Date: Tue, 5 Aug 2014 19:28:09 -0700
From: Ben Ezra Jacobson <ben_ezra_jacobson@yahoo.com>
Subject: new story - THE PAINTER

To my reading public: Please consider a generous contribution to the Nifty
Archive to keep this repository of stories functioning.  Thanks.

THE PAINTER
by
Ben Ezra Jacobson

     My name is Henry Scott Talley...Henry for my grandfather and Scott for
my dad...and surname Talley for a long list of ancestors who came to
America from Europe in the early 1700's.  I went by Scotty.  Grandfather
was a banker.  Dad was a medical doctor.  I disappointed them all and went
to college and majored in Art History thinking I would become a professor.
In the middle of my sophomore year, having taken several studio art
classes, I fell in love with painting.  There was a new product out called
acrylic paint which was water based and had a flexible characteristic as
well as being permanent...but did not require oil base cleaners to clean
brushes nor oil base mediums.  I was in heaven.  I took all the studio
classes I could squeeze into my schedule and on graduation...applied for
master's degree classes at a well known school in New England...where I
became acquainted with a guest artist named Andrew Wyeth.

     Wyeth was famous in America for his stark realism and admired as well
as criticized by the critics for lacking imagination.  It was obvious to
me, at least, that this criticism was unjustly founded.  I could recall an
instructor who said that if one wanted realism, go out and buy a camera.
The thing to paint was abstract where one could express themselves with
line, shape, color, and texture.  Having come from a long line of realist
thinkers...I thought that the abstract world was bull shit.  Those who
could...did.  Those who could not...painted abstracts.  And so it was, as a
free thinker, I delved into the world of realism.

     Before finishing my master's degree...it was good fortune to meet
another inspired man who recommended a marketing specialist for new
artists.  When I called upon this gentlemen...he helped me to connect with
several well known galleries to exhibit my work.  The one gallery with the
most interest was replete with pictures of nudes in provocative poses as
well as some extraordinary landscapes and seascapes.  The gallery director
was a middle aged man who had an air of authority.  Working with him, was
his son, John... who was as down to earth and out going, as his father was
nebulous and distant.  It was John, who took charge of my career.

     "Scotty...you have noticed that a lot of the pieces in our gallery are
nudes.  Believe it or not, they are our biggest sellers.  Many of the our
patrons, elite members of old New England families tend to buy the ones
that suggest Renaissance styles. We also place landscapes and a lot of
seascapes...but it is the paintings of nudes that capture the eye of our
patrons," John explained.

     "I am not surprised," I added.  "My grandfather and my dad were all
fond of the great master's works in Europe."
     "Do you also notice that most of the nudes are female," John asked
me..?

     "I did," I answered back, "which is not a great surprise."

     "Well what would you say if I told you that we have calls for
paintings of male nudes too, but we keep it under the table, you know.  The
American view point is that male nudes are pornographic...but the female
nudes are not," he told me.

     "That is not much of a surprise, is it," I asked?

     John again approached the subject, "Have you ever done any sketches of
male nudes or painted any canvases with male nudes," he asked?

     "Well, actually," I stammered... "I have."

     "Do you still have the sketches," John asked me?

     "A few of them," I replied, "but the canvases that I painted of the
male models, I sold immediately."

     "To the model," he asked.

     "Well, yes, as a matter of fact," I answered back, "But I still have
the sketches."

     "Might I suggest you bring them tomorrow and let me see them.  If they
are good, we might have you replicate some of them to display in the
gallery."

     "I guess I could do that," I responded.  "I could change the face so
the original participant wouldn't be out there for the world to see without
his permission."

     "I would very much like to see them, Scotty," he again told me.

      That night I rummaged through sketch books.  Fortunately I had dated
most of them and it took only a short time before I held the sketch book in
my hand.  When I had submitted them to my instructor...he had written `well
done' at the bottom of the page.  I realized that I got my highest grades
from him when I submitted sketched of naked males.  It did not take long to
figure out the reason behind that.


