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“Give me paint. Give me more paint. Give me! Give me! Give me!”
The psychotic artist needed more paint. He was an old man, a cranky old oompa loompa who needed more paint. For 60 years he has been a crazed artist, and continues to be one until he died. His name was Leonardo. All the artists who knew him well respectfully called him “Loonardo.”
I first met Leonardo sitting in the middle of the sidewalk during a cold snowy day. The running faucet dripping snot all over his scarf did not bother this old man. His sharp piercing eyes and fuzzy peach mustache might have left a bad first impression but the unkempt style made this foolish old man unquestionably the greatest and respectable artist of all time. But when Leonardo decisively took me under his wing, I was in for a rude awakening.
As I watched Leonardo wave his 20 dollar brush in the dusty air and gingerly stroking the soft bristle brush against the canvas, his bony slim fingers started to shake instantaneously. “Whats wrong Leonardo?” I anxiously asked. “Are you cold? Should I turn the heat up?” He didnt respond. His fingers were still shaking while holding his brush firmly against the canvas. His frail body started to flop helplessly like a fish without water. He was losing control of his 20 dollar brush. His face was ghastly and after minutes of pain and suffering, his slim body finally broke down and died of a heart attack.
Squeaking of his angry voice asking for more paint was the last time I heard Leonardo speak. Though this respectable old man was impossible and hard to manage, he was still my mentor, my master who taught me the importance of art: Be strong until the last stroke.