Saturday, May 23, 2009

The old man who paints without ceasing

The Atlas of Curiosities: Part 4

I was standing under the bridge watching the water move when I saw an old man painting beneath the underpass.

“Excuse me,” I said to him, “why are you painting?”

“Come back tomorrow,” he said.

I came back the next day, and the day after that, and everyday the old man sat and he painted.

As time went on I noticed the odd fact that the old man would, from time to time, finish a painting, and immediately, without thought, throw it into the river.

I approached him again and I asked him, “My friend,” why do you throw your paintings in the river?”

And he said, “come back tomorrow.”

The old man painted continuously.  No matter the day or the time, every time I came to the river he was there, painting.  It seemed he never slept.  Every hour, on the hour, he would complete a painting and let it slip into the water below.

I became upset, confused.

I went to the old man again.  I was angry.  I shouted at him.

“How is it possible that you paint all day?”

For the first time, the old man picked up his paint brush from his painting.  He turned to me.  He looked me in the eye.  All around me I was astonished to see that the world had ceased to turn: the river did not flow,  birds were stalled in mid flight, people’s faces caught in joy or anger or sadness, everything, time itself, had stopped.

The old man looked at my eyes.

“How is it possible that I stop?” he said.  He turned back to his painting and the world continued to move.