Canvas of Shadows

14

"That's everything I have to confess," I stated calmly.

An hour earlier, the police had entered my secluded studio in the west wing of the art academy to find a peculiar scene: one living person, a dead body, and two distinct paintings.

The first painting, originally titled "Goddess," had been renamed "Mother." The second was called "Son."

In "Mother," a woman is depicted leaning down, her hand extended in a protective gesture. "Son" shows a child fallen, reaching upward, yearning for that maternal safeguard.

Both figures are oriented outward, away from the frame, creating an interaction where, when placed facing each other, the mother above and the son below, their gazes finally meet, completing the narrative.

"The story behind these paintings?" a police officer inquired.

"A mother boards a train leaving home, leaning out the window to offer one last gesture of comfort to her child. The child, in pursuit, falls and can only extend a hand in vain toward the departing figure of his mother."

"It's based on a journalist's story," another officer noted before instructing me to prepare for departure.

As we approached the exit, one officer, seemingly unsatisfied, asked, "So, were they actually mother and son?"

"All I can offer is my intuition, which suggests they were," I replied. "However, I do wish for a scientific confirmation, a DNA test to verify their relationship. That would indeed bring closure, but I'll need your assistance for that."

The officer shook his head. "Impossible. The woman you claim died that Christmas, her body was never found, making verification unfeasible. I'm inclined to believe she's a figment of your imagination."

"She was real," I asserted firmly. "That night on the balcony, as I reached out to catch snowflakes, two drops of her blood fell into my palm. That was the beginning of this tale, and it should rightly be its end."

"The blood is there, on my paintings. I'd appreciate it if you could have it tested."

Previous page:

13