The inspirational tale about a vocation Bashny.Net

artist he has become, simply because after high school I had somewhere to come. He knew that the work should be fun, and he liked to draw. So the choice was made - he enrolled in art school

. By this time he knew that the image of objects is called a still life, nature - landscape, people - portrait, and much more aware of the field of their chosen profession. Now he had to find out more.

"In order to improvise, you first need to learn how to play the notes, - declared on the impressive introductory lecture teacher, a famous artist. - So get ready, we will start with the basics

". He started to learn to "play the notes." Cube, ball, vase ... The light, shade, partial shade ... Staging hands, perspective, composition ... He's learned a lot: how to pull the canvas and to cook ground as artificially age the web and how to achieve subtle color transitions. The teachers praised him, and once he even heard from his mentor: «You are an artist from God!»
"Did the other - not from God?" - He thought, though, that to hide, it was nice

. But here's the fun college years are behind us, and now he was in the pocket of a diploma of art education, he knew a lot, and even more could, he picked up the knowledge and experience, and it was time to start giving. But ... Something had gone wrong.

No, not that it is not happening. It is not that the profession has ceased to please. Maybe he just grew up and saw what had not noticed before. And opened it's what: circle of seething life in which art has long been a commodity , prosper and not necessarily the one who had something to say to the world, but rather the one who was able to competently serve and sell their works, be at the right time in the right place with the right people.

He, unfortunately, this did not learn. He saw his comrades rushing around, looking for themselves and their place in the sun, and some of these throws "break" stoked dissatisfaction and lack of demand for alcohol, lose their orientation, are degraded. He knew that the creators often ahead of their time, and their paintings have received recognition and a good price only after death, but this knowledge is little consolation

. He got a job that pays well, all day developed the design of various brochures, business cards, brochures, and even benefit from it some satisfaction, but drew less reluctantly. Inspiration came less and less frequently. Work, home, television, routine ...

It is increasingly visited thought: "Is this my calling? I dreamed about how to live your life like that, "dotted line", as if it were a pencil sketch? < When will I begin to write their own picture of life? And if even begin - if I can What about the "artist from God" "He knew that he was losing the qualification that turns into a zombie, who day after day performing a set of specific actions, and this is his strained?.

In order not to go crazy with these thoughts, he began to go on the weekends with his easel in the alley of the Masters, where the ranks of all creators, craftsmen were located. Knitted shawls and handicrafts made of birch bark, beaded jewelry and patchwork bedspreads, clay toys and wicker baskets - what is there just was not! And fellow artists, too, stood with his incorruptible canvases in large quantities. And there was competition.

But he spat on the competition, he just wanted to do. He painted portraits to order. Pencil on paper, ten minutes - and the portrait is ready. Nothing complicated for a professional - and there are only required to be able to notice the details, respect the proportions so slightly flatter the customer, so just a little to embellish nature. He did it skillfully, his portraits of people like them. And it seems, and beautiful - better than in real life. < thanks to his frequent and from the heart.

Now life has become somehow more fun, but it is clearly understood that this is "the depiction of" calling to baptize would be somehow ... too much. However, it is better than nothing.

One day he made another portrait, posed for him long-nosed elderly aunt and had to work hard to "make nice". The nose, of course, not going anywhere, but it was in her face something condusive (purity, or what?), Here on this and he emphasized. It turned out good.

- Ready, - he said, holding a portrait of her aunt. She studied it for a long time, and then looked up at him, and he even blinked before she stared at him smotrela.- Something wrong? - He even asked, lost sight of her
-. You have a vocation - the woman said. - You are able to see deep into the
. - Yeah, X-Ray Eyes - he joked
. - Not - she shook her head. - You paint like soul. So I look at it and understand: in fact I am, as you have drawn. And all that from the outside - it's superficial. You like the top layer of paint is removed, and under it - a masterpiece. And this masterpiece - I. Now I know! Thank you.
- Yes please - he sheepishly muttered, taking the bill - his usual fee for the blitz portrait

. My aunt was, to be sure, strange. < It is necessary, "the soul of paint»! Although who knows what he's drawing? Maybe the soul. After all, everyone has some kind of external layer is the invisible husks, which sticks in the process of life. And nature is something everyone has been conceived as a masterpiece, so in that as an artist he was just sure!