     Professor Wood was a man of average height...maybe five foot nine and
thin in his person.  He had long dark hair and a full beard and mustache.
He dressed mostly in dark colors...especially brown.  In winter he wore a
lot of turtle neck shirts that hugged his fit body.  I guessed him about
fifty years of age and was shocked to find out that he was not yet forty.
He bicycled to the university and in the evenings we would see him out
running.  Rumor had it that he also was once an Olympic swimmer.  I liked
him well enough...but he always seemed aloof.

     In Wood's class, pre-painting sketches were a must.  We had to submit
a sketch and he had to approve it.  Using my room mate as a model, I
sketched a scene with him lying naked on a bed while reading a text book.
Wood told me that he wanted to speak to me in private in his office while
the rest of the class was setting up their canvases on the studio easels.

     "Scotty...I have no problem with you painting the male nude you
sketched...but I am wondering if you should do so in class.  Our school
here is conservative...and the pose you have selected although not really
provocative...still might be considered improper.  Might I suggest your
painting him wearing swimming trunks?"

      "Well, gee professor...the problem with that is...  he is only here
for another week and then transfers to the Art Institute in Chicago.  Won't
I need a live model to get the color and contrast correct...not to mention
the texture of the skin," I responded.

     "Yes, I dare say you will...but one wearing trunks."

     His point was a good point.  I did not know what to say.  It was
obvious that I was not going to win this discussion.  He put his arm around
my shoulder and held it there for a moment.  Then released me and walked
back to his desk chair and sat down.

     "Professor," I queried, "why is a female nude acceptable and a male
nude is not.  If I painted a female...would I have to paint clothing on
her?"

     Professor Wood tapped his pencil on the desk top and a slight grin
cracked the corner of his face.  Had I backed him up against a wall?


      I stepped a step closer to him and asked, "Professor, if I painted a
female nude would you allow me to do it in class?"

     He smiled, "I know where you are going with this Scotty.  Let me think
about it over night...and I will give you my answer in the morning.  In the
mean time, go ahead and sketch in the outer shape of the person on your
canvas and you can start blocking in the background for today."

     I smile at him and nodded, "Yes sir...and thanks."

     "Scotty...I haven't given you permission yet.  Don't get your hopes
too high."

     I went back to my dorm room after class.  My room mate was sitting at
his desk...completely naked...finishing up his assignment.  He took off his
glasses and got up and stretched.  Closing his text book, he stretched out
on his bed.

     "Well, is Ol' Woodie going to let you paint a picture of me naked," he
asked with a laugh.

     "He's afraid it will be too provocative for this little conservative
school.  He said he would think about it tonight and let me know his answer
tomorrow," I responded.

     "If he wanted something really provocative, I could have lay on by
back and let you sketch my endowment into the scene," he said.

     "I wanted to paint a provocative nude not a porno painting," I
chuckled.

     "Admit it Scotty...how many students do you know who are hung better
than I am?"

     "Couldn't say Jeff...you are the only collegiate friend who I have
seen naked," I answered him back.

     "That buddy...is your misfortune," he said flinging his ink pen at me.
"It is an hour and a half until dinner in the dorm...want to suck my dick?"

     "Shut up...you perv.  It will be a cold day in hell before I do
anything that disgusting," I shot back at him...chuckling to myself.


      "That's what you always say...but one of these days...the right
temptation will come along...and you will give in," Jeff snapped back at
me.

     "I doubt it," I said, "But if it ever does...it won't be with you."

     "Why not...what's wrong with me," he shot back at me.

     "Nothing," I responded, but having you inside of me would be like
sitting on a baseball bat...and that would tear anybody up."

     "Not so," he said, "I have fucked several freshies in swimming class
and not one of them complained."

     "Good for them," I stammered... "but not me, buddy."

     "Then why did you ask me to pose for you...if you didn't want my
body," he asked.

     "I needed a virile specimen, and you were the only one who agreed to
pose."

