It was the late in the summer of 19 when I first became acquainted with Steven part2
by Porn Review Blogdistant oak forests and broad color-rich skies. A wide glossy desk sat poised
beneath the darkening panes, cluttered uncharacteristically, I thought, with a
dozen strewn volumes, piled open in a chaotic array. The east and west walls
climbed some thirty feet high with overfilled bookshelves, majestic old leather
bound tomes near piles of unkempt paperbacks. Steven approached the north wall,
where a curtain hung.
“Do you know Pandolf?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, laughing at the notion that even someone as generally ignorant as
I could fail to know of Fra Pandolf. “I mean, I’ve never met him, if that’s what
you mean, but his paintings are already worth millions.”
“He did a painting for me, years ago,” Steven said.
“Really?” I asked, quite amazed.
“My wife commissioned a painting, as a gift. Anna had quite an eye for artists.
He was just a local back then. I think she only paid a few thousand for this.”
Steven pulled the cord which drew back the curtain.
A large canvas hung on the wall, filled with greens and blues and sunlight golds.
The subject, only slightly abstracted, was a beautiful woman, simply radiant in
her loveliness with water bright eyes, soft skin, long sensuous legs and a smile
that almost laughed out loud. I smiled, pleased, knowing the treasure Steven
showed me was a very pretty picture.
“It was our tenth anniversary,” Steven said, his eyes fixed on the portrait of
his wife, Anna. “She posed without my knowing and gave me the finished painting.
It was a surprise.”
“I can imagine,” I said, astounded by the living sense I felt as I studied the
woman’s graceful lines. Pandolf, I knew, was one of the darlings of modern art,
and for once, I could bear witness to genius. This was a brilliant example of
incredible skill. “It must be worth a fortune,” I said tactlessly, thinking
aloud.
“I suppose,” Steven said. “It’s priceless to me.”
“Of course,” I said. “Have you ever shown it, loaned it to a gallery?” I tried
to show off some of the knowledge of standard art practices I had learned in our
work. Steven frowned and then laughed.
“No,” he said. “I haven’t shown anyone this painting in ten years.”
“Why?” I asked.
“When Anna gave me this painting, I was no patron of the arts. I knew a little,
could talk at parties about symmetry and impression, but when I first saw this
piece of work, I saw it as a husband.” Steven stopped to stare again at the
painting of his disrobed wife.
“I thought it was beautiful,” he said, “just as I thought Anna was beautiful, but
I also thought it was too beautiful. Do you know much about Pandolf?”
“No,” I replied.
“When this painting was done, his reputation wasn’t as much for being a painter
as it was for being a scoundrel. Perhaps that is an exaggeration, but I was
spending a fair amount of time at the courthouse and I knew about his scandals;
public drunkeness, vandalism, even petty assaults on stuffy art patrons. I had a
low opinion of the man as a decent citizen. What did I know about art?”
Steven left me standing in front of the painting while he went to a small
assortment of crystal bottles and poured himself a short drink. He downed the
brown liquid in a single motion.
“Anna was beside herself with delight when she gave me this painting and I smiled
and fawned and thanked her for her generous kindness, but the whole time I was
thinking about my Anna posed naked while this creature,” Steven paused. “Painted
…End of the part2. To be continued..