The Art of Painting with Magic

“Thanks for meeting me for brunch. It’s been too long since we’ve been able to carve out some time for girl talk without life interrupting. I have really missed you.” 

“Oh, I have missed you too. How is it that we can be in the same room at least once a week and not have the chance to catch up?”

“One word; husbands.” 

Shelly and Ellen shared a giggle over mimosa’s, eggs benedict, French toast and a myriad of other delectable indulgences they rarely afforded to themselves. Leaving their inhibitions and willpower at home was liberating. Between friends, there was no judgement, simply enjoyment. 

“Our tenth wedding anniversary is coming up and I have been agonizing over the perfect gift for Tony. It’s rather daunting to buy for the man who quite literally has everything.”

Ellen dabbed the corners of her mouth with the linen napkin that had been resting in her lap. “Have you come up with any options? I’d love to help if I can.”

“Yes, actually. There’s a photo of the two of us from the very day we met on Tony’s desk; it’s his favorite. He says it’s the ideal reminder of the best day of his life.”

“You’re a lucky girl, he’s such a romantic.” 

“He truly is, which is why I thought he may like a portrait of that very photo. I was researching some local artists, and although their quotes vary greatly, it would certainly be an investment no matter who I choose.” 

“Wait, I may have a solution for you.” Ellen reached for her phone, which she had previously promised to keep in her handbag during their meal. “I know we said no phones this morning, but I have something to show you.” 

Shelly was intrigued, “I think we can break the pact as long as it pertains to our conversation.” she teased. “It’s when we have to contend with things like, “Hey hon, where are my running shoes?” that the no phones rule comes in handy.”

“Exactly! However, I took a few pictures when visiting my new neighbor last week; she’s an artist and her work is exceptional. Her name is Bella; nice girl, young and very quiet. I was quite taken with her obvious talent. Look for yourself.” Ellen passed her phone across the table to Shelly. “Go ahead and scroll through. I believe there are ten, maybe twelve.” 

Shelly took her time marveling at the photos of Bella’s artwork, subconsciously articulating an occasional “ooh” or “ahh”. “She’s amazing.” 

“I knew you’d agree. Why don’t we stop by my place after brunch? If Bella is home you can see for yourself and speak with her about the portrait. If not, we can always leave a note on her door asking to contact you.” 

“That seems a bit forward, but considering that is our only option, I say let’s do it.” 

Ellen tucked her phone back into her bag and continued to keep her focus on good food and better company. She shared what little she knew about Bella with Shelly. “She’s renting the apartment above the Wilson’s garage; you know, that sweet elderly couple across the street?”

“Yes, I remember them from your cook out last summer; lovely people.” 

“They are. Bella was telling me that their arrangement is for mutual benefit. She checks in on them to make sure they take their medication, have enough groceries, and whatnot in exchange for a reasonable rental rate for the apartment.” 

“I think that’s wonderful.”

“It is. If you ask me, Bella could use the money as well as any notoriety you could send her way if she impresses you with her work. However, that is simply my opinion, certainly not an assumption.” 

“Well my friend, let’s go speak with Bella.” 

Isobel “Bella” Razzo stumbled backward into a small stack of boxes she had piled in the corner of her quaint little nook near the kitchen. “Damn it.” she mumbled to herself as she set them upright again. “I cannot wait to finally get organized.” Her statement was more than ambitious as organization was not her strong suit. She read somewhere that creative people were rarely methodical or systematic. Bella relied on that very sentiment when she began to feel chaotic. Still, it would be nice to move her easel and art supplies from the middle of the tiny living room into the intended space nearest the window enabling her to utilize the natural flow of sunlight in the morning. 

She was grateful to have found this place; quiet, well lit, and safe. She never felt alone knowing the Wilson’s were a mere twenty or so steps away. They were kind and rather amusing, always playfully bickering back and forth. Despite their salty banter, Bella envied the way they looked at one another; she could see love in their eyes even after forty-seven years of marriage. Just being a small part of their world had Bella feeling like she was home for the first time in a very long time.

