The Paintings

The Paintings

     The offer from the Club of Senior Coffee Lovers came at a time when I was devastated and financially ruined. One year ago, such a proposal would have outraged me. In the current circumstances, it was a lifeline for me. To put it mildly, my paintings were not currently popular. My job as an artist and painter left me feeling burnt out and lacking a vision for a better future. I was without an exhibition for a while, and I managed to sell only a few of my mediocre paintings for a low price. Meanwhile, there was a pile of bills to pay, arrears in payments, and my creditors were slowly losing patience. It is no wonder that my fiancée Jenny finally got tired of my bad moods and lost faith in my artistic success, even though she was the most faithful of the faithful. Upon returning home last month, I found the apartment empty. The love of my life left me and moved into her parents' house.

      The order from The Club of the Senior Coffee Lovers was crucial in these conditions. They asked me to create a large painting to mark the club's 50th anniversary, which would highlight all its members (there were nineteen of them) during a grand celebration. The assignment was well-suited to my skills, and the fee was extremely generous. A serious and respected art magazine called me the expert in portrait painting a few years ago, and it was not an accident.

      In the following weeks, I met all the club members and attended several meetings at their luxurious headquarters. Whenever I spoke with these older individuals, I paid close attention to them. I made sketches and photos of the people and the luxuriously decorated room where the anniversary party was set. Once I had enough material, I assembled the stands in my atelier and spread the canvas on the easel. The work began after that. From the start, a wonderful sense of creativity and passion filled me. I had experienced such a feeling only at the beginning of my artistic career. My brush movements were swift and confident. Based on sketches, photos, and my imagination, I was sure that I was creating a real work, the work of my life. I aimed to paint images of people and expose their hidden inner qualities and noble characters. Without a doubt, I had achieved this goal.

      Two days before the ceremony, two older men from the club came into my studio and greeted me warmly. I removed the cloth covering the painting with a sense of pride and we all saw a large room filled with club members. Everyone was happy as they stood near each other. Each club member was carrying a cup of coffee.

      'You're a genius, Mr. Cornfield! ' Exclaimed Mr. Smith, the President of the club. His friend, Mr. Brown, joined him in the praise. ‘How wonderful and noble we look. You brought out the best in us and displayed it splendidly. ' He clapped his hands unconcernedly with joy. Without delay, both distinguished gentlemen decided to transport the painting to the club and put it in the main hall. We agreed they would unveil it in two days at a solemn reception right after the official speeches.

      After the two old gentlemen left, exhaustion overwhelmed me, and I needed a break. I found my chair to be comfortable as I sat in it. As I glanced at my work with satisfaction, I began to feel fatigued and slowly closed my eyes.

      I was in a large reception hall at The Club of Senior Coffee Lovers. The President of the club, Mr. Smith, delivered a speech in which he summarized the great achievements of the Coffee Lovers and praised their attitude towards promoting higher values.

      ‘My wonderful friends, we are here to celebrate the 50th anniversary of our establishment. To preserve our images for posterity, we have ordered this magnificent painting.’

      Mr. Smith pulled the cloth decisively with his hand and revealed my work. What I saw also almost knocked me off my feet. In the hall, the friendly individuals saw a group of old, unsightly individuals with faces full of anger and hatred. For a moment, there was no sound. Then I was aware that nineteen angry people were watching me. I had not fully recovered from the shock when I became aware that I was in danger. With a fierce desire for revenge, the enraged members of the club rushed at me.

      Without any hesitation, I hurriedly ran towards the exit. Somebody hit me on the back while I was on my way. They knocked me onto the floor. Mr. Smith grabbed my leg while I was lying down after he tripped over me. As I tried to escape from his grasp, he bit my leg with his false teeth. Upon my return to my feet and running towards the exit, an elderly woman poured hot coffee on me.

      I woke up from my nap and nightmare, feeling content to be lying in my comfortable armchair. Looking ahead, I could not find my painting on the stand. It vanished, but I concluded that the clubgoers had taken it without waking me up.

      My bad dream was just an illusion created in my mind, and now everything will be okay. That was my initial thought and a genuine desire. It was not the case. I swiftly identified the tooth marks on my leg and the large coffee stain on my shirt. I could not explain it because it was so strange. The same day, I learned about a huge scandal at the Club of the Senior Coffee Lovers. I attempted to reach out to Mr. Smith, but he declined to speak with me. I made a few more phone calls to my friends but only discovered that things were strange and unusual. I had a feeling that I was in the same, but slightly different reality. I had the sense that something had changed because of my painting, which I had created with great passion and dedication. These extraordinary events led me to believe that a genuine work of art can alter reality.

