The Secret Nook - Chapter 12 (The Portrait)

Duyi Koay had been busy. It took only a couple of calls to learn that his former prodigy was housed at the Red Lantern Inn, the proprietor of which was a former student of his.  He had arrived at the Inn with a package wrapped in white rice paper almost at the same time as Meadow walked in through the front door.  They looked at one another, seemingly frozen in time and emotion. With effort he held up the package in his arms and pointed it towards her.  She remained in place, fighting to hold back the tears that she knew would eventually come – just not now.If Koay was hoping for better, he didn’t show it.  He placed the white package on a house phone table, bowed in respect, and quietly retraced his steps to the outside.Meadow wanted to call out, to rush to him, to thank him for how hard he had tried the previous day, but the dullness in her spirit from a day of hopeless searching had made it too hard for her to move.  She looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but they had been alone; even the receptionist wasn’t at his counter.  She moved to the stairs, but not before she had cradled the package between her forearm and body.  She would pack up her few things and then check out.But first, there was the package.  There was no wording on the wrapping, but it had the distinct smell of his studio and she breathed it in deeply.  There was something of the soul in it – Koay’s essence - and she found it strangely healing.Her fingers went to pry it open but the paper, fine as it was, just seemed to fall away, revealing a sketch that left her stunned.  It was of a woman – her – but it was strangely not her at the same time.  And then she realized what her instructor had done. The face was that of a child and a woman, blended together into one countenance yet still holding the distinct generations in a refined balance.  She put it on the dresser and took a harder look.   She wasn’t sure she liked what she saw.  Meadow understood he had sketched it.  Was this how he saw her?Intriguingly, it appeared as though the canvas had been torn vertically on the right side all the way from top to bottom.  In its place was a parchment-like background with clear and concise penmanship.  She moved closer to it and saw what appeared to be journal entries, all from the month of July. But then she noticed the corner of what looked to be an envelope.  She turned the piece around and saw a note taped to the back of the frame. Unfolding the page, she began to read the words. My friend: We are all prisoners, just as old Plato used to say.  Prisoners to our own lack of promise, our inability to find ourselves in struggle, or to our lack of understanding that other possibilities exist.  Many, perhaps millions, will remain in such caves of ignorance.But you will not, for you have, by divine accident, what others will never achieve following a lifetime of effort – you have a world to create. Being able to create things of beauty is among the greatest gifts selectively granted to humanity. With it, one can always contribute to the richness of the lives of others.  One can partake of the joys of the divine.  With this ability, one becomes a participant in the essence of humanity that exists beyond what is seen or bought.  Such a one is provided with a vaccine against the pull of the cave. Seeing you during your kind visit the other day, I came to understand that you have become a prisoner, not to your recent years of travail following your own personal tragedy of loss, but to those better days when you were with your parents, with your brushes … with me.  You wish to return to those days but they are a cave, shaped in a past that can’t be recovered, and therefore filled with shadows. This is the person I endeavoured to paint on the canvas.  You have likely understood that there are two versions of you in the portrait: who you were and who you are.  It is a difficult thing – impossible, maybe - to portray eyes so innocent yet so disappointed with life, a face so smooth with youth yet scarred by grief, a visage of the past so hidden by the present pain. This is you as I saw you that day.  Yet, for a brief instant, I saw a third person I had not expected – a form alive with an essence of triumph, freed by the very gift once discovered and then lost. I realized in that moment that it was the person you would become – the future you.  It wasn’t you in heaven or in your present hell, but Meadow Hartley in the world, reintroducing it to beauty as it should be, and hope as it will be.Can you not sense her calling to you, to cease pining for your youth, to escape the present but to strive for what you will become because of your tragedy?  This is the hope of humanity at its essence.  It is the future.  It is you.  I pray you search for her.  Arise, leave the cave, and discover who you will become. Your fellow traveller, Duyi.