pitiless unedited humanity for everyone to see.
But his paintings were not any more mere landscapes or still lifes. They were all heart-filled voyages into the soul of life, beautiful handpicked mosaics that told stories in each tile. They told tales of the chambered heart, its flaws and imperfections, healing through love.
The great art critic from the city, showed up one evening as long shadows crept through his studio. He was Mr. Hawthorne, a smart, insightful man who liked his barbs to cut deep and without mercy. Julian had heard rumors of Hawthorne's mythical reputation, his surgeon-like skill in dissecting a painting; that he was either capable of rocket-launching an artist into fame or capriciously casting them down to the depths.
But Hawthorne took Julian by surprise. He spent hours in the studio, not only looking at paintings but talking to the artist. The way he described it was an animate feeling in the writing, and a narrative ability that cut straight to the core of humanity.
"Man, you are something else," Hawthorne said in awe. A gift beyond technique, that comes from the heart. You have gone through so much, and yet here you are stronger, wiser empowered.
Julian strained to hear, his heart pounding with equal parts excitement and fear. He had bled his heart onto that canvas, exposing all its weaknesses and terrors and dreams. He was exposed, naked and revealed.
But Hawthorne was also full of not so complimentary comments. They were a sort of proof — an acknowledgement that he made it through, the hurt he felt and strength he gained.
Hawthorne seemed to be staring right into Julian's eyes as he told him, "I'm writing about you. I am going to write a story into the world about you, your art and the man behind those brushstrokes.
Julian was riding a high, a flood of appreciation. He had found his voice, purpose and a way. He had painted his way out of the dark and now the world was about to see him shine.
Over the next few weeks it was a complete blur. Hawthorne, whose essay "The Colors of Acceptance" appeared in a leading art magazine to great acclaim and broad circulation. Showed his paintings in galleries, and various newspapers carried stories about him on television.
This overnight success became a phenomenon. However, through it all he kept grounded and his feet planted firmly in the story of how things had come to be for him. He understood that his art was something more than a way to get rich and famous. It was to share his Authenticity, and Vulnerability.