Reaching for a cane weathered by time, an old artist moves forward to his final masterpiece. A single work of art that has taken him a lifetime to create. Shaped by the design of life and the inspirational growth of experience. His fingers trace across the acrylic painting. A technique used to form the basis of his art, giving it a dimensional state.
It grew from a dream he had as a younger man. He believes that the world consumes the brightness of life. It must be shed over time, captured in a bottle to be shared. Otherwise, everything slowly disappears until the memories fade. Something must be kept to remind the world that the life was lived. He had worked tirelessly in the sawmill for months before he could afford the massive canvas.His first page, painted on the upper left corner, was a large view of the hellscape of the mill. The loss of an innocent youth and the promise of a new day when his father was lost. Dropping out of school at fifteen to earn money for the family. Blood, sweat, and sawdust were set into the acrylic paint as it blended a hellscape of a young man. One whose life darkened in the darkness of an unforgiving jungle.His fingers trace across the paint as the soil of Guadalcanal cuts his fingertips, and the blood drips across the painting. He doesn't move to cleanse the wound or try to save the painting. It is almost part of the hero's journey to bleed in battle, eventually escaping the jungles into the island of Okinawa. A wicked tale of a boy becoming a man in the horrors of war.His mind flashes with memories of losing so many brothers in arms, sending shivers down his spine. The walking skeleton returned home stronger after the war than the volunteer boy. He was still a young man burdened by war when he came home. He still remembers the shock of his mother's eyes and the dreariness that filled his life that small medals didn't heal. He thought his purpose was lost, and while the paintings helped his soul heal, his body still suffered.The next panel is a single match, a spark in the darkness. He doesn't remember what it was. Whether it was his wife Rose or something else. But there was a spark in the darkness. A smile spreads as he sees the image of a girl on a train and the dropped notebook.Meeting his wife was one of the most significant acts of his life. The delicate passion of how her hazel-green eyes lit up upon seeing him was a sight beyond. He had met her in. a passing train car on his way to work and her way to market. She had an affinity for stories unlike anyone he had ever known.She spoke of leaving the house daily to capture moments. The flashes of eyes as missed connections on trains, conversations between lovers, and the says children spoke to one another. She began each week with a clean notebook and a dream of a special moment. The one nugget of dialogue would make it in her story. It is in the quiet moments she found gold.The way she spoke had put him at ease, unlike anyone before her. She had a quiet demeanor that touched a piece of his soul he never knew he had. He had seen a lot in the war and never truly knew peace afterward. That was until the soft-spoken voice of an angel cut through the darkness he had known.Looking at his wife's picture, he can't help but softly chuckle. He had seen her looking at him momentarily; fate, the jostling of the train across the tracks, shifted his eyes to her. He instantly saw her, a woman he could grow old with. He had spoken to her about his dream to paint and one he never dared to return to after the war. She was patient and so kind that he didn't realize he had missed his stop, and by the time her stop came, she left suddenly.Looking down at her notebook, he had no choice but to follow her. He had to give chase. He had always told people he had found her, but twenty years after they met, he realized she had chosen him. With no other choice, he got off the train and rained to speak with her. To stop them from losing the one thing she needed. For the first time in the painting, there is a warmth of colors. It was as if this woman alone brought life back into a broken man.Rose was the one who convinced him to paint again. Some special light in her hazel green eyes marked his soul. Then came the birth of a son and daughter, and the world's lights changed, and there was more beauty. Captured moments of first steps and the skinned knees. His first painting was sold then, and they could buy a home.But at his highest point until then, the sea of Northern Aggression crossed the 38th parallel. He still had his children, but the blood once shared remains with men overseas. It was a collection of ribbons and metal that allowed him to return to his brothers. He was torn as two men, the one who missed his brothers and the father who missed the first school days.As the painting continues, he realizes absentmindedly that he is featured less and less. After returning from war with a blue cloth and white stars, he needed to return to the old sawmill. He is amazed at how much fifteen years can change a man's life, from his mother moving in with them to first dates and school dances. He realized that, slowly, his life grew, and the colors became more vibrant. It is as if the world has changed from the single moment of meeting a wonderful woman who supported his dreams.Looking down at the final panel of the painting left to be completed, he takes a seat. Picking up the palette knife in his hand, he paints the final frame as he thinks of everything in his life. For his life truly began in a broken and torn home amid darkness. Through blood, sweat, acrylic, and tears, he crafted a life he wouldn't wish for a single change, for the beauty of an examined life ends in the loving care of a single frame. A picture of a family and the great-grandkids all together. For the day he met his guiding light, his life had never been the same.