The Universal Affliction
Fiction is untrue, but is often so true.
You see, just because a story is made up, doesn’t mean it can’t represent reality.
I’m discovering this all over again as I read a thoroughly engaging book from first-time novelist, Allen Levi. It’s entitled Theo of Golden, and I can’t recommend it highly enough.
At one point in the story, Theo, an 87 year-old Portuguese man, is having coffee with a 40ish artist named Asher. It just so happens that the coffee shop they are visiting, The Chalice, has on its walls almost ninety of Asher’s works in portraiture — drawings of the faces of men and women, boys and girls, from every conceivable walk of life.
As they make their way through the line to get their portion of the nectar of the gods, they begin a conversation, one that plunges quickly into the deep waters of human experience as Theo shares something he’s picked up in Asher’s art.
I’m sharing it below, because Levi, through a story, through fictional characters, well, he’s exploring a universal affliction, for which the only cure is Jesus.
I hope this little portion from Levi’s novel will move you to purchase the whole meal.
After greetings, Theo scanned the walls of the room and lowered his voice for the sake of privacy.
"Asher, in every face I detect sadness."
A crease of curiosity formed between Asher's eyes. "Why do you say that?"
"Well, it is subtle, and maybe it takes an old man — an expert in sadness — to see it, but it is there in every portrait, in some more than others. It is not gloomy or angry or even terribly obvious. It is like a weariness or an unmet longing or a disappointment; something we inherit from those who lived before us. But to these old eyes, it is in every face, the universal affliction. It is what gives such gravitas to your portraits and makes them so believable. Even when your subjects are smiling, the shadow of sadness is there. And so far, my meetings at the Fedder only confirm my suspicion."
Asher mulled over Theo's remarks.
"I never really thought of it that way. I certainly don't do ‘sadness’ intentionally."
"Ah," Theo nodded his affirmation, "the mystery of art."
Asher leaned in and spoke softly, "So, you're an expert in sadness?"
Theo shrugged. "I suppose anyone as old as me could say the same. When we're young, we're usually too busy or too self-absorbed to see it, but by the time one is almost ninety, this world has beat the sadness into him quite deeply. Every week there is some tragedy or reminder to keep it alive and well."
It was an unusual subject to discuss while standing in line for coffee. They placed their orders, stepped away from the counter, and continued talking.
"Theo, I appreciate that you re such a sensitive man. You have a tender heart."
"Not tender, Asher. Broken. My expertise in sadness is hard-earned. But I realize more and more that it is a gift. Living with sadness, accepting it, is easier than trying to pretend it isn't there. It is another of life's great mysteries that sadness and joy can coexist so compatibly with one another. In fact, I wonder if, on this side of heaven, either one can be complete without the other."
"You don't strike me as a sad man, Theo. If you are, you're good at disguising it."
As if to prove the truth of Asher's observation, Theo grinned. The resident sparkle in his eyes rose to the surface. Gleamed.
"Thank you. I hope it's true. There is no virtue in advertising one's sadness. But there is no wisdom in denying it either. And there is the beautiful possibility that great love can grow out of sadness if it is well-tended. Sadness can make us bitter or wise. We get to choose."
"So, I do portraits of sadness?" Asher muttered to himself. "Is that a compliment?"
Theo chuckled. "It is a very high compliment, young man. A very high compliment indeed. Perhaps I am mistaken but, at some point, if we are wise, we must all confront our sadness, our brokenness, our disappointment. I am quite certain that your portraits help some people, in a very tender and courteous way, to ask themselves, maybe for the first time, 'Who is that person? What do I know to be true, really true, about that face?' ... Asher, we are masters at masking our sadness, but deep down inside, if we are honest, we know that there is a unsatisfied longing deep inside all of us. Your portraits invite people to be alone and quiet and truthful with themselves; to admit the longing and to discover the goodness in their sadness. Maybe?"
Asher held his peace, oblivious to the presence of customers around him. Narrowed eyes and wrinkled brow expressed his keen concentration.
"Asher, please don't misunderstand me. You don't draw portraits of sadness; you draw portraits of people. Sadness is only one part. There is beauty and gladness and playfulness too. It's all there, In elegant proportion."
Theo directed Asher's attention to the portrait of a forty-ish young woman on the wall directly in front of them. She was smiling. "Do you see it, Asher? There is something, mostly in her eyes, that hints at something other than happiness. Do you agree?"
Asher knew the woman in the frame. He also knew her painful story. "Theo, I wish I had an hour to talk about this more but I've got an appointment in just a few minutes. Let's talk about this at the studio one day next week. But here's a question before I go. What about the child? That one there?" Asher pointed to the beaming face of a young boy.
Theo looked. "OK. That one: no sadness. But draw him again in thirty years."
