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Reluctantly, Senior Bartoli withdrew.

A month passed. “How is it coming?” Senior Bartoli asked.

“It’s coming well,” said Monsieur l’Abbaye, again from behind

the

clanking and slapping.

“You know you’re fortunate it’s I painting

your portrait. Only buon fresco will do. It’s four coats of lime plaster.

First layer the trullisatio, followed by the arriccio, then the anenato

and fnally the intonaco not to mention the part where I draw. But

it’s the best plaster process I ever saw. Senior Bartoli, it will last

forever,

but alas, it’s a time-consuming endeavor.”

Sighing deeply, the patron again withdrew. Just how long would this take? Who knew?

Another three, Four months passed and fnally halF a year went by. Senior Bartoli, the patron, marched

in demanding oF Monsieur l’Abbaye, the master artist, to see his portrait, “You must be fnished by now and

today I will see it!” he shouted, shaking with frustration.

Stepping from behind the cloth as though surprised by such anger, Monsieur l’Abbaye said calmly. “That’s

fne. You needed only to request it.” And he pulled aside the 20-Foot curtain.

Guiliano Bartoli stood for a minute and then his mouth fell open, his eyes turned red and he grabbed

what few hairs he had left on his head. He did a little hop, and then a twitch, and his eyebrows contorted

as though bewitched. Guiliano Bartoli obviously did not like

his portrait, not a bit. Guiliano Bartoli threw a ft.

“How absurd, how obscene. What does this mean? You’ll

not receive one Florine, do you hear? You’re not an artist,

maybe a thief or a madman. Get out of my sight! You’ll leave

my house tonight or I