the eyes
by J.T. Whitehead
The leaders occupied a council, and the villagers wanted a tribute to the Founder, so the council members voted for an artwork. They determined to go about the village themselves, if needed, and to hire others in their stead, in search of someone whose eyes, and whose hands, could capture an image of the Founder in such a way that it might constitute a tribute.
Baron Kraig was the first to find the artist that the elders eventually selected. He was out walking with his wife, who was a very demanding woman in her way, because she always wanted fine things for them and their home, which, of course, Baron Kraig always forgave, since, naturally, one should want such things for one’s self and, especially, one’s family. And anyone who knew Baron Kraig personally would not have been surprised, in the least, to learn that his search for a painter was what led the village to the tribute for which they had voted. His eyes, bridged by bushy eyebrows that resembled the kinds of hedgerows that enemy troops cannot cut through without the kind of effort that precludes a victory, were like fiery coals, both black and bright at the same time, with a strange halo about them that resembled the red of a dying fire. Those eyes were always darting, here and there, and those in the council were always uncomfortable when their eyes met his.
The painting that the council of elders sought, in response to the wishes of the members of the village, as they had voted for it, was meant to depict the great teacher, The Founder. He was the originator of their belief system. Other villages, many days away, as days were how distances was measured, had their own belief systems, and surely their own Founders. The teachings were a model, an aim, as Baron Kraig’s villagers understood those teachings. This was how they were taught: what we strive for but never reach. Failings were expected, according to the teachings themselves.
At this time, on this day, Baron Kraig had not failed. His wife, Juliette, saw the painter first. On this day, her hair was blonde, and Baron Kraig found himself falling in love again as he saw the sun, also blond, in its own way, kiss her hair and make it all the brighter. On other days her hair was red, on others, brown. They had a servant girl, Sara, and she was expert at grounding up spices, flowers, and grasses, and mixing them, and making dyes. Today, Sara had not only made Baron Kraig’s wife’s hair blonde. She also directed their walk, by her instructions, to the painter who could best paint the Founder. That painter was Sara’s secret love. His name was Kris.
Kris was already painting the teacher. He was already in the process of painting that moment when the Founder’s teachings were first received, when some believed, and some doubted. The teacher had taught humility and he had taught his fellow villagers to shun worldly possessions. When Baron Kraig, and his wife, now blonde-haired, yesterday brown, red at another time, found Kris, he was putting his brush to the canvass, and trying to capture the Founder as he could best envision him. Kris tried to capture Him perfectly, as He stood at the square, where all purveyors of new ideas present their thoughts, and where He taught them all to give privilege to matters of the spirit, meaning their well-being and peace of mind. Kris was painting Him as He merely tried to prove, according to his detractors, and as He actually proved, according to his followers, that their well being was derivative of their sense of community and the care they showed one another.
When Baron Kraig, and his blonde wife Juliette, found Kris on the outskirts of the village, working just outside his hut, the painting was already near completion. The painter had already toiled over the painting for months, even years. When they informed him of their mission, he was not ecstatic. He was relieved. He just kept painting. When it was finished, the Baron Kraig and his wife, now black-haired, were so smitten by its beauty that they obsessed over it. The Baron, who was an elder man, many years older than his wife, silver haired and ignoring death, could not stop thinking about it. And his wife, who was always changing her appearance, could not stop thinking about the painting either.
The two of them planned schemes to house the painting in their own home. One day seemed fitting, and after that, any day did. This particular one was a beautiful fall day. The leaves in the sun were a glistening red, a glistening gold, and Baron Kraig and his wife, Juliette, looked out upon their manor, and realized what they wanted and what they believed they deserved. They spoke about how wonderful the painting, the painting of the Founder, would look along the wall between their windows, those windows that showed nature’s gold and red beauty.
Baron Kraig wanted the painting in his home. His wife, Juliette, wanted the painting in their home. Her urge was stronger than his, and she made that clear to the Baron. Her lips were too red and her charms were too practiced. He could not resist her wishes. He proposed hosting the meetings of the council. The painting would hang in the building where the council met, and where all citizens could come to view it, even if they were not called to court. By hosting those meetings, the painting would have been transferred from the building all villagers shared, for such functions, and moved to the Baron’s home.
So Baron Kraig, at the urging of his wife Juliette, suggested that he host all of the functions which involved the passing of laws. He informed the other nobles on the council that he would personally pay the cost it required to add a wing to his home, so that the elected officials who first vote on the citizens’ wishes no longer need, or that the villagers no longer have to pay for, such a building. Paying for it, he believed that the rest of the leaders would allow him to house the painting.
But the painting was so beautiful, when finished, that the other nobles had no intention of ever placing it anywhere other than the one building where most of the Village’s governmental functions were carried out. As for the Baron’s insistence on moving the painting, the other nobles were beginning to see through him. They voted against every proposal he put forward, including his last, whereby he proposed building, and, as a result of building it, owning, the building in which the judges could hear their cases. Everything he proposed, he proposed it in an effort to justify making the artwork his possession.
All of his proposals were voted down.
Baron Kraig became truly obsessed with the painting of the Founder. One day the roses were in bloom and the gardens that were landscaped about the Village were so beautifully laid out, in reds, whites, yellows, that the entire Village resembled a painting, the kind in which the colors themselves lift the spirit regardless of the subject. The moon that night reflected elegantly on the lake near the West end of the Village, where the homes ended, making a subtle and silver sheen. A meteor shower peppered the sky in reverse, white on a dark blue that resembled a black, and all of the Villagers came out for it, to see how life plays out when life itself is a painter. There were other sights, all day, noticed by those who understood the Founder’s teachings, and who had studied him enough to appreciate life’s wonder. But Baron Kraig noticed none of those sights. It was as if he was wearing a blindfold, and in his dark mind, all he could think about was what he had to do to own that painting.
Baron Kraig resorted to employing barristers from the criminal courts, paying them their retainer, and assigning them the tasks of introducing him to convicted thieves who were soon to be released, so that he could recruit their assistance in obtaining the painting. So there he was, a Baron, having discussions in his office in the cedar constructed building, with a former convict. The building where the lawmakers worked was made of cedar so that the waft of any smell was always pleasant. Now the Baron, Kraig, sat across, invariably, from someone who smelled. But his obsession with the painting was so great that he belittled himself, and lowered himself, so much, that he was willing to recruit the assistance of criminals.
Some of them asked him for a description of the painting, telling him that they did not want to make off with the wrong one. In truth, Baron Kraig could not describe the painting as well as he could have described his reaction to it. He was like one of those patrons at the theater who cannot tell you anything about the play, or its plot, but who insists that they were entertained. He saw the painting once and wanted it, and that was his new drive. When the criminals asked for more he just asked them to go to the building where the ruling government met, and look at the painting.
This also backfired. Some smithy, and some children, and a shoemaker, all informed others that Baron Kraig had been hosting a number of men who had been released from their prison terms. Others, in the council, were now aware of it. The Baron’s plot was dead. Members of the council now truly suspected that he was making efforts to usurp possession of the artwork.
But the Baron kept telling the potential thieves that they should try to acquire it, and when they asked him for a description, every time, he could only say that it was the epitome of beauty. Baron, Kraig, who could only covet the work, lacked the discerning eye needed to recognize its details.
If viewed by anyone in the Village who doubted the teachings of the Founder, the art would be easy to describe. The doubters, who were neither opponents, nor believers, neither detractors, nor followers, could simply see it. But the painting depicted both followers and detractors of the great Founder at the time of his life, so to say “follower” or “detractor” in the Village meant something significant.
The followers, as depicted in the painting, had faces full of sorrow as the Founder was being led into Court, where he would be tried. The faces of the detractors were angry. They wanted blood, or revenge, or something violent. The Founder was being led off, to Court, and the painter put the detractors and followers in a crowd, among one another, which was more realistic. Unbeknownst to the Villagers, he placed them according to his own judgment of their own character. In the lower left corner of his painting, the one the Baron never obtained, in a place that coincided with the location of the Baron’s home in the Village, he painted a detractor with the face of the Baron.
The painter placed his followers and detractors all over the painting, with faces that resembled Villagers. He placed, in the painting, faces where homes would be located on maps. A believer’s face was captured by him, on the face of a “follower,” in his painting, in the same place where their home would be found on a map. The entire painting was populated in this way. If one treated it as a map, then detractors and followers would all be located, their faces would all be located, around the Founder, in a manner that perfectly resembled the Village map. The lower left corner coincided with Baron Kraig’s home.
In that corner of the painting, the painter painted a man who resembled the Baron, with the same lustful and covetous eyes, the same gluttonous belly, the same bushy eyebrows, the same red-eyed and focused stare.
It was the only face the Baron never noticed whenever he gazed on the painting.
And this is why he wanted it.