It is night, and Leonardo is about to do his first painting for the church, of Santa Maria, the virgin mother, the girl who was never touched. He picks up the brush, and doesn’t hesitate even a bit to start painting. He knows exactly what to draw.
He starts with the eyes. The eyes are full of energy, as if they are emitting the light instead of receiving it. They look directly at you as if she is alive, and communicates with you through the painting. The eyes are widened as if she is smiling and happy, but there are also little drops of tears accumulated in the corner of the left eye. The wet eyes create a mirror effect, and you could see some reflections on them; the reflections are vague though, and each time you look at them you read them differently. It is as if the eyes are speaking with you, telling you a new story each time you look at them; showing you what you should see or what you want to see. The pupil is as dark as night with a tiny image of a man reflecting from them. It is as if you are looking down into an endless well, looking for answers, but the only thing you see down there is your own reflection in the pure water at the bottom of the well.
That was the eyes. Then, he adds ears, nose, lips and stuff, and signs Leonardo Da Vinci at the bottom.
Leonardo takes a step back to see his painting from a distance. Could a portrait be more perfect, Leonardo thinks; could art be more divine? His eyes are tired, but he can’t take them off the painting. He sits on his wobbly, wooden chair, slowly pulls his knees to his chest, hugs them, rest the side of his face on them, and stares at his painting. Minutes pass by, and he doesn’t make a move. He just stares at the painting, as if he is trying to find himself in her, and her eyes. An hour passes by, and he is still as stone, as if he is asleep or dead. His eyes are open though, and keep staring at his masterpiece.
Leonardo slowly opens his eyes. He has the biggest smile on his face. He is as happy as a child. It is as if he has just been resurrected from the dead, coming back to earth from Heaven. His eyes are seeing the ceiling. He doesn’t want to move. He wants to freeze the moment as long as possible. Gradually, he realizes he is lying in bed. He remembers himself sitting on the chair though. Weird!
Was it just a dream? He wonders.
“The painting!” Leonardo says while worryingly jumping out of the bed. He looks at the easel, but there is no painting there.
“Damn it, Damn it, Damn it,” Leonardo cries while holding his head between his hands. He notices a canvas lying on the floor on its front. He wishfully reaches for the canvas, turns it over, and yes, it is her, with the same merciful eyes staring at Leonardo. Leonardo hugs the canvas tight, and says: “I knew you were not just a dream. I knew it.”
He cannot wait to unveil her to the world.
“Congratulations! This is the greatest piece of art imaginable,” Leonardo is having a shower-conversation with himself.
“Master Da Vinci, what is the key to your success?”
“If the artist is honest and truthful, and speaks from deep in his heart, then the art will also be pure and well-received by hearts.”
“That was amazingly poetic. Are you also a poet?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. Painting and poetry are just different mediums that art flows through them. A true, free-spirited artist is never confined within a particular medium.”
“Where did you get the inspiration?”
“From sky, spring, flowers, and you.”
“Oh, that is such an honor, thank you.”
“Ohhh you’re welcome.”
“Oooh thank you.”
“Ohhh you’re welcome.”
“Oooh”
“Ohhh”
“Oooh”
Leonardo has a smug smile on his face. He is watching himself in the mirror. There is a look of confidence in his eyes. A towel is wrapped around his waist. As his eyes are still on himself, he pours some hair products on his palm, and combs it through his hair. After playing with his hair for a while, he wears perfume from an expensive-looking bottle. His eyes are still on himself in the mirror. “Watch out world, here comes Leo, and his art,” Leonardo says to the mirror.
Leonardo has put his shoes on. The painting under his arm, he is ready to exit his home when he notices a note on the door that says, “Papa, Watch, Before Noon”. He is not thrilled by seeing the note. He goes back, and picks up an old-looking pocket watch from the table, puts it in his pocket, and leaves his apartment to reveal his masterpiece to the world.