Only He and The Canvas Know

in 500 Words a day6 months ago

I couldn't stop staring at the man in the mural who paid me no mind. He was old, wrinkled, and as tired as can be and yet had somewhat of a youthful glow to his facial features. More astonishing though, was his will to live only matched by his work ethic, both of which had even the sands of time in a trance.

Cuzo's art.

I couldn't help but wonder what drove the bold man to be so tenacious. My best guess was that he must have seen it all in his lifetime and that at this point nothing phased him anymore.

Maybe it was a life of regrets he was making up for. Like all those nights he left his friends early to save a dollar or two, maybe it was the trips he didn't dare to take or God forbid, those lips he never kissed.

It could even be the other way round and he was a big spender in his youth who now had nothing to show for it. Perhaps even more tragic, he only kept busy to forget the lingering taste of his recently extinguished love.

A man of means and a family man, he could still be working on his legacy for his children and children's children, even in his late eighties pushing nineties.

Only he and the canvas know.

Whatever fueled his drive, the sands of time were rooting for him so much so that if they could, they would let him paint over them. Perhaps it wasn't fandom, perhaps he had dirt on them.

If so, I wonder if they mind. And if he were to reveal their secret, would they unleashe a scourge like only the hands of time can? Most likely, rumor even has it that it's overdue.

This man with a golden aura sure was a complete mystery and I felt compelled to uncover his secrets. Who was he for forests, deserts, and oceans to thrive within him? Was he a construct, a guide, or a frozen genie determined to go out in a blaze of glory?

Only he and the canvas know.

Only one thing was clear, he had time feeling some type of way and I'd just spent my 15 minutes on his.


So as I was eating dinner, I was also wondering what I'd write about today. For a while nothing came to mind until I started staring at that painting in our living room, trying to see if it could trigger some creativity.

It did. And to be honest I think that was the very first time I've taken the time to actually appreciate it. Kind of a d!ckhead move if you ask me considering it was painted and gifted to us by my cousin. Oh well, a douche I am.

Anyways, the artist's name is Hamza, and that's about as much as I know about his artist's identity/epithet(Though that's actually his real name.), and where to find his galleries since I haven't seen him in years.

Anywho, I decided I'd just carefully observe the painting and make it my prompt. This post was the aftermath.



I don't see an old man as much as a father. It looks to me like a father standing oven and holding up his son. They are blended together in the painting, connected in the way that any family is.

Damn, now I see what you mean. Guess I read too much into it. 😂 Good looks.

Everybody sees different things in art. That is why some people like it so much. There is lots of interpretation.