Naked Rainbow (BXB)

Prologue

It took seven, no eight... eight seconds before his hand finally pinch that colorful tip.

A series of devoted eyeing made him finally decide.

It is the one.

The last ground his brush has touched is the one.

It's a masterpiece.

C'est sa vie á 16 ans. (This is his life at 16.)

Surely one will think he's a painter.

But great fathers of rococo, he is more than that.

"Wonnnn-der bag !", Umugong ang kanyang manipis na tinig sa apat na sulok ng silid.

Batid ang pagod sa kanyang mukha, subalit ang sayang dulot ng natapos na pagpinta ay tila brotsang gumuhit sa kanyang mga labi. "Papa will be so glad to see you ! Hihi."

His eyes, their edges, are filled with lines of melancholy. Nobody tried to know what great sorrow left those periorbital puffs. And since he's just a boy, a fragile one, nobody even dared.

Nobody but one.

Kinuha niya ang garapon ng tubig at madaling isinawsaw doon ang armas sa pagkukulay. Kasabay ng pagkalat ng pula at kahel na ulap ng pinta sa pinaghugasan ay siya ring paglandas ng mga makukulay na marka sa kanyang malinis damit.

He's like a five year old, rubbing those fingers at the end of his white pajama up and down. The friction left marks of undiscovered innocence, but to other's eyes, maybe, those are just chafes of an annoying puerile mentality.

Shame to euphemism. But in our times, in the present zeitgeist, he's the one we are used to calling deranged, insane, a psycho, lunatic, ....crazy.

And this made him more than a painter, more than a regular one...

Hindi doon natapos ang trabaho ng munting pintor. Hindi sa paglilinis ng kamay nagwawakas ang tungkulin bilang lumikha, bagkus ay sa muling pagdumi nito sa paglapat ng pandama sa hulma at ganda ng obra.

Our little boy's touch feasted upon the coarseness of the unusual canvas. From those prominent jawlines covered with shades of red and orange to the left clavicle exposing the darker side of green, he fondled with amusement... with pure satisfaction.

Sa malayang paggapang ng kanyang daliri sa likhang di singnipis ng papel, hindi rin singtigas ng kahoy, siya'y umawit sa ritmo ng kasiyahan.

"Trois souris aveugles...

Trois souris aveugles...

Voyez comme elles courent...

Voyez comme elles courent..."

So all these things, all these gestures, this labyrinthine of descriptions, all leads to one truth--- he's an artist.
And as to be called one on his craft, he needs a work that speaks. In his case... 'literally speaks'...

Dahil ang sining ay siyensya ng bagong paglikha.

"Elles courent toutes après la femme du fermier...

Elle leur a coupé la queue avec un couteau de boucher...

Avez-vous jamais vu une scène aussi horrible...

Que trois souris aveugles..."

"What are you singing ?"

Napapitlag ang artista sa kanyang pagsamba. And the voice he just heard came from nowhere else other than his work.