     "How many guys did you ask," he questioned.

     I got up, grabbed my note book and text book for history class and
opened the door, "just one," I said and stepped out into the hall...closing
the door behind me.



     "Mr. Talley, may I see you in my office for a moment," Professor Wood
said to me as I entered his studio classroom.  "I spoke to the head of the
art department who in turn spoke to the dean about your painting subject
matter."

     Here it comes, I thought...he is going to shoot me down.

     "He says as long as the genitalia does not show, and it does not
suggest anything pornographic...you can do the nude-scape."

     I stood before him amazed.  This was not the answer I was expecting.

     "So Scotty...you can start to work...however, if your model is leaving
this school for the Chicago Art Institute, I would suggest finding a new
model.  Never the less...I will leave
 that to your own judgment."


     My head was still swimming.  I thanked Professor Wood and returned to
the classroom.

     "Well, what is the verdict," a red haired girl working at the easel
next to me asked.

     "The dean told the department head that I could paint a male nude as
long as I left the genitals out," I responded.

     "Shit...that would have been the best part...and you would want to
exaggerate the size," she winked.

     I smiled, and went to the store room for my canvas and paints.  If
Jeff was leaving for Chicago in three more days...it would be prudent to
find a new model candidate.  But, how does one walk up to a good looking
specimen and ask if he would pose for a nude painting.  I am rather fond of
my eyes and my teeth...and would not want the first blackened and the
latter knocked out of my mouth.

     "Gosh Scotty...I think the art department has models.  The department
pays some of them...and others work as a trade out for supplies and studio
time.  You might ask Ol' Wood about it," the red haired girl suggested.

     As it was...there were four male students who often posed for sketch
class...but did so in swimming trunks.  I spoke to all four...and none
seemed like what I was looking for in a model.

     "Scotty, why aren't the models suitable," said Professor Wood when I
reported back that none of the four models were right for what I was trying
to accomplish?

     "What is it specifically that your are wanting to accomplish?"

     "I didn't want someone reeking with sexuality," professor.  "I wanted
quiet dignity that suggests that if mankind is made in the image of
God...then we should not be ashamed of our bodies," I explained.

     "I see," he said.  "but let's not trouble God with our dilemma."

     I chuckled.


     "This is what I would suggest, Scotty.  When a good candidate is
located, cover his face with a wide brimmed hat...where you only see his
chin, neck, shoulders and torso.  To get some color contrast...use a a
green blanket on which to place the figure.  Can you tell me why I am
suggesting this?"

    "I think I can professor...the body skin tones will have a white base
with Cadmium red light and Naples yellow for flesh tones, burnt umber for
shadows and burnt sienna for shaded skin.  The compliment of the red tones
would be green."

     "Exactly," he respond.  "You're getting the picture Scotty.  Now
consider a dark background so there is contrast between the light skin of
the model.  Remember...if the contrast is correct...the colors will not
matter."

     I returned to the classroom once again excited about the project.  Now
if I could just find a model.



     The week passed quickly and Jeff was gone.  I had no new room mate so
the entire area was all mine for the present time.  Trying to use the
sketches of Jeff...suddenly did not seem accurate enough.  I had not found
a new model.  Even when I placed an advertisement in the University
newspaper...I had no takers.  Perhaps I should try to paint a horse or
maybe a still life?

     I caught Professor Wood in the hall of the art building before class
and in casual conversation...admitted that I had struck out on a model.

     "Did you tell the respective candidates that their face would be
covered by a wide brimmed hat," he asked?

     "No sir...because there weren't any candidates that responded to my
advertisement," I answered back.

     "I see," he responded.  "Scotty...do you have any plans for this
evening?

     "No sir," I responded.

      "I would like you to see some of the canvases hanging in my studio.
It might give you some ideas.  I will be home all evening, this
evening...why don't you pedal over after your last class...and let me
explain some of the tricks of the trade," he asked.

     "Gosh professor...I hate to bother you in your free time," I
responded.

