The Painter

The Painter stepped back and looked at his landscape. It was nearly perfect! The trees stood tall and proud. The long, swaying grass was greener than anything the painter had seen before. The mountains covered the horizon and stretched to the sky, capped with snow and towering over a large, blue lake.

The rolling hills were home to all kinds of critters, like squirrels and rabbits. Horses stood with flowing manes and stood in groups. Birds flew through the clear sky with wings stretched wide. Fish swam in the lake, noiselessly exploring their surroundings and forming groups.

The Painter crossed his arms and sighed. But the longer he looked at his painting, he felt something was missing. The landscape should have been perfect. The hills, grass, trees, and flowers were perfect. The rising mountains had no flaw. The animals roamed and played innocently. What did the painting need?

The Painter uncrossed his arms and smiled. He knew what the painting needed. It needed a person.

He went straight to work. First, a thin sketch. Then broader strokes. Finally, the details.

The Painter stepped back again and took in the whole picture. As perfect and beautiful as the landscape was, the highlight was, beyond a doubt, the Man. He was more beautiful than the towering trees, more majestic than the snow-capped mountains, and more special than any of the creatures. He was intelligent. He was the image of the Painter. The Painter smiled. He was very good.

The Man explored the landscape. He traveled from hill to hill. He sat beside the lake and watched the fish swim together back and forth. Sometimes, he would toss in some grass or leaves and watch the fish eat them.

The Man was naked, for he needed no clothing. He was innocent and unashamed. There was no purpose to cover his body, for there was nothing to cover from.

But one day, the Man took his first step away from innocence. The Painter was creative, so he made the Man the same way. The Man exercised his creativity by making clothing from leaves and woven grass. He covered his body not out of shame but out of decoration. He longed to be even more beautiful.

The Painter saw what the Man did and was confused. Was the Man embarrassed with his body? Why did he want to change his appearance? The Painter allowed this change, but it filled him with worry and speculation. Why did the Man change himself? That wasn’t the image the Painter had in mind.

The Man looked around the landscape. He decided it wasn’t beautiful enough. He tore up a tree and carved an image of himself out of it. He made the grass shorter. He chopped down logs and made himself a home.

But the Man looked at his clothes and decided they weren’t beautiful enough. He tried adding flowers to his dress. It was better, but it still wasn’t good enough. He tried wearing more branches. It was better, but it still wasn’t good enough.

Then the darkest day arrived for the painting. The Man committed the worst atrocity thus far. He found a lamb and looked at its coat of wool. He envied the coat, which was more beautiful than any dress he could conceive. The Man found a long stick lying under a tree. He took a rock to sharpen the stick until its end was pointed. With his stick, the Man searched the landscape for the lamb. When he found it, he thrust the stick through the lamb's body and killed it.

Blood spilled from the wound. The Man looked at the flowing, crimson liquid with confusion. He had never seen it before. But his curiosity faded in favor of his goal. The Man used his rock and cut the wool off the lamb's skin. He weaved the fleece into his clothing. But much of it was stained deep red because of the blood. The Man’s clothing was still not as beautiful as he longed for it to be, but it was better than before.

The Painter returned to his home. He saw his painting and gasped as the Man stood to display his inventions with a wide grin and a puffed out chest. He showed off his clothes and the carving he made to glorify himself. When the Painter saw the blood-covered fleece, his jaw fell open. He couldn’t breathe. The Man corrupted the landscape.

This couldn’t stand. The Painter knew he had to do something. He soaked a sponge in alcohol and rubbed away the carved tree. He didn’t rub off the Man’s clothes for fear of rubbing away the Man himself.

The Man was confused at the Painter’s disappointment. Why didn’t he approve? Shouldn’t the painter rejoice in his own creation’s creativity?

“You perverted my landscape,” said the Painter. “I had an intended design, and you corrupted it. You have defiled my vision. You must correct your wrongdoings and turn from your ways.”

The Man became infuriated. Not only did the Painter not approve of his creations, he told him not to create anymore. The Man knew he wouldn’t repent of his ways. He was stubborn. He would show his Painter that he could be as creative as him.

The Man set to work when the Painter left the house the next day. He decided to create his own landscape. He would make his more beautiful than the Painter’s. He bundled sticks together to make his own trees. He built up rocks to create his own mountains. He even wove together grass in the shape of creatures and beasts. But there was one thing missing. He needed clouds. The Man looked down at his clothing. He looked at the fleece, knowing it would be perfect to make clouds.

The Man picked up his makeshift spear and searched the whole landscape until he found another wooly lamb. The lamb saw him approach and tried to escape. But the Man chased after it. He pinned the lamb to the ground with his knee and killed it with the stick. Blood poured out and covered the Man.

He cut the wool off the lamb and fashioned it into the shape of a cloud. He climbed the Painter’s mountains and set his clouds into the sky. The Man returned to the ground and gazed at all he made. In his pride, the Man thought it beautiful.

The Painter returned once more and saw all that the Man had created.

The Man spread his arms out wide. “Behold! I have created as you have created. My creation is as beautiful as yours. Though you called my previous creations perverted, this will surely gain your favor.”

The Painter looked on in horror. “What have you done? You not only disobeyed me, but you defiled the entire canvas. Anything that might have been pure before is nothing but a mess. And look at yourself! You are filthy! Whose blood covers you?”

“The lamb’s,” the Man replied.

“Because of this treachery, I should toss the whole canvas into the fire. But because I love you, I will save you if you repent.”

The Man looked around at the landscape again. He saw that his trees, clouds, beasts, and mountains did not compare to the Painter's. They were twisted, lesser versions. The painting was less beautiful because of him.

Lastly, the Man looked upon the mutilated body of the lamb, and he wept.

“I have destroyed your beautiful creation,” he said. “That you would rescue me from my deserved doom is overwhelming. I repent. Please, have mercy!”

The Painter smiled at the man. “Your transgressions are pardoned.”

The Painter grabbed his sponge and soaked it in alcohol once again. He washed the canvas clean, sparing only the Man. He began to paint a new landscape. When the Painter was finished, the painting looked as beautiful and pure as the first. The Man shed his clothing, rejoicing in the Painter's mercy. He lived eternally in the pure canvas of the Painter.