"Excuse me, sir, I want this painting wrapped."
"Okay, I should inform the artist. She would like to talk to the buyer first."
"Oh. Never mind."
That autumn afternoon, I was casually spending my weekend at the largest city art gallery in the world. The gallery was big and filled with visitors, from teenagers to elderly people.
I wandered around, admiring various paintings by renowned artists. The works were astounding: "A Bird in The Scratched Cage," "Cat and The City," "A Wrecked Guitar." But there was one painting that captivated my attention, "A Tree in The Desert."
A Bird in The Scratched Cage. A bird inside a cage, perched on its bar with a sad expression. The color of the painting's drapery further intensifies the sadness. In fact, the cage is very beautiful. However, it is covered in scratches. Scratches from its claws and beak. It seems the bird is trying to escape. I understand. The bird is meant to fly free. Its happiness lies in the open air, not in captivity, no matter how beautiful the cage is. Humans are the same. If they are too restrained and overly limited, they will rebel because their freedom is being restricted.
Cat and The City. A cat walks along the sidewalk amidst the hustle and bustle of urban life. The people walking by are not clearly depicted because they move so quickly. Only the buildings, the lights, and the cat are clearly portrayed. It's amusing. Even though the cat is a cute and adorable creature, no one pays attention to it. I see this cat as a representation that, no matter how appealing we may be, people, in essence, won't care. We all live with our own concerns. Moreover, the sense of loneliness in this painting is palpable.
A Wrecked Guitar. A broken guitar, shattered, snapped, and in pieces. It was incomplete. Despair. Yes, despair. The shattering of hope. The destruction of dreams, to the point where the owner had destroyed the guitar completely. Every dream faces obstacles, no matter what they are or where they come from. But it doesn't mean we should give up. Even when others don't believe in our dreams, we must hold on to them. It's the only way they can come true.
And then there was A Tree in The Desert. The image...
"Hello, I'm Keiko. Do you want to buy this one?"
A beautiful Japanese woman, wearing glasses and stylish like an artist with her signature hat and a slightly hunched posture, approached, interrupting my thoughts. Her English was fluent, accented with the distinct charm of her home country. She cheerfully extended her hand for a handshake.
"Yeah, I like it."
I shook her hand.
"May I know why?"
"Do you need a reason?"
"I would love to know the reason, very much. Because this is my first sale. Everyone before you just looked and left. Hehe..."
"Oh, I see. It's a beautiful painting. Maybe they left because they didn't see what I see. They didn't feel what I feel."
For a moment, I was lost in the thoughts of my own struggles.
"So, what do you feel?"
"I feel a sense of hope in this painting, yet it feels impossible."
"Do you believe in 'nothing is impossible'?"
"I'm trying to."
I wasn't sure if I could. But this painting reflected exactly how I felt. I didn't expect it to heal me, but at least I would have a 'companion' to hang in my room.
"You're in pain."
"I'm sorry?"
Her words startled me. It was as if she understood the burden I was carrying. Was my expression that easy to read?
"You're in pain, but you're still fighting."
This woman, who wasn't much older than me, spoke seriously. I was silent, amazed at how she could know this.
"It doesn't matter how I know."
Again, it was as if she could read my thoughts.
"I apologize for being so straightforward. You can have this painting for free."
"Are you serious, or are you just being modest?"
She laughed as I turned her words back on her.
"No, you can't give your first sale away for free."
"If you insist, you can pay me later."
She took something out of her wallet.
"Here's my card. Just let me know when you're healed."
I took her card. Her name, phone number, and office address were written on it.
"Miss Murakami."
"Please, just call me Keiko."
"Keiko, I really appreciate this."
"That, you can tell me later, too."
The painting was promptly wrapped up neatly. I left the gallery with the square package in hand. Crossing the street on the zebra cross, suddenly... a car came speeding from the left and hit me. My body was thrown into the air. The painting flew and fell, breaking. I hit the ground, with my head hitting the asphalt first. I woke up, screaming.
***
It was 8 p.m. I had slept for three hours. Earlier that afternoon, after informing Sinta, I had run on the treadmill. My intention was to take a short break while watching the news, but I ended up falling asleep on the couch, still in my workout clothes, which had dried from the sweat.
It turns out I had been dreaming. A dream based on a memory. I do own that painting. I bought it three years ago, and now it hangs in my apartment in the capital city of my homeland. I brought it with me a month ago from the U.S. The painting is still in good condition, just as it was when I first bought it, because I've taken good care of it.
A Tree in The Desert. The painting lives up to its nameâa tree standing in the middle of a barren, dry desert. The sun shining down is scorching, but despite the harsh weather and climate, the tree thrives with lush, green leaves, pleasing to the eye. Impossible? Indeed. It's something that could never happen. A healthy tree typically grows in rich, fertile soil with adequate water. The artistâKeiko Murakamiâwas so brilliant in making this painting come alive, in such a realistic and vibrant way, on a vertical rectangular canvas.
I stared at the painting, reflecting. Thisfeeling, this pain, this wound in my heartâI don't know if it will ever heal,or if it will continue to scar and torment me. I have no idea how long it will last. It feels almost impossible to recover. At least the painting is there, to accompany me through these emotions. I can only hope that someday, I can belike the tree in the painting.