Beautiful Art That Hurts and Haunts

I've read this story recently and it just wouldn't let me go, so I have decided to fill the gaps the way I can, by imagining the back story.

On a beautiful summer day in 1970, Leonard Bianco was excited to deliver his new painting personally. It was commissioned by a wealthy Manhattan woman who'd already splurged on an elaborate frame she selected for it, so Leonard knew she was good for the $4,000 she promised.

He needed the money because he'd just bought a new house for his young family and his irregular income was coming mostly from commissioned work. He'd labored on the painting for over four months, meticulously working on every detail of the subject's beautiful face. He was particularly proud of the colorful shawl, the way it draped over the body, and the entire composition. That flower bouquet could be a separate painting by itself.

When he rang the bell, the subject opened the door herself. She was a lot fuller since she posed for him last, and looked a little tired. But she seemed excited to see him with the painting.

"Please do come in," she said, leading him into the living room. She invited him to set the painting on a console next to a large window, and Leonard was grateful to the sunny day for excellent natural lighting. The painting's frame was standing next to the console, waiting.

Leonard unwrapped the painting from the brown postal paper it was in and set it on the console. When he stepped back, his subject moved to look at it closer. To Leonard, it was the most beautiful thing he painted in his life.

He looked at the woman and was horrified to see her looking at the painting with a slight expression of disgust and contempt. As an artist, Leonard couldn't have mistaken it for anything else.

"You don't like it?" he asked carefully.

"No," she said plainly, staring at the painting.

"May I ask why?"

"The background is too dark and brown like sh... And I look like I wear a curtain."

"But that's what you asked for, remember? We talked about the background color and you approved it. You also wanted to conceal your pregnancy and told me to put a shawl on you using a pattern from the curtain you liked."

"I guess that was a mistake. It looks like a high school graduation robe with my curtain sewn on top of it."

"But that is what you asked for!"

"I didn't think it would turn out this way. Also, I look... slouched, like I don't know how to sit with a straight back."

"But that's how you sat for me, trying to conceal your pregnancy!"

"You are the artist, you should have noticed and corrected for it."

She looked at the painting in silence for a minute or so. Leonard didn't know what to do, so he just waited.

"I don't look happy, do I?" she finally said.

"You didn't smile for me even once while posing. Besides, your beauty doesn't need to be highlighted with smiles."

"But did I have to look this wry, even condescending?"

"But that's what you really are, I haven't even realized that I captured it before you pointed it out just now," Leonard wanted to say but forced himself to ignore her question.

"But this is not even the main problem for me with this painting," she said, still looking at it intensely. Leonard started to have a bad feeling about the entire situation. It's as if she was deliberately trying to find faults.

"How old do you think I am?" she asked him, point blank.

"I don't know, ma'am... 32?" Leonard decided to be generous. To him, she looked 35.

"And that's exactly what you depicted in this 'masterpiece'," she said sternly and looked him in the eye. "I'm 24."

Leonard's heart sank. Knowing how peculiar wealthy beautiful women were about their age, he felt deflated and defeated. She looked at him for some time and finally said, "I don't know... I'll have to show this work to my husband, and he has the checkbook anyway. I'll call you."

Leonard never received his payment and never healed from the wound of self-doubt and rejection. He never got the painting back either.

P.S. We may never know why Leonard was never paid for his work and lived with this mystery until he died. We don't even know if a conversation like this even took place as he could have simply had the painting delivered. Neither we may ever find out why this masterpiece ended up tossed out like trash. But I'm happy it is now with the artist's son. For me, it was fun to try and come up with at least a fictional explanation for this mystery.

Thanks for reading! If you liked this, you might enjoy my other story where a model in the famous painting talks about it: