Capturing Someone's Essence

Looking across the large, open green field as I walk around the ponds, I see the Rocky Mountains in the distance. This really is a beautiful place to live and this is my view every day when I walk. I feel fortunate and even blessed. I walk them every morning, to clear my head of my dreams. They invade me so deeply that the crisp air helps to clear them from my head, but they seem to stay in my soul.

I sit down on the bench overlooking the pond and the black and white ducks that have recently taken up residence here. They play, eat, watch for danger, and truly live in the moment. My counselor tells me to live in the moment more, that my reality is too much based in my dream world. Isn't that what I am doing? I'm not on my cell phone, I'm appreciating nature, I'm walking for my health.

I go to stand but then see a black book under the bench. I kick it out with my foot and reach down to look at it. It looks like someone's sketchpad. I open it to find page after page of truly amazing pencil drawings. Portraits of people done so simply yet masterfully with just pencil. I flip through the pages, engrossed.

How can someone capture the essence of another person so completely? The facial expressions, the thoughts behind the eyes, the soul deep feelings these people seem to be conveying with their look. It truly feels like they are in fact looking right at me. Imploring me to listen to their stories.

Completely submerged in the pages, I have no idea how much time passes as I flip through these portraits, each one unique. Each person on the verge of exposing their deepest selves to me. Each one leaving me wondering who they are, how they came to be in this notebook, how I can learn more about them. Loving the layers of grey and also wishing I could see the colors of their eyes, skin, and hair.

This sketchpad must be really important to someone. I look inside the covers and flip through the remaining blank pages. Nothing. I stand up again to leave, looking around to see if anything else is on the ground, and I see a business card. I pick it up and see that it is to a gallery downtown. Maybe the artist has pieces there, or they at least know who this notebook belongs to.

Later that day I drive downtown and find the gallery. It is closed. I get out of my car and walk up to the window, peering in. It is dark inside so I can't see much. I think I see portraits hanging on a wall, but I can't be sure. I turn to go back to my car when a light turns on. And another and another, illuminating the walls. The walls are filled with my new friends. My friends in color. I search the eyes, frantic to see what colors they are, to see if I was correct in my imaginings.

Standing transfixed at the souls staring at me, I feel them imploring me to come in and learn more about them. Why are they closed? How can I get someone's attention? Just then I see a petite, rigid figure stride toward the door. She comes right up to my face and says through the glass "We are closed. Please come back later with everyone else." "I need to talk to you." She shakes her head, taps her watch, and turns away. I bang on the window and mouth "It is really important." Shaking her head again, she turns and walks away.

I run to my car, pull out the black sketchbook that has so much new meaning now, and walk back over to the window. I pound on the glass until the same woman comes storming back over to me, hand on her hips. I put the black sketchpad up to the window. Her eyes go wide and she stumbles over to the door and unlocks it. "Where did you find that? I'll take it, it clearly belongs to the artist's work you see here." She holds out her hands to take it, but I am not giving up this book to just anyone.

I pull it to me and say "I want to see the artist and give it directly to him." "Her. Aria is a woman, and I can assure you I will get it to her." "Is Aria here?" Just then a tall, thin, pale woman comes out from the back room. "Angelica, what's going on?" She looks at the book in my arms and puts her hands to her face and explains "You found it! You found my sketches! Oh thank you, thank you! Please come in! How can I ever repay you?"

Brushing past Angelica, a smug look on my face, I follow Aria into the gallery. I can't help it, I stop and just stare. Close-up they are even more stunning than I could have ever guessed. I walk over to my favorite portrait, an old man with wrinkles, missing teeth, and a sparkle in his eyes. His bright green eyes. "I imagined his eyes were blue. Pale blue. They look better green." "What do you mean?" "Your sketches, they are pencil drawings, so I had to envision the eyes, skin, hair. I spent hours wondering about the colors."

"I can't believe you found it. Where was it, and can I please have it?" "Oh, of course, I'm sorry. They have become like friends to me, is that crazy?" I hand the book to Aria and I see her sigh in relief. "Not at all. Please come and sit with me. Tell me how you found this. My niece, she um… lost it. She is a good kid, she just gets confused. She told me she borrowed it and swore it was in her back pack. I should have been more careful. Kept it locked up. But she loves to flip through the pages."

"I can see why. Aria, these are honestly amazing. I spent hours just looking at each one, completely pulled in and wondering about their stories, who they were. I don't know how you do it, especially with just a pencil. It's like they are talking to me from the pages, imploring me to find and tell their story."

"When I first sketch someone, it is like I am capturing their essence on the page. Then I have to bring them to life on the canvas, or they invade my every thought, my every feeling. The sketches are my first renderings, what I do when I wake up in the morning, after they have formed in my head overnight. I know that sounds crazy. That book holds them all, its like a keeper of souls. I know the copies of the sketches under the portraits are there, but they are just that - copies. My original sketches are more precious to me than all of the portraits on the walls combined."

We get our drinks and walk around the gallery. I essentially get a private tour of each piece by the artist and it is a truly magical experience. Seeing the people through her eyes and emotions adds a whole layer of new depth to her work. I wish everyone could experience them this way but I can tell it is draining to her. "Aria, I should let you go. You have given me so much of your time already. I can never thank you enough." "Are you kidding? I can never repay you for bringing my book back to me. You never told me how I can replay you?"

"You already have. Getting this private tour of your works was magical. I will cherish it." "Well, I still feel I owe you something. So, thank you." We walk to the front door and Angelica practically shoves me out and locks the door behind me. Aria gives me an eye roll and a wink through the door and I wave goodbye.

I decide not to go to Aria's opening. The experience I had with her was so amazing that I don't want to taint it. I know it will go well, and I know those people will talk to the audience walking around as they did to me. But not in the same way. They did not get private moments with the first sketches of these people. Aria was right when she said their essence is captured in that unassuming black sketchbook.

A week later, I get an envelope in the mail. It is a letter from Aria. As I open it up, a check falls out. A check for twenty thousand dollars. I am completely stunned as I pick it up off the floor. This can't be real. She must be playing a joke on me. I open up her letter and read it, with my mouth still hanging open.

Dear Melanie, I cannot thank you enough for returning my sketchbook. I missed seeing you at my opening, but I understand why you did not come. It has been more successful than I ever could have dreamed. You said that seeing the portraits was enough of a thank you, but it is not. Please accept this gift from me, it will mean so much. Also, a package will be arriving for you, a certified envelope. Please let me know what you think. Forever in your debt, Aria

Just then my doorbell rings. I sign for a certified package and the man hands me a 12x16 thick envelope. With shaking hands, I carefully open it. It is a simple yet masterful pencil drawing on a piece of sketch pad paper torn from a notebook. The eyes of the young woman looking at me seem to say "Live in the moment, you are too much in a dream world. It will bring you peace."