     "Why," he answered back?  "My job is to teach you what I know and to
help you be successful.  If that means giving you an hour of my time after
school, it is worth it to see you succeed."

     "Ok," I stammered.  "What time do you want me there."

     "What time are you done for the day," he asked?

     "Four P.M.," I replied.

      "Then let's make it about 5:00 PM.  Do you know where my studio is,"
he asked..?

     "As a matter of fact, Sir...I do."

     "Good...I will be expecting you around 5:00 PM.

     He extended his hand to shake.  I shook his hand and hurried on to
class.




      On leaving my last class, I grabbed a sketch book and some pencils to
take a few notes when calling on the professor...and hurried past the local
burger joint for a cheese burger and a Coke...before arriving at his studio
at 5:00 PM sharp.

     "Ah Talley," he said...greeting me at the door.  "You're very
punctual."

     "Thank you sir," I responded.

     "Come in Scotty," he said.

     As soon as I stepped into his studio...I was amazed at the paintings
hanging on the walls.  They were very good.  It seemed like he had a lot of
sea scapes with ships...mostly tall ships from an age gone by.  His style
was a blend of realism and impressionism with out the fuzzy look of the
French impressionists.  He obviously had studied a great many styles of
painting and then settled on his own style...recognizable but not to the
point of being photographic.

     In the next room...which had likely once been a dining room of a
home...he had several nudes hanging on the walls.  Several were of young
ladies in a horizontal style.  At the end of the room was a painting of a
young boy maybe seventeen or eighteen years of age.  It was a vertical
canvas showing the model entering a room through a doorway.  The body was
painted in all it's glory.  Dark hair and dark eyes, athletic in pose and
right out in front for the world to see and enjoy...was a large endowment
protruding from a plethora of dark brown pubic hair.  My jaw must have
dropped.  The professor standing next to me laughed.  My face must have
turned red when he laughed.

     "What's the matter Scotty.  You've seen naked men before."

     "Yes, Sir, I have...but this painting is so good...it almost looks..."

     "Pornographic," asked the professor with a laugh?

     "No," I responded.  "It looks a lot like you, sir."

     "It is me Scotty.  I was seventeen years old and painted this as a
senior in high school."

     "It is amazing that you had such skill as a senior in high school," I
remarked.

     " I had an older brother who was in college.  He helped me with the
composition and some of the coloring," the professor said with a big grin.

     "You and he must have been very close," I said without thinking.

     "If you only knew," the professor said as he stared at my facial
expressions.

      "Professor...what did your family think of you painting this," I
asked..?
     "Well, my brother was all the family I had.  Our parents were
deceased.  He and I lived on the home place.  I finished high school and he
was a senior in college.  He graduated and supported me while I went to
college and graduated."

     "That's fantastic professor," I said.  "We all need family in our
lives."

     "Scotty...while we are away from the university...I would prefer, if
you call me Daniel."

     "Gosh professor...I grew up being taught that you always show older
people respect," I answered back.

     He laughed.  "Scott I am not an old, old man.  I am about 15 years
older than you...and that does not make me old."

     "Sorry Prof...Daniel," I stammered.  "I've just always struggled with
respect and titles."

     "Me too," he said, "But for an adult to be addressed by his title when
he is only a few years older than another adult...is kind of like keeping a
chasm between a friendship."

     "I never thought of it quite like that," I responded.

     "OK Scott," he said, "It is like this.  Off campus...we are friends.
Our age difference is of little concern.  I am going to speak to you as an
equal and expect the same courtesy from you.  Agreed?"

     "Yes sir...yes...Daniel," I answered back.

     Daniel stuck out his hand and shook mine.  I felt myself relax when he
had my hand in his.  It must have had the same effect on him because he was
almost unwilling to turn loose of it.  He put his hand on my shoulder and
turned me gently and ushered me into another room of his studio.  There I
saw some fantastic landscapes of his childhood home...and the surrounding
country side.

     "Where were these painted. Daniel," I asked?

