Life Through Gilded Eyes
Published in "Arts and Letters" magazine 2010
Imagine a world where everything you see is trimmed in gold, a world where even the darkest of clouds pales in comparison to its brilliant silver lining. Imagine a world where you yourself have been dealt a hand that most would consider “unfortunate”.
Most, but not you.
All you see are the gold trimmings and the silver linings. In this gilded world, thoughts are simple and the glass is always half full.
Unfortunately, I do not live in this world, but I was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of it. Someone very special to me opened the door, if only for a moment, and showed me that world, the world in which he lives.
I’d like to introduce you to David. David with the easy smile and kind, laughing eyes. David is an artist, a painter in fact. I befriended him when he came into the children’s store where I worked. He was impressed with the newly opened store and told me that he was an artist, painting magical things like fairies and unicorns. “Stuff kids like.” He said.
We hired him to paint a mural on the wall of the store, in the children’s play area. Upon arriving for his first day of work, David’s face simply glowed with excitement. As he stared at the wall that would be his canvas, I could all but see the images of his future creations dancing behind those happy eyes.
He worked at his own pace; an hour here, a few more there, and each time he arrived to paint, I would chat with him. “You’re a nice person.” He told me with a grin. “You have a good heart.”
“Thank you.” I said, taken aback by how deeply his simple statement had affected me. I think it’s because I knew that he meant what he said. There were no pretentious undertones or ulterior motives. He was genuine, and I felt that.
Each stage of his creation amazed me, from the crude outlines (I must admit that they worried me at first), to the shading and the highlights and the finest details. Fairies took flight, dragons coiled menacingly around trees and castles loomed large at the misty blue horizon.
We became friends, David and I.
He spoke of his family and where he grew up. He had a cat and an apartment of his own. Nice things to know, but I could still tell that he was holding back.
When his masterpiece was nearly complete, he confided in me that he had a ladylove in his life. Her name was Karen. He said that Karen was a brilliant poet and had won an award to prove it. With great joy he revealed to me that he and Karen had grown up together, gone to school together and that he’d loved her since they were children. Seeing that kind of joy made my heart skip a beat, and I soaked up his words and his sentiment.
“She was special, like me.” He said, searching for his next words. “I don’t know if you knew it, but I have a learning disability, and Karen too.”
Yes, I knew, of course. It didn’t affect my friendship with him, but in my non-gilded eyes, it made me all that much more impressed with his painting talent.
My husband works with the developmentally disabled community and
I knew that somehow, David fit into that broad and largely misunderstood category. I felt pride for David’s sake that he was able to live independently, get around as he needed to, and that he had such a special gift in the ability to draw and paint.
“I’ll bring you a picture of her; of Karen, the next time I come, okay?” David said as he toted his paint-splattered case under his arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow came and as promised, he presented me with some pictures of his true love, as well as a few of the poems she’d written.
“That’s Karen. That’s my Karen.” He pointed, unable to catch his excitable breath. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Oh, David.” I replied with a heartfelt smile. “She’s just lovely.”
“I asked her to marry me. I wanted to spend my life with her.” He said as the smile washed from his rosy cheeks. “She…She told me ‘no’. She wouldn’t marry me.”
Before I could reply, he spoke again.
“She passed away last year. She was fifty-two years old, but she was so beautiful and I loved her.”
My heart broke for him. As I commiserated with him, I rubbed his arm. I could tell how deeply it hurt him, but in an instant, his unfailing happiness returned. “I want you to read her poems. They’re really great, but don’t read them until you get home.” He said, the sparkling laughter returning to his eyes as if he’d just given me a Christmas present.
“Alright, David.” I said. “I’ll wait until I get home.” And I did. After reading Karen’s uncomplicated prose about animals and astronauts, I felt compelled to tell their story, the love story of David and Karen. Theirs is the unsung triumph of the human heart, the human spirit and the gift of talent where the rest of the world sees only misfortune.
On the contrary, we could learn a lot from David and Karen. They have more than the rest of us could ever dream of. They see the world as it should be seen, a gilded world full of love and possibilities.
