Once upon a time there was an amateur painter looking for inspiration which could change his life forever. He searched and searched around but nothing was worth his attention. Exhausted and hopeless the painter sought comfort in God. While leaving the church, he witnessed what could have been considered a miracle: a man of tall stature, sharp jaw lines, fervent blue eyes and reverent countenance. An Angel, he thought. Astonished by his impeccable beauty and soft mannerisms, the painter requested the nobleman to be his muse. After the completion of the painting which he named “The Angel”, the painter became an instantaneous trend. Fame, wealth, he had it all. But happiness couldn’t last longer as new prominent artists were competing for his spot. Soon he found himself lost, confused with no creativity, relying on alcohol to relieve his stress.
One day, after several shots, he saw a scruffy man with tousled hair, torn clothes shouting and begging for food. Feeling sympathetic, he sat next to the man and offered his meal.
“What put you through this?” Asked the painter.
“Loss of my faith in God. I was a devout Christian my whole life. As life progressed my struggles began to get worse. I was at the point where I was about to lose everything: my job, my house my family… And I prayed for it. I asked God for help. Nothing happened but the inevitable, I’ve lost everything I had and loved. Again I prayed, I figured that perhaps this was just God testing my faith. The randomness of life and reality is exactly what an ungoverned universe looks like. If there is a God, he will have to beg my forgiveness.” After a long pause the man continued:
“I may have a shattered soul, but I see no soul in your eyes. What brought you here?”
“I lost my faith too but in myself. I was the most famous painter of my town but nowadays there are equally or more talented artists than me. I no longer exceeded expectations, not mine nor theirs. My perpetual struggle to look for external validations, which I was accustomed to, led me to the loss of my own individuality. I have no identity besides making people proud of me. I left painting to look for a new inspiration to portray and fight my inner demons. Nowadays, I only rely on this to comfort me during my hard times.” He then took out his small portrait of the Angel . The scruffy man started glaring deeply at the beautiful face of the nobleman. Suddenly, he started crying while caressing the Angel’s face. The painter unable to comprehend the man’s reaction said:
“I have never seen anyone crying so sincerely at my painting. You brought me joy old man! Beautiful isn’t it?”
“Yes, he was.”
“He was? Old man, perhaps do you know him?”
“He was a dear old friend of mine”
“Really? What happened to him? Where is he now?”
“My friend…I was the muse of your painting”
“I don’t understand…” the man held the painter’s hand and whispered
“I am your fallen Angel. Your Demon.”
~This is a little story I was told while I was in my high school in Italy. I couldn’t find any references for the story so I adapted to my own story. Why did I write this? Maybe because I am both the Fallen Angel and the Painter~