My Teacher, Monet

“A dolphin swimming in a vast ocean— no, a pink dolphin swimming in a vast ocea—a pink three eyed dolphin swimming in a vast ocean? Agh! Why is it so difficult to come up with something meaningful to paint?” Julissa barked at herself with a pink colored pencil in one hand and the other clenched in a fist.

“I’m an artist, I know I am, I always have. I know that I want to paint, I just don’t know what to paint. I need my art to speak to me.”

She sipped on the once icy lemonade her mom had left on the desk to refocus, then longingly strode about her home as if hoping to be confronted by an answer. She passed by the living room where she caught a glimpse of old comedy reruns, laughed at a response the protagonist made, and sat through the episode with her mother and Abuela. Later that night Julissa found herself near a closet that—while it hadn’t piqued her interest in the past—suddenly seemed of the utmost importance to open. In it were dusty boxes and piles of blankets.

“What did I think was in here?” She scoffed.

As she was about to close the door and call it a day, she paused at the sight of a faded green box placed neatly in the back. A box—come to think of it— she had never noticed before. One thing led to another and Julissa was in her room with a blanket over her head and a dusty green box in her hands. “What can you be?” She thought to herself. Inside the box laid a black leather book, beaten up and tattered, but in a loving way. As her small and delicate fingers flipped to the first page, her eyes felt to have grown in size.

Dear Marciana,

In this little black book, I have collected but a few of the events in which you have touched my heart. As you meet each page, I hope for you to experience the way you made me feel in each and every one of those moments. I paint, not for the sake of a scene that must be etched to remember (why, one could simply look at a photograph and feel completely satisfied) rather, it is the enrapturing feeling behind every scene that I must capture. Sunday, the 19th, we were at a lovely park with ripe oranges and a supremely blue sky. Only, that is not what I painted. I painted your laughter in the birds, the coy smile you’d flash in the oranges, and my boundless love for you in the sun. May each painting serve as a memory, distinctly from me, distinctly to you.

Love,

Claude

Before she could turn to the next page, Julissa heard her mother’s footsteps approaching. She shut the book, slid it under her bed, and slapped her face onto the pillow, demonstrating her greatest impression of “innocent girl in deep sleep.” Her mother peeked in and whispered through her smile, “Goodnight, my lovely Julissa.”

…

The next day at school, Claude’s message was all Julissa could think about and she couldn't help but tell her best friend, Natalie, at lunch.

“And basically this guy, Claude, was in love with my great grandma, Marciana!” They burst into an excited laughter.

“He loved to paint, just like me! He even said that he doesn't paint what he sees, he paints what he feels, or something like that.”

“Have you seen the paintings?” prompted Natalie.

“Not yet, my mom was about to bust me for being awake past 10:30. But I’ll find out tonight!”

The bell rang and off they went to class, only, one spent the hours thinking about math, science, and history, and the other, the contents of a little black book.

“Hi Mom! Hi Abuela!” “Bye Mom, Bye Abuela!” Julissa exclaimed as she darted through the front door, oblivious to the plate of apples and peanut butter her mother had prepared. “Nice to see you too, Juli!” Her mom replied from across the room. Sitting on the couch knitting, Abuela revealed a mischievous smirk. Julissa entered her room, flung her backpack off her body, and dove under her bed to retrieve the long awaited book. It’s as if the wind blew it to where she had left off the night before, and there it was, a painting. Julissa found herself perplexed at first notice. “It’s… colorful” She supposed, then looked deeper, and all at once, a sensation of intense magnetism and allure ran through her blood. The mix of purples blues and reds brought her to the exact mindset that Claude was in so many years ago. The quick brush strokes and dancing of colors attached emotion to environment and Julissa found herself entranced by what at first sight was a question mark. It was then that she understood what Claude had meant in the first page of the book.

Julissa stayed up most of the night, absorbing each page. It wasn’t until she was three fourths of the way through that her blinks slowed down to shut eye.

…

“Well, at first I was confused, and then, and then I felt happy! Happy in a mysterious kind of way. Like I was in Claude’s head. I knew exactly what he was thinking. All from a painting!”

“Whoa, I wish I could see into minds!” Natalie shouted.

“Haha I don’t know about that…but I think I can show you what’s in my mind, if I try.”

“Really? Would that make me a mindreader?”

“If that makes you happy, yes.”

“Consider me happy!”

The final bell rang and Julissa knew exactly what she was going to do when she got home.

“Hello apples and peanut butter, I am going to paint you. But first, I must know how you make me feel. Well, I feel hungry, and I want to eat you. But I won’t do that… yet. How do I draw hunger? Reds, yellows, green?” Julissa began experimenting, each stroke from the heart. Until she got something that made her feel…peckish? It wasn't her best, but she’s only just begun. Each day, Julissa would paint the way she felt about something. Whether it be a toothbrush or a sunset, her backpack or her dog, each painting was filled with a story. Her story. And before she knew it, Julissa had a collection of paintings unique to her.

….

“In this one you are excited, in this one you are upset, and in this one you are…hungry?”

“Yes!!” squealed Julissa.

“I’M A MINDREADER!!” Natalie howled.

They both sang in laughter

“The weird thing is, I feel like I’ve seen Claude’s paintings before.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I know, I don’t get it either. Anyway I’m almost done with the book, only a few unseen paintings left!”

The sun was setting, Julissa had just consumed an entire bowl of tomato soup, and she was ready to embrace the final pages of a book formerly owned by someone she has grown to call her friend. Carefully flipping to where she left off, Julissa gazed through the final pages with reverence and wonder, until she got to the final page. That’s when time seemed to have stood still.

A pond of blue and green scattered with lily pads and soft pink flowers sitting gently on its surface.

And over it, a perfectly happy teal bridge.

A million thoughts entered her head. First, bewilderment, shortly followed by doubt, and finally, an assured sense of confidence and divine gratitude.

“Claude is… Claude Monet.”

Julissa hugged the book with all her might, and fell asleep with it in her arms.

…

Julissa was working on a sketch of her window when Abuela approached and saw her collection of paintings dispersed around her room.

“Mija, there is something I need to tell you…

Your great grandmother wasn't a painter herself, but for that reason she was enamored by anyone who could paint. There is even a family rumor that she had a love affair with a great artist, who was it, Klimt, Picasso? I don't know.” She laughed. “But what I wanted to tell you is that she left something in her will reserved only for the artist in the family, whoever that may be. Her wish was to support them and their art as much as she could even when she’s not here. I always knew you loved to paint, but I didn't know how strong your love for it was. Now, after seeing your devotion and all these beautiful paintings… Julissa, it is you. You are the artist your great grandmother had been waiting for. Let’s open her will.”

Julissa’s heart skipped a beat as Abuela watched her read,

Beloved Artist,

I wish more than anything to see your art and tell you how much I admire you and what you do. But in the event that I am not able to do so, I have left you a sum of $20,000 in which I hope will help you in your efforts as an artist and assure you that I am by your side at every step. May your art be distinctly you.

Love,

Marciana

…

After hearing the news, Julissa, her mother, Abuela, and Natalie gathered for a celebratory dinner.

“Someone, think of something, anything! I bet I can guess it!” challenged Natalie.

“What?” Said Julissa’s mother.

“Natalie!” Julissa chortled.

“Never mind!” interrupted Natalie.

Julissa’s mother looked to Abuela who was busy scarfing down the chile verde.

“So, Juli, you are my daughter, but I have to ask, how do you do it? How do you create such beautiful artwork? Is there a secret?”

Julissa looked up with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Well, I couldn't have done it without my great grandma, and an old friend.”