Published in "Arts and Letters" magazine 2010
Imagine a world where everything you see is trimmed in gold, a world where even the darkest of clouds pales in comparison to its brilliant silver lining. Imagine a world where you yourself have been dealt a hand that most would consider “unfortunate”.
Most, but not you.
All you see are the gold trimmings and the silver linings. In this gilded world, thoughts are simple and the glass is always half full.
Unfortunately, I do not live in this world, but I was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of it. Someone very special to me opened the door, if only for a moment, and showed me that world, the world in which he lives.
I’d like to introduce you to David. David with the easy smile and kind, laughing eyes. David is an artist, a painter in fact. I befriended him when he came into the children’s store where I worked. He was impressed with the newly opened store and told me that he was an artist, painting magical things like fairies and unicorns. “Stuff kids like.” He said.
We hired him to paint a mural on the wall of the store, in the children’s play area. Upon arriving for his first day of work, David’s face simply glowed with excitement. As he stared at the wall that would be his canvas, I could all but see the images of his future creations dancing behind those happy eyes.
He worked at his own pace; an hour here, a few more there, and each time he arrived to paint, I would chat with him. “You’re a nice person.” He told me with a grin. “You have a good heart.”
“Thank you.” I said, taken aback by how deeply his simple statement had affected me. I think it’s because I knew that he meant what he said. There were no pretentious undertones or ulterior motives. He was genuine, and I felt that.
Each stage of his creation amazed me, from the crude outlines (I must admit that they worried me at first), to the shading and the highlights and the finest details. Fairies took flight, dragons coiled menacingly around trees and castles loomed large at the misty blue horizon.
We became friends, David and I.
He spoke of his family and where he grew up. He had a cat and an apartment of his own. Nice things to know, but I could still tell that he was holding back.
When his masterpiece was nearly complete, he confided in me that he had a ladylove in his life. Her name was Karen. He said that Karen was a brilliant poet and had won an award to prove it. With great joy he revealed to me that he and Karen had grown up together, gone to school together and that he’d loved her since they were children. Seeing that kind of joy made my heart skip a beat, and I soaked up his words and his sentiment.
“She was special, like me.” He said, searching for his next words. “I don’t know if you knew it, but I have a learning disability, and Karen too.”
Yes, I knew, of course. It didn’t affect my friendship with him, but in my non-gilded eyes, it made me all that much more impressed with his painting talent.
My husband works with the developmentally disabled community and
I knew that somehow, David fit into that broad and largely misunderstood category. I felt pride for David’s sake that he was able to live independently, get around as he needed to, and that he had such a special gift in the ability to draw and paint.
“I’ll bring you a picture of her; of Karen, the next time I come, okay?” David said as he toted his paint-splattered case under his arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow came and as promised, he presented me with some pictures of his true love, as well as a few of the poems she’d written.
“That’s Karen. That’s my Karen.” He pointed, unable to catch his excitable breath. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Oh, David.” I replied with a heartfelt smile. “She’s just lovely.”
“I asked her to marry me. I wanted to spend my life with her.” He said as the smile washed from his rosy cheeks. “She…She told me ‘no’. She wouldn’t marry me.”
Before I could reply, he spoke again.
“She passed away last year. She was fifty-two years old, but she was so beautiful and I loved her.”
My heart broke for him. As I commiserated with him, I rubbed his arm. I could tell how deeply it hurt him, but in an instant, his unfailing happiness returned. “I want you to read her poems. They’re really great, but don’t read them until you get home.” He said, the sparkling laughter returning to his eyes as if he’d just given me a Christmas present.
“Alright, David.” I said. “I’ll wait until I get home.” And I did. After reading Karen’s uncomplicated prose about animals and astronauts, I felt compelled to tell their story, the love story of David and Karen. Theirs is the unsung triumph of the human heart, the human spirit and the gift of talent where the rest of the world sees only misfortune.
On the contrary, we could learn a lot from David and Karen. They have more than the rest of us could ever dream of. They see the world as it should be seen, a gilded world full of love and possibilities.
Content copyright (c) Jennifer B. Fields 2010-2017