Recently, I tried to get back into painting. I’ve drawn all my life, in a sketchbook here and a notebook doodle there, but never anything too serious. Until around high school I was tired of the white and grey of graphite and wanted to move to colored paint. I painted a few amateur works, but eventually like all things, life got in the way and I hung up my apron and brushes. However, recently I’ve been in a transitional period of my life and have had more time than I know what to do with. I had been pacing around my room one day, trying to solve what I would do for the entire rest of my life, and I noticed one of my old paintings hidden between a bookshelf and a wall. The racing thoughts began to calm and I went to rescue my old art from the crevice. I picked up the painting and blew three years’ worth of dust off the work. Beneath was a single small boat floating in the thick mist of the empty ocean. Seeing the painting again reminded me of how much joy I had gotten from this simple activity. It was like I was able to release everything that was inside me and put it into a work that I could hold in my hands. Then when I stopped it felt like I trapped it all inside me again.
I was supposed to go out to dinner that night, but instead, I dug through the closet looking for my easel and brushes. I bought more paints and canvases and set them up on the easel in the center of my room. The blank canvas stared back at me in my chair as I contemplated what should fill it. I reached for my pencil and it began to move on its own. At first, a circle appeared, and then two eyes followed. I watched as a body began to emerge from the white void with the silhouette of a human. The figure’s posture reminded me of Saturn Devouring His Son by Francisco Goya but with only Saturn looking directly at the viewer. With the sketch done, I began to paint. When I pushed out the first glob of black paint I felt a feeling of lightness. It was like a gust of cold air rushed into my nose, circled my stomach, and out my mouth. My eyes widened as I loaded my brush and made my first strokes. That rush I felt intensified as I began slashing my brush in every direction creating the background. It was a sky as black as the night with little stars. My brush moved to the center, ready to breathe life into the figure.
The black paint lightened with blue began to create the star of the show. My brush cast the first stroke to create the figure when I froze. A buzzing started to fill my head as I stared into the unpainted silhouette. Sweat began to pool on my upper lip and the room turned cold. The buzzing spread from my head to my hands and they started to tremble. It felt like my head was going to explode from the pressure like a shaken champagne bottle just ready to launch the cork. My eyes moved from my hands back to the painting and it just stared at me. The unfinished figure could see I was in pain and it just stared back at me like it didn’t even care. Soon my vision began to slip until everything was as black as the painting.
My eyes opened to see the carpet and my chair’s legs. A crust had formed on my eyes that was wiped away by my tired hands. I didn’t know if five minutes or five hours had passed or even if it was the same day. My back and joints popped as I rose from the floor to look at the clock that read a little past 3 am. I started to gather my surroundings and remembered my painting, but I looked at my easel and it was gone. My head turned to see the painting was finished and hanging on the wall in front of my bed, with the silhouette now completely black and with small white eyes. I didn’t think it was all that strange at the time. When I awoke, I felt considerably lighter than usual, like nothing mattered besides the present moment, as well as, still very tired. I didn’t bother myself with questions about how the painting got there or why I lost consciousness, I simply floated to my bed and fell into a deep sleep.
The land of dreamscapes formed around me and I opened my eyes to a dark wall. My back began to feel cold and wet as I heard the occasional water drop echo in the darkness. I watched the rough and dark ceiling dance with an orange flicker. My head raised to gather my surroundings. I placed my hands on the floor and the jagged rock bit gently into my palm as I rose. The dark rock continued all around me and I understood I was in a cave. Behind me, a small fire was lit, and its smoke blocked my view of the rest of the cave. I tried to look through the smoke and, where its cover was thin, I could see a figure. It was a dark figure with no discernible features except two small white eyes, like stars in the night. The figure moved toward me and the smoke blew in my face. The soot entered my eyes and they began to burn. I closed them and rubbed them hard to relieve the pain. When they opened again, I was in my bed.
My bedroom came back to me, barely twenty minutes after I laid down. I began to feel a tightness in my chest when I tried to inhale. The air didn’t enter my lungs. My chest didn’t even move. I looked down and before me was the figure from my dream. I looked past it to see the creature in my painting was missing. The figure sat upon my chest suffocating me. It sat about four feet tall and it lengthened even more so as it bent over me. Its two appendages reached down and wrapped its claws around my neck. The claws dug into my neck and I could feel the warm blood running down. I tried to push it off or even roll away, but my body was frozen. The claws deepened and its face got closer to mine. Its face was as black and as featureless as the night sky and with two eyes like stars. The figure looked at me without malice or any sense of purpose, it only reacted. Its face got closer to mine like it was an animal trying to eat me with no mouth. The thing’s face met mine and it was still as featureless as before. Its face continued to get closer to mine until it went through me. All I could see was the blackness of the inside of the figure’s face. It felt like I entered a void, but with pressure all around, and I went deeper and deeper in until I broke through.
It felt like my head had broken the surface after being underwater. I gasped and realized I could breathe. All around was still black, but it came with a sense of comfort like I was in my own little place to hide. By now I had forgotten the figure was even there, I was just happy to feel safe. Then I felt a sting on my neck and remembered the figure. With that whatever was below me began to suck me back down from where I came. I popped out of the thing’s face and saw he was still sitting on my chest. I tried to move again, but only the tip of my right pointer finger could. I wiggled and wiggled it until the tip became a finger, then a hand, and then an arm. With that, I swung at the figure, but my arm passed right through. The thing seemed surprised and it released its grip on my neck. The pressure on my chest lightened and I could almost breathe again. Then the thing just stood up and floated toward my dark closet. It floated far enough in until I could only see its eyes and then nothing.
Finally, I was able to get up and turn my lamp on. My throat felt dry and sore when I breathed in. I look down and see the blood on my sheets. My neck started to burn and I looked up at my painting. The picture was still just that of a background and the figure in my painting was gone. I got a few bandages for my neck and then took my painting into my backyard. The sun was just rising now and I threw the painting on the grass. I grabbed a handle of vodka and poured a bit out on the painting. I lit a match and watched the fire dance above my fingers before tossing it. The painting turned into a much bigger blue flame than I expected, but watching the fire lifted my mood a bit. A feeling of catharsis came over me watching the canvas burn. As the light of the fire died out, it was replaced by the glow of the morning’s sunrise. I looked back up to the sun and felt for the first time like I had countless opportunities to seize that day. That there was no limit to what I could accomplish. The only thing I didn’t want to do was paint anymore.