Schokko With Red Hat

Alexej von Jawlensky sighed.  A member of "Les Fauves" he had been trapped for almost one hundred years.  "So not such a wild beast?" He thought to himself as he gazed beyond the back of "Schokko with Red Hat."  Since he had died in 1941, he had been here, behind the oil and the board that held her.  He didn’t remember how he died.  It didn’t matter.  He just remembers that he was suddenly aware of being here, nestled into the back hairs of Schokko and her red hat.  He didn’t understand.  What was there to understand? Who was there to even explain it? To spend eternity in your own painting could be viewed as either heaven or hell and he wasn’t entirely inclined to decide which it was. 

He was born in Russia, but obviously, that was a lifetime ago.  He was here now. The painting, “Schokko with Red Hat” had been brought to Columbus, Ohio in 1991.  That seemed like a long time ago, but in reality, it had seemed like mere moments since the day that Budd Harris Bishop managed to get the grand dame into the Columbus Museum of Art.  She lived here now, perched in the room where she had a view of a Picasso, which meant that Alexej did as well. 

To be truthful, he liked to watch the passerbys as they stopped to admire his painting.  It made him laugh to know that they didn't know he could see them.  His favorite was when he could feel the rustle of the intake of breath.  Of course.  Of course, she would take away one's breath.  Her red hat drew people to the wall closer to see her, but it was her eyes.  They could see you in the way that Mona Lisa could see you.  A rawness existed there that was in no other painting.  She was his muse.  The Fauvism artists would use their wives and lovers, but still.  Schokko was his own.  He felt contented when he heard the same comments over and over, that compared him to Henri Matisse and made his little little smile at the thought. 

When he had painted her, he was on the other side of this millboard. His fingers burned with the memory of the oil beading under his nails.  He had used all his talent to create her, both of them, in fact.  The truth was that she was separated from her sister, "Schokko with Wide-Brimmed Hat." It made his heart weep to think of it.  They were his beauties, two sides of a coin, back to back forever, until they weren't.  He couldn't afford to buy more boards and he painted on both sides.  Now, he was here, holding her place. For how long or why, he did not know.

He knew that her sister had been sold.  In London of all places.  It was so far away.  She was acquired for $18.6 million.  They all spoke of it.  He knew.  He could see them as they discussed it.  It was a triumph, an accomplishment beyond measure, but to him, he was heartbroken. She was lost to him, and to her sister.  

********

Schokko could feel him on her neck.  His breathing was there in a way that hers wasn’t.  They didn’t need to breathe.  They had one another.  They could feel one another through the heat of the board, seared together by the paint.  There was a silent understanding that Alexej didn’t offer to her.  While she reveled in the attention, she had decided long ago she would rather be alone than have to share her space with Alexej.  It hurt her to know he was trapped within her.  Not physically, but in her thoughts.  She knew he belonged elsewhere and he didn’t belong here, in a painting.  

It wasn’t until a little girl came through and winked that Alexej thought something was different.  The little girl could not have been more than four, but she had sparkling blue eyes and a grin that made him feel that she could not only see him, but see through him.  While he was unnerved, he was excited that perhaps he wasn’t invisible after all.  He began to look for her on Sundays, when she would come with her mother and her two brothers.  He always knew that they were approaching, because he could hear her little voice tinkling along the hallway outside as she ran her fingers on the Rodin sculpture.  

As she approached, he leaned as far as he dared into the back of the painting.  Schokko sighed with the strain, but he wanted to be sure.  He wanted to know she could see him.  Perhaps she was the answer.  She came up to the painting and put her nose as closely as she dared.  He could see the downy little wisps of blonde hair in her hairline waving their hands back and forth as she stood on tiptoes and looked in.  

“Man, here.” She said out loud.  

Should he answer her? He wasn’t sure what he should do.  So he blew a kiss with his fingers.  She smiled.  She smiled at him.  Then she caught it in her hands.  She peered down into her palms and smiled back at him as she held them up.  They were covered in paint.  

Schokko couldn’t believe what she was seeing.  She wanted to smile, but, of course, she couldn’t.  She could feel Alexej panting into the nape of her neck as he mumbled to himself.  What could she do? Look serene and regal, as she had done since 1909.  She pretended not to notice the little girl, but she was one of those little girls that people can’t help but notice.  She had a presence about her that was beyond her years and she demanded attention with her questions and her quick smile and her eyes.  She was obviously the leader of her brothers, who followed her adoringly even though one was older and taller.  

“Mama, see.” She held up her hands to her mother, who had the good sense to become dizzy and scold the child.  

“What did you touch?” 

“Nothing.  The man.  He blew me a kiss.”  She jerked her thumb back at the painting.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I not a silly girl.  I smart.”

“Yes, yes.” Her mother began to wipe the paint away with a diaper wipe as the little girl turned around to face the painting.

“Oh.  I see you.” She lifted her newly wiped fingers and blew a kiss back at him.

Alexej didn’t have time to catch it.  Suddenly, he was in heaven.  

It had been there all along.