      I had no choice but to assess this theory and avoid a stay in a mental institution. I quickly got a new canvas ready for painting and began working. I was acting under inspiration, just like a mad artist who fulfills his desire to create a particular vision of the world. I unknowingly revisited the topic from my earlier studies on ancient culture. During my youth, I often turned to ancient history when searching for an ideal world. In my view, the Roman Empire was the perfect time for humanity. Their lives were free of civilizational restrictions. People experienced prosperity due to Pax Romana, a universal peace. Of course, I had moved away from these naive views a long time ago, but some of the fascination with that world remained.

      After many hours of arduous work, I completed my job. I presented a group of Roman senators standing outside a temple that was beautifully decorated and having a lively discussion of significant matters. One senator, clad in a white toga, was approaching the group of his colleagues. I completed painting his face with the last strokes of my brush. It was my face, and I was the senator who was now approaching the others. Finally, I wrote the date CXLI and finished the painting with a sense of triumph.

      I witnessed the glory of my work. Although it was not as large as the one, I painted in the club, I still thought it was great. I took a seat in the chair with the feeling of satisfaction and artistic fulfillment. After a while, fatigue set in, and I closed my eyes and entered the realm of dreams.

      The senators greeted me warmly.

      ‘Salve, Titus Catullus. How was your trip from Brindisi?’

      ‘Salve, my friends. Everything went smoothly and without a hitch. I tried to reach Rome as quickly as I could. What is so important that Emperor Antoninus has called us to his palace on the Palatine Hill?

      'What are you talking about? ' Asked one of the senators. We are now discussing the plot to assassinate Gaius Julius Germanicus. Surely the strong wind messed with your head when riding to Rome.’

      My legs almost went under me, and I almost lost consciousness. I had barely regained my composure, and, with my remaining strength, I reached for the painting. Fortunately, I had it with me, wrapped up in a package on my shoulders. I unfolded it and examined the date. I did not know that C was blurry and illegible, so it reads LXI instead of CXLI. I planned to be under the rule of a benevolent emperor, Antoninus. I was now in Rome under the power of the mad emperor Caligula. To add insult to injury, the senators talked about how to eliminate their leader and I participated in this plan.

      ‘Caligula has left the theatre and is now listening to the boys' choir from Sparta. Cassius and other assassins will quickly finish him off. As agreed, you, Titus, are going to inform the Senate about his death and the restoration of the Republic.’

      ‘Yes. I will keep my word.’

I acknowledged the matter without contemplating it. Jove alone comprehended the reason for my behavior. I sensed that I was part of this conspiracy and could not withdraw from this matter now. I declared. ‘Good luck, my friends. Long live the Republic.’

      ‘Long live the Republic.’ They all answered simultaneously.

      Without delay, I turned around and ran towards the Senate building. As I was about halfway to my destination, I began to have doubts. It was a well-known fact that Caligula was insane. Despite this, the populace and average citizens were in love with him. These senators, who were fat and greedy, had no concern for the common people. Surrounded by slave swarms, they lived in a state of incredible luxury. Their desire for wealth and power was unstoppable. Even with everything, they still needed more. The emperor's madness was causing them pain, and they wanted to get rid of him. Their benefit was the priority, not the Republic's, which was already dead, and nobody could revive it.

      I paused and looked around. I observed several Praetorians marching close to me. A young soldier with blonde hair, of Germanic descent, led them in a certain direction. After waving to them, I hurriedly walked over to the commander. He gave a salute and inquired.

      ‘Ave, Senator. What can we do for you?’

      ‘You are part of the first cohort of the Pretorian palace guard. I recognize your insignia.’

      ‘Yes, Senator.’

      ‘I have an urgent message for you. The emperor is in danger. Some people want to kill him. If you run fast, you can still save him.’

      In disbelief, the Pretorians gazed at me for a moment. My determination quickly convinced them that their ruler was in mortal danger. Upon receiving the commander's signal, everyone hurried towards the theater, where Caligula was then present.

      When left alone I began to wonder if I had done the correct thing. If the Emperor survives, he will surely take revenge and shed blood. A lot of blood. But who was I to question the judgments of fate? Horrifying images of carnage flashed across my mind and had a strong impact on me. I experienced dizziness, slipped over a stone, and fell like a log on the road.

      I awoke in my studio, comfortably seated in my armchair. While half asleep, I searched for my painting that had an ancient Rome theme. The fact that I could not find it did not surprise me. Just like the first painting, it vanished without leaving any trace.

      I felt hungry as it was late in the evening. I put on my jacket and went to the local shop to buy some food. While returning from the store, I happened to meet Mrs. Doherty, who, as usual, wanted to see and know everything. The area's most notorious gossip saw me tired and did not hesitate to make her nasty remarks.

      ‘Mr. Cornfield. What happened to you? Your appearance is dreadful, and you require assistance. Are you ill?’

      'Mrs. Doherty, I haven’t seen anything happen to me. And I don't require any assistance. Especially from you.'

      I expressed my anger and decided to walk away from her. As I sped away, I heard her cursing at me.

      'You are uncouth and rude, young man. A dreadful thing will certainly happen to an evil man like you.'

      After arriving home, I contemplated my situation. I did not know why, but each time the work I painted took me to a different time and space. My life would lack meaning if the painting were not there. What should I do? This world was experiencing a change, and I was one of the first to be aware of it. If I make more paintings, I will move to a different reality each time and run the risk of making more mistakes. This question took me an hour to answer.

      I concluded that so many strange things are happening in the world that it would be better to find a place where I can finally be free from worries and troubles. I started working immediately without any delay. This time, I chose a medium-sized canvas and started painting without any preparation. I used my imagination and memory to recreate the scenes and characters. I opted not to use albums or photographs, and I did not create any early sketches. I had to make sure that my next and most important creation was spontaneous. If I were unable to find a place in this chaotic world, I would find a new life in another reality. My initial idea was to depict an alien civilization, but I might encounter unexpected difficulties there. I chose to move forward cautiously and search for the location that would enable me to live a life that is both perfect and happy. I sought help from the faith.

      I chose to make my painting a triptych. The title of my work is 'The Last Judgment of Space and Time in the Modern World'. In its center, I painted the main judge seated on a throne. Twelve stern figures of the apostles stood behind him. They were all dressed in flowing white robes, had long beards, and each held a roll of paper on which they wrote down people's sins and virtuous deeds. Before the throne, I depicted the four mythical beasts of the apocalypse: the lion, the ox, the eagle, and the winged man. Their eyes and wings viewed the crowds of people as if they were observing a large river flowing continuously from Earth. Standing in front of the throne was a man with wings, decked out in golden armor and an ornate robe. He held a scale in his left hand that weighed the good and bad actions of the deceased. He had a fiery sword in his right hand and used it to guide the saved people to heaven and, at the same time, direct the condemned souls to hell. The weight was either barely moved or not moved at all by the evil souls. The honest lives of the good souls lifted the scales without problem. After each judgment, the angel directed a soul with his fiery sword to the left or the right. The condemned departed for the dark abysses of Hell, where their souls, surrounded by demonic creatures and devils, faced their eternal punishment. Through a crystal gate adorned with saint statues, the blessed individuals entered an immeasurably bright land of abundance, scented with honey and milk. The faces of the blessed souls exuded joy and inexpressible happiness. Those sent to hell screamed, cried, and howled with terror.

      I gazed at the almost-finished painting with satisfaction. By using a handful of decisive strokes of the brush, I created a depiction of myself walking with the crowd of blessed people to heaven. It was the greatest piece of art I have ever made in my life. Feeling happy and artistically fulfilled, I relaxed in my comfortable armchair. As soon as I shut my eyes, I found myself walking among the blessed in heaven.

      In the beginning, my heavenly life was all about pleasure. There was no need to work, worry, hunger, or pain. Even the weather was flawless. After an indefinite amount of time, the lack of things to do and the monotony of life began to affect me. All the time, I thought about Earth. My new location caused me to miss my daily activities, socializing, overcoming challenges, and most importantly, painting my pictures. One day I could not stand it any longer and asked for an audience with Saint Porter to express my grievances.

      The ancient man listened to me carefully. After I finished, the saint gave a nod of understanding and spoke.

      ‘I comprehend your anxieties and doubts. However, we also face significant challenges here. The entire universe has been collapsing for some time now. The four-dimensional fabric of time and space is collapsing, leaving our existence in question. The wisest angels have been working diligently for some time to resolve the equations that control the functioning of the universe. As problems multiply, we encounter more difficulties. Heaven's maintenance demands more energy than we possess.’

      ‘Then return me to Earth. Let me continue my life until the end.’

      ‘My son. There is no Earth anymore.’ The Saint replied with a sigh. ‘It ceased to exist two hundred million years ago. The time is flowing differently here.’

      It was too much for me to manage. I expressed my gratitude to the Saint for his explanation and returned to my residence.

      I only had one choice left. I laid out a new canvas and began painting.