     "Vermont," he replied.

     I walked over to a large landscape of an old covered bridge with an
autumn background.  I could see two boys under the bridge skinny dipping.
Daniel told me that the figures were he and his brother.

     "You were very close to your brother," I said thinking out loud.

     "I was," he returned.  "We had a very unique bond."

     "How so," I asked.

     "Well besides being my surrogate parent, he was also the one who
taught me about life and the pleasures of youth," he responded...with a big
smile.

     I instantly knew what he was speaking about.

     "He taught you about sex," I stated.

     "Yes, He taught me about it.  I learned about the feelings of intimacy
with him.  Does that shock you," he asked.

     "No," I responded.  "If we are honest...almost all of us learned by
experimenting."

     "Ours went beyond experimenting, Scott."

     I looked at him but said nothing.  If he elaborated...I wanted it to
be on his own terms.

     "I shared his bed from age ten when our parents died...and continued
to do so until I graduated from college at age twenty two," he shared.

     "Now are you shocked," he said with a laugh?

      "No," I responded.  "What happened to him Daniel.  Where is he now?"

      "Deceased," he said.  " He went to work in the west.  Some guys
figured out his persuasion when he never went out with women.  They caught
him out one night alone...and beat him so severely that he died from his
injuries.  His ashes are in the urn on my mantle...if you noticed it."


      At this admission...he covered his face with his hand and sunk into a
chair.

       On a compassionate instinct...I kneeled beside his chair and put my
hand on his shoulder.  He looked up...with a tearful red
face... embarrassed.

     "I'm sorry Scott.  I am still struggling with this.  Forgive me."

     "There isn't anything to forgive, Daniel.  You've had a great loss.

     He stood up and pulled a red bandanna type of handkerchief from his
pocket and blew his nose after wiping his eyes.

     "Thank you for understanding," he said.

     On impulse, I stood up and put my arms around him in an embrace.  He,
in turn, put his arms around my waist and held me tight.  There was a time
when I would have been very uncomfortable with this level of intimacy...but
listening to the story of his tragic loss...changed me somehow.

     "Thank you for your kindness and understanding," he said again...and
just before letting me go...he gave me a quick kiss on the side of the
cheek.  Not knowing how to react to that, I kissed him back.  He leaned
back a little bit and looked into my eyes.  I looked into his face and no
longer saw an old college professor...but saw a human being wounded with
the loss of someone he loved dearly.  In that instant...we became kindred
spirits.  We both leaned towards one another.  I do not recall which one of
us kissed the other first on the lips...but it was warm and it held my
attention.  Once more I embraced him and he reciprocated in kind.

     He took my hand with a squeeze and said, "Scott, I have kept you long
enough.  You surely have things to do beside hanging out here with me."

      I squeezed his hand again and said, looking him squarely in the face,
"Daniel, do you want me to go...and leave you alone."

     "Not really," he answered me back, "but if you stay...I may ..."

      "You may what," I asked him..?

      "I may not be able to let you go later," he responded.


     "What is wrong with that," I asked..?

     "Scotty...I have not shared my bed with another man in a long time,"
he started..."

      "And now you are afraid of opening your heart to someone new," I
suggested.

      "Yes, especially if later on, he decides he does not want me," Daniel
said.

      "Then let's just share your bed as two friends...with no demands on
the other," I suggested.

     He stared into my eyes for a lengthy time and then said, "I am almost
afraid of this Scotty...but I feel like I can trust you."

     The clock on the mantle was chiming ten o'clock.  Daniel took me by
the hand, after turning out the lights of the studio and led me upstairs to
his bed room.  He slowly undressed me...looking at the curvature of my
body, touching my skin and running his fingers through the hair on my body.
I became aroused very quickly.  Standing before him naked...I slowly began
to undress him and to touch his body.  He too became very aroused.  He may
have been the chronological age of 38...but with his clothing
removed...standing before me naked...I saw the young man on the canvas
downstairs with the nice endowment and the dark brown hair.