She painted them. The Wilson’s. Last night. It was not her intention, but somehow she couldn’t resist the impulse to do so. “I guess my Muse felt like partying.” The painting was on a smaller canvas; their faces close, almost as if Mr. Wilson was leaning in for a polite kiss. She had to admit, the likenesses were quality but where did those thin bands of color come from? Bella contemplated several theories regarding the appearance of the shadowy ocean blue around Mr. Wilson and the loveliest shade of sunny yellow around his wife. Where the two converged, a thin ribbon of green could be noticed. Bella could not recall using any of the three mysterious colors, nor could she be sure she even owned paint in those particular hues. Maybe, she thought, her paints were getting old and oxidizing, or possibly, …well, there wasn’t a “possibly”; just an inexplicable phenomenon. Bella reached out and ran her fingers ever so lightly over the painting. It was dry, it was beautiful, she would bring it over to the Wilson’s this afternoon. 

Mr. Wilson shuffled from the kitchen to the front door as quickly and efficiently as his arthritic hips and knees would allow. “It’s Bella.” he called to his wife. 

“Of course it is, you old dolt; who else would it be?” She teased. 

Bella followed Mr. Wilson back into the kitchen. “Look who I found.” 

“Awe, you can’t find your own nose in the middle of your face, most days. Hello dear, what brings you by?” 

Mr. Wilson and Bella shared a giggle over Mrs. Wilson’s quick wit. “I brought you something.” she answered meekly, handing the portrait to Mrs. Wilson. “I hope you like it.” 

“It’s a masterpiece.” Mrs. Wilson gushed. Before she could elaborate, the doorbell chimed. She flinched; “Oh, my, aren’t we popular today? Bella dear, would you mind? You can get there faster than either of us.” 

Bella willingly obliged. She was surprised to see Ellen and another woman standing on the front steps, smiling stupidly as if they had a wonderful secret they were sharing door to door. Bella paused, anticipating one of the unexpected visitors to ask if she in fact had heard the good news; whatever that may be. Instead, of course, Ellen eagerly explained they were hoping the Wilson’s would know where she was, as they were actually looking to speak to her about her art.  

“Well, you found me. I suppose we could walk over to my apartment to talk.” 

Mrs. Wilson chimed in from the kitchen, “Nonsense Bella, invite them in. I want to show off our gift.” 

Shelly and Ellen followed Bella into the Wilson’s home feeling a tad invasive. Mrs. Wilson took no time putting them at ease. “Girls, it’s good to see you again. I see you’ve met our Bella and if you’re considering asking her to paint for you, let me cinch the deal by showing you what she did for us.” Mrs. Wilson handed the painting to Shelly.

“It’s magnificent!” 

“It is. Our Bella has quite a talent for capturing the essence of her subjects, doesn't she?” Mrs. Wilson’s subtle, yet intentional choice of words drew Shelly’s attention to the mysterious color bands in the painting. 

“Yes, I love the highlighted area between the two of you. It’s very interpretive.” 

Mrs. Wilson adjusted herself in her chair and cleared her throat. “Well, my new friend, there is another explanation for what you are referring to. Bella has successfully captured our essences on her canvas. She painted what her mind’s eye sees along with what she can determine with her actual eyes. Not only can she “see” our individual essences, but the one we create together.”

Shelly tilted her head to one side and parted her lips revealing an awkward smile. “That is a lovely sentiment.” she managed. 

“Sentiment? It’s so much more than that my dear.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it is.” Shelly tried not to seem condescending, but she was convinced the explanation was nothing more than the deluded ramblings of an old woman.” I can’t say I’m a believer in soulmates or kindred spirits or whatever you call it.”

Mrs. Wilson snickered, “Do you believe in magic?”

“Um, like spells and potions, magic?”

“Magic isn’t just what you see on television or read about in fantasy books. True magic exists within us and all around us. It is a living, breathing connection to all things.”

Shelly grew increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. She turned to Bella, “May I drop a photo off to you tomorrow?” 

Bella lowered her eyes, “Yes, of course. I can meet you here in the morning. I help the Wilson’s around the house for a few hours each day.” 

“Would ten a.m. work for you?” Shelly asked. 

Mrs. Wilson answered for Bella, “We will see you then.” 

Bella sunk into the kitchen chair opposite Mrs. Wilson, hiding her face in her hands. She sighed deeply with apprehension.

“Fret not dear Bella. That woman is a bit narrow; it’s not entirely her fault. You, on the other hand, are extraordinary, never doubt that.”

“Thank you but what if that woman and her husband are not destined and there is no essence to capture? Will she be disappointed? Will she doubt their connection? I cannot be responsible for her profound disappointment, nor will I fabricate what I do not see.”

“Bella, go home, get some well deserved rest and dream of your unique abilities until you firmly believe in them; in yourself. I will see you in the morning.” Mrs. Wilson blew a kiss in Bella's direction as she watched the young artist exit through the back door and cross the tiny garden to her own apartment above the garage. 

Try as she might; sleep continued to elude Bella until her Muse got her way and Bella began to paint. She created for hours, standing, sitting, kneeling and standing again in front of a large canvas. Her smock, skin and even her hair dotted with paint; her hand cramped, eyes swollen and bloodshot, yet Bella could not seem to stop. Just as the light of dawn spilled through her window, chasing the shadows back into the closet and under the bed; Bella collapsed onto the floor. She looked up into the eyes of her subjects, a beautiful couple obviously very much in love. She closed her eyes and allowed sleep to come; only to awaken a short hour later. 

Bella readied herself for the day, grabbed her keys and the painting and headed across the yard to the Wilson’s back door. She should have felt deliriously exhausted, or at the very least confused, yet Bella began her day with a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. She propped her painting on the empty chair at the Wilson’s table and started their morning routine. The Wilson’s exchanged cheeky grins and suppressed giggles as Bella served breakfast. 

Precisely ten a.m.; a knock came at the front door. Mr. Wilson called out loudly, “It’s open. Come on in Shelly.”

Shelly cautiously opened the door and announced herself, despite Mr. Wilson’s obvious invitation. "Knock, knock.?”

“In here.” Mr. Wilson informed her. 

Shelly entered the kitchen and accepted the cup of coffee Bella had already poured for her. “Let me move this so you can sit.” she said, lifting the painting from its perch. Shelly wanted to gasp but her breath caught low in her throat. Her eyes widened and her knees buckled. Shelly reached for the edge of the table to steady herself.

“Oh, dear, are you ok?” Mrs. Wilson asked, already knowing the reason for her reaction. 

“That’s my…” Shelly stammered, tightly gripping the framed photo she brought for Bella.

“That’s your what, dear?” Mrs. Wilson asked, almost taunting the woman for her disbelief.

“My photo.” she whispered. 

“Would you look at that?” Mr. Wilson added. “Seems like you might want some toast and butter to go with those words you’ll be eating for breakfast.” 

Shelly set her cup on the table in front of her and stared at the portrait, now resting against the counter. “But how…?” 

Bella shrugged her shoulders, deferring to the Wison’s, and Mrs. Wilson was more than willing to oblige. “Congratulations Shelly. It seems as though you and your handsome husband are indeed destined for one another. Your essence is such a lovely shade of magenta while your other half is the same vibrant blue as my husband. Oh, Bella, what would you call that gorgeous color that has emerged from the two?” 

“Amethyst.”

“Yes, amethyst. Perfect, wouldn’t you agree, Shelly?”

Shelly tried to swallow, but her mouth and throat were dry. Her hands trembled, still gripping the impeccably replicated photo by the edges of its frame. “I love it.” she croaked.

Mrs. Wilson softened her manner. “Some believe without proof, and because they believe, whatever it is they believe in, is real. Magic is real as long as there are those who believe; understand?” 

Shelly shook her head, still unable to articulate her thoughts. 

“Now, there are some, like yourself that should believe but fail to indulge their sense of spirituality, so magic finds a way to reveal itself. Bella’s art is your catalyst, and now you can believe what you should have had faith in all along.” 

Shelly glanced at her photo, then the painting. Her tear-filled eyes asked for forgiveness. She composed herself as best as she could and confessed to Bella directly. “Magic is real.”