Beyond the Canvas

Through the years, buildings have changed in design, with less care for intricacies most have adopted modern features of minimalism and futurism, this is not to say they lack in receiving admiration but something about those who stood decades before exuded grandness that one is simply unable to forget. Amongst most fine buildings of this nature was the museum in its ancient glory. History ran across its corridors, plastered itself against its walls and spread throughout its rooms adding more than just the enchanting exterior, within was otherworldly.

           As days passed, crowds appreciated it all from the heavy mahogany doors to each intimately placed brick that protected the valuable artifacts inside, and those artifacts would steal the remainder of each viewer’s breath. Beyond historians’ trinkets and their depictions sculpted in statues were paintings that held stories on their canvas speaking to those who could hear such nonverbal language. In the gallery section, paintings brought life catching all eyes, especially their newest edition, Love’s Dancer. An exquisitely crafted piece of a beautiful Bajan girl posed flamboyantly, arms lifted above her head as her hips were shown to be gyrating, beads adorned her body with a floral-patterned blouse tied tightly and a flowing skirt falling on her waist brushing bare feet. Her story was moving, a clear explanation for the longing in her eyes. She was painted with an abstract festival behind her in shades of rich gold and royal blue. Love's Dancer showed a woman who searches for love as she dances around the world hoping to find a partner to share her moves. Many chased but failed to learn love’s dance and understand her passion none felt her fire, the burning desire to dance the night away and until she found the one, she would dance alone, even on the most festive of days.

        This painting graced the walls of the gallery, taking its place beside other masterpieces, one being “The Warrior Kovu” A realism painting of An intimidating, robust black man with locks falling to his waist as he sat caressing his spare between his legs, His tattered clothing exposed his powerful arms detailed with every vein and every battle scar and his prized one, a scar over his right eye in true lion style to meet his eyes though oil painted they stared straight to the souls of any that gazed. This piece was immaculate a true embodiment of a Black warrior. It could be said as these paintings faced each other it was as if their eyes were connected.

         The sun set on the museum casting golden hues over the people leaving and as the day darkened the moonlight would wake the life within its walls.

          Loves dancer stretched freeing herself from her frozen pose.

“Wow! That was a long day.” She moaned, twisting her body from the stiffness. Looking around she watched in awe as various portraits left their positions and statues leapt off their pedestals. She had never been in a museum before, to her she felt like the people that came to see her.

        The crashing waves in the landscape portraits made her feel peaceful like those of flowers in the fields, some pieces were of beautiful people, laughing with others as they marvelled at who had the better brush strokes. Statues complimented the dancer as they strolled by while others questioned her accent.

“I’m from Barbados” she would say trying to speak for them to best understand.

Gasps rose from the others at her response but one of them replied differently.

“And just where is this place you speak of lady?” A voice deep enough to make their frames tremble boomed from across the room.

At that moment, their eyes met once again, and though she had moved to take in her surroundings his eyes never left her. She lost her breath for a moment then said.

“It is an island in the Caribbean.”

“Oh?”

“Yes and where are you meant to be from?”

“No one knows.”

The dancer got Chills from this answer.

“Mysterious. What is your story?”

His head lifted slightly, eyes narrowing analyzing her, the most gorgeous being he’s ever seen.

“I am a warrior, my Lady”.

Escaping his gaze her eyes fell on his background which was littered with the residue of war.

“I have fought all my life to the point of standing undefeated now I sit here with the memories of all I’ve lost and the strength I’ve gained.”

His speech was slow for her to hang onto every word.

“I see. Have you a name?”

“It is Kovu. For the scar on my eye”

“It is nice to meet you, though I wasn’t given a name just Love’s Dancer.”

Thinking for a moment the warrior said, “I shall call you Zara, it means radiance.”

“Where did you get this name? It is beautiful”

“It is a part of my story; I just can’t remember why?”

“Well, Zara it is, guess that means I am now part of your story.”

His hardened face softened with a smile for a moment.

“I saw that warrior” the dancer blushed. And from that, his smile couldn’t fade as quickly as before.

   Conversations between these pieces flowed effortlessly until the sun rose, warning them to return to their positions for the gallery opening. Frozen in place their eyes remained fixed gazing within each other. The hours felt like days before they could simply hear the other's voice for that was all they could do from their frames.

       This became their routine, wonderful nights of burning infatuation held by the sadness of their distance so close yet a painting's prison was their canvas. The dreaded realization that she could never tend to his scars, and he could never hold her to sway to her song was agony.

Weeks of this could break the hearts of even the stone statues who had none.

      Another sunrise for them to pose for viewing, it was to be another long day. True artists could see the small changes in their eyes even their body language spoke of desire and sadness. A woman whose features reflected Loves Dancer; gently placed her finger to stroke the dancer's cheek.

“Hey! No touching the art!” A stern guard yelled.

“Oh! I’m sorry I'm the Artist that painted her.”

“Oh, I hadn’t realized it was you welcome back Miss”

“Thank you, Zara is fine no need for formalities” The artist smiled.

From behind her a tall, dark gentleman with long beautiful locs turned to her and asked.

“Your name is Zara?”

She turned to meet his gaze and was stunned by his handsomeness.

“Yes. It is why do you ask?”

 His eyes softened as he responded.

, “Your name means radiance, that was the name of a friend very close to me, she died when we went to war.”

“Oh, I never knew that thank you for the meaning, I am so sorry. Is war how you got that scar over your eye?”

He looked down at her nodding to her question. Zara looked at his face.

“I've seen you before.”

The man stepped aside to reveal the painting of a warrior behind him.”

“This is my piece, “The Warrior Kovu”. In war no one wins, we all lose something, to be undefeated is seen as glorious yes but what is it when you lose everything for that title? What is glorious about scars and memories of loss?”

Zara felt his pain as her own from those words, reaching out she touched him so gently he flinched slightly, this told her so much. She held his hand and guided him over to her painting.

“This is my piece, Loves Dancer.”

The man smiled, staring at her painting.

“I admire this piece every time I come here. You are exceptionally talented, and your brush strokes are flawless.”

Zara smiled sweetly “Coming from such a great artist I’m honoured as yours is my favourite in the gallery, I am in awe at the mindfulness to detail and the warrior's story.”

“Why thank you, my dear, I also find it interesting our pieces appear to be looking at each other”

Zara studied the paintings facing. The way they seemed to be connected made her warm inside. The stranger held Zara's hand and kissed it softly.

“My name is Joshua; I would like to take you to dinner and get to know you if that is okay.”

“I would love that, Joshua.”

As they left the gallery hand in hand, their paintings smiled. The beginning of a love story painted on separate canvas would live beyond the frames.