I have always been an art enthusiast. I think I have inherited from my grandmother. She was a painter for many years, and tried her best to instill in me the love of fine arts. I have many fond memories of visits to museums and galleries with him, who see countless beautiful and thoughtful provocative pieces.
Sculpture and photography were good, but I always had a special place in my heart for paintings. Especially old oil paintings. It is difficult to explain. There is a special property for pictures that you can only appreciate with your eyes in person. Photos do not judge them. The way light goes away with oil, and leaps back into your eyes, gives them a kind of life that no other medium can do.
By the way, I loved oil paintings, I was never much better. As a child, my grandmother tried to give me a lesson. She is making a breathtaking scenery, while the only thing I managed to make was a huge mess.
Despite my apparent lack of talent in the oil painting department, it didn't diminish my love for the craft one bit. My grandmother had a room dedicated to the paintings she made or collected, which she dubbed the "Gallery". I spent hour after hour in that room staring in wonder.
Even though I was a child, my grandmother had no problem leaving me alone in a room with thousands of dollars worth of paintings. She knew I had so much respect for her that I couldn't harm her, even as a bouncy little girl. However, he had one rule that had to be strictly followed at all times in the gallery: if any paintings in the gallery are covered, you are not to expose them. Not even to peek.
Now some may consider this a strange rule, I definitely did as a girl, but there is reason behind it. Oil paints are very sensitive, and it is possible that the pieces they covered could be damaged when exposed to light, or various other factors.
But regardless of the reasoning, I made sure to follow that rule. Or at least I did, until the day my grandma got her latest piece.
I remember arriving at my grandmother's house for a visit and running straight to the gallery. I rounded the corner in the room when I was forced to stop. There, in the center of the room, was an incredibly large painting, supported by an easel and covered by a long, black curtain.
I had never seen that piece before, and its sheer size amazed me. My curiosity got the better of me for a moment, and I found myself slowly reaching out a tiny hand to unveil the mysterious piece. But as soon as my hand grasped the dark velvet, my grandmother entered the room wearing a frown.
"What are you doing, Evelyn? You know the rule about covered paintings!"
My hand immediately came back to me and I felt dizzy at the realization of my actions.
"I'm sorry grandma. I forgot. This painting, it's huge! What is this?!"
My grandmother's expression softened and she placed a hand on my shoulder.
"This painting was just given to me by a friend. His sick sister painted it shortly before she passed away. She said she couldn't bear to look at it because it made her so sad, so she gave it to me. "
"Can I see it?" I asked
"Maybe later. It's very sensitive because it's in bad shape. I'm going to try to preserve it though. After I'm done, I'll let you see it like everyone else." she replied warmly.
Even though my curiosity was not satiated, I agreed and resigned myself to seeing all the other pieces in the gallery. Satisfied that I would no longer be up to any mischief, my grandmother returned to the living room.
I lay there on the soft plush carpet, gazing at the works of art until I lost my mind. I knew how bad it was to disobey my grandmother, yet my curiosity kept burning in my chest. I had already seen every piece in the gallery in detail, and was getting restless. I had to see what was under the curtain.
