Thursday, 18 August 2011

  
40


The most interesting aspect of all the paintings was that Kamal had taken special care, not to paint the face of his subject. None of the 20 paintings carried the face. They were the paintings of the lady with no face. Those were his masterpieces, depicting his talent. Kamal was very pleased seeing the visitors perturbed, and asking him again and again the same question. “Who is she and why he painted her without her face,” They were asking. Kamal, just laughed every time when such a question was raised.

In one canvas, his lady without the face was sitting on a chair. Whole of his body was masterly painted, but she had put the book in front of her face, so her face was not hidden. In another one, she was sitting with her back towards the artist. In yet another, she had thrown her long black hair on her face. On another side of the hall, in another canvas, she had covered her face with a piece of clothe.

In every canvas, Kamal had succeeded in hiding her face, so superbly that every time, it looked so natural that nobody had found any painting tasteless. They were not incomplete in any sense.

“Why you didn’t paint her face, particularly when you are a portrait artist,” he was asked. “Yes, I know what I have painted. But my model didn’t have a face at all,” he
replied, keeping his audience perplexed. Was he trying to be funny? But he was indeed very serious when he said that his model did not have any face at all. He had painted his Applegreen, his pink lady, who did not have any face on her profile.
              
 


                                       CHAPTER 10



“Salam un alaikum”, came the voice which abruptly brought the two artists, out of their thoughts. Mehmet was entering the studio. He must have been the last person to be expected to enter into the picture, at the so crucial time.  The glass door closed back smoothly behind him. Both Ferit and Kamal, looked, with equally measurable expression of astonishment on their faces. The photo of the two tulips was still lying on the table. With tea glasses in their hands both of them appeared frozen. They had never thought of somebody entering into the picture, like that.

Dressed in his favorite half sleeved white shirt and the black pent, Mehmet was standing right in front of them, in middle of the studio. “Hoshgeldiniz”, Ferit said.

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