Now his painting filled with some new meaning. There is nothing new in technology it is not brought - the same paper and pencil, the same ten minutes, just his thoughts kept returning to the fact that we must be tried and "remove the top layer of paint" to out from under him freed unknown "masterpiece ". I think it turned out. He liked to watch the first reaction is "nature" - a very interesting were the faces of the people

. Sometimes he came across such a "model" in which the soul was much worse than the "outer layer", then he tried to discover in it some bright spots, and strengthened them. < You can always find the bright spot, if you configure this vision. At least, he had never met the man in whom there would be nothing at all good.

- Hey, bro! - Once stalwart spoke to him in a black jacket. - You are ... do you remember if there was ... my wife's mother drew last weekend

. Mother in law, he remembered an old toad like her daughter - grow old, the rat is. And with them it was a burly, exactly. He then had to bend all your imagination to transform a frog into something acceptable, to see in it anything good.

- Well? - He asked cautiously, not knowing where burly tends
. - So it's ... it changed. For the better. As a portrait look, man becomes. And so, between us, how many know her, toad toad.
Artist involuntarily snorted not mistaken, then, just to see ...
- Well so I wanted to ask you: can it draw in oil? To probably already! Secure effect, therefore. For the price not wait, do not hesitate!
- And why not fix? It is possible and in oil, and pickled, and "mayonnaise" sauce. Only the oil do not draw and write.
- In-in! Prove it in the best possible way, all will pay on the highest level!
The artist was fun. Right "Portrait of Dorian Gray", only with a plus sign! And once the offer - why not try

? Tried wrote. Mother-in-law was satisfied, too, burly, and his wife, daughter Zhabina, demanded that it also captured the centuries. From envy, perhaps. Artist and then rasstaralsya, inspiration came over him: enhance sexual component, softness added kindness highlighted. No woman has turned - the queen

! Looks like stalwart was a man of broad mind and experiences shared in the circle. Orders poured in one after the other. < The rumor went about the artist, his portraits are beneficial to life
. Now was not the time to draw on the weekends in the alley of the Masters, and left his office without any regret. Worked at home among the customers, the people were all rich, paid generously, passed from hand to hand. And enough for the paint and the canvas and black caviar - even on weekdays. The apartments are sold and bought more, but with room for the workshop, made good repair. It would seem, what more could you want?

And he again began to visit the idea: Is this his calling - to paint all sorts of "frogs" and "rats", struggling to find in them anything light? No, it is, of course, good, and useful for the world, but vse-taki, vse-taki ... It was not on his mind calm, like she called his kuda-to, chem-to asked for, but about what? I could not hear.

Once he was irresistibly drawn to drink. This is how to take - and vdrebadan to cut and then not remember anything. The idea frightened him: he knew how quickly people get creative on this route dashing down to the bottom, and did not want to repeat their path. We had to do something, and he did the first thing that came to mind: has canceled all of its sessions, grabbed an easel and a folding chair and went back to the alley Masters. Immediately I began to frantically work: sketching streets, people park across the street. It seems to feel better, let go.

- Excuse me, you are painting portraits? So that immediately, immediately get - ask him. He raised his eyes - close woman, young, and his eyes were clumsy, like a cry. Probably died in her someone or some grief.
- I draw. Ten minutes and you're done. You want to order a portrait?
- No. Dochkin.

Then he saw his daughter - choked, coughed. A child of six years old was similar to inoplanetyanchika: despite a fine, warm day, packed in a gray suit, and do not understand even a boy or girl on the head - thick cap-cap on his face - a transparent mask and eye ... eyes old man who experienced lots of pain and ready to die. The death of them was, in those eyes, that's what he clearly saw.

He did not ask anything else. Such children he saw on television, and knew that the child is likely to cancer, radiology, immune to zero - then the mask, and that the chances of survival minimum. It is not known why or how he knew, but somehow was sure. The trained eye of the artist, to notice all the details. He glanced at his mother - yes, that's right, she knew. Internally ready. Perhaps the portrait wanted, because the last. That though the memory was ...

- Sit down, princess, now I'll draw you - he said to the girl-alien. - Just look, do not fidget or jump off and do not get

. The girl was hardly able to spin or jump, and she was moving something carefully, as if afraid that her body crumble against inadvertent movement, smashed into small pieces. Sela, folded her hands in her lap, stared at him with my own eyes the wise turtle Tortilla, and stood patiently. Probably, all my childhood in hospitals, and there patience is developed quickly, you will not survive without it.

He tensed, trying to see her soul, but something prevented - not the shapeless overalls, not the tears in her eyes, not knowing that the old methods will not work here, you need a fundamentally new, non-trivial solution
<. br> And it was found! Suddenly I thought: « And what it could be, if not a disease? Do not stupid suit and dress, no hat on his bald Golovenko and bows?" Imagination worked hand itself has become something then sketching on paper, the process has begun.

This time he worked not as usual. Brains in the process is not exactly participated, they were disconnected, and include something more. Perhaps the soul. < He painted the soul, as if the portrait could be the last not for girls, and for him personally. As if he was going to die from an incurable disease, and the time was just a little bit, maybe , the same ten minutes.

- Finish - he tore a sheet of paper from the easel. - Look how beautiful you are

! Daughter and mother looking at a portrait. But it was not exactly the portrait and not exactly "from life." It curly blond girl in a summer sarafan ran with the ball in summer meadow. Under the feet of grass and flowers, head over to the sun and butterflies, smile from ear to ear and energy over the edge. Although the portrait was drawn in pencil, for some reason, he seemed to be made in the color of the grass - green, sky - blue, ball - orange and sarafanchik - Red white peas

. - I did this? - Came the muffled from under the mask
. - < This-this, - he assured her an artist. - So now, maybe not so, but you will soon. This is a portrait of next summer. One to one, more precise pictures.

Her mother bit her lip, staring somewhere past the portrait. Looks holding the last effort.
- Thank you. Thank you, - she said, and her voice sounded as dull, as if it were an invisible mask, too. - How much do I owe you

? - Present - dismissed the artist. - What's your name, Princess
? - Anya ...

He put his signature on the portrait and the name "Anya". And another day: the number of current and next year
. - Hold! The next summer, I am waiting for you. Come sure!

Mom took her portrait in her purse and quickly grabbed the child and walked away. It can be understood - perhaps she was hurt because she knew that next summer will not be. But he did not know anything, did not want to know! And he immediately began sketching picture - summer, Lane Masters, here he sits himself, but the alley two suited: Happy laughing woman and curly girl with a ball in his hands. < He worked enthusiastically new reality, he liked the fact that it turns out. A very realistic way! And, the year of write - next! To miracle knew where he was!

- Create the future? - With interest I asked someone quietly approached from behind

. He turned. There was a dazzling beauty, all so that you do not know what to call it. Angel, maybe? Only here the nose, perhaps longish.
- Learned? - Woman-angel smiled. - Once you have created my future. Now - that's the future of this girl. You are a true Creator! Thank you.
- Yes, what I the creator? - Escaped him. - Thus, the amateur painter, frustrated genius. They said that I have a talent from God, and I ... Malyuyu slowly, for detail, all trying to figure out what my calling.
- And you still do not understand? - Raised her eyebrows female angel. - < You can change the reality. Or is it not the vocation for you?
- I? To change reality? But is it possible?
- Why not? < To do this, not so much! I love for people. Talent. The power of faith. Actually, everything. And that you have Look at me -. Because with you it all started! Who was I? And who I am now?

She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder - as if dusted wings, smiled and went
. - Who are you now? - Belatedly he called after her
. - Angel! - She turned to go. - Thank you, Creator

! ... It can still be seen in the alley of the Masters. An old easel, folding high chair, briefcase with art supplies, large umbrella ... To him always turn the legend about him passed from mouth to mouth. < It is said that he sees a man that is hidden deep within, and can draw the future Do not just draw -. Change it for the better

. It is said also that he had saved a lot of sick children, moving them to the drawings in a different reality. He has disciples, and some have adopted his magical gift, and can also change the world. The most prominent among them curly blond girl of about fourteen, she is able to take pictures through the most severe pain, because he feels the pain of others as their own.

He teaches drawing, painting ... No one knows his name, everyone calls it simply - the Creator. < Well, here is a person calling.



Author: Elfika
Preview: Niken Anindita





via megatruh.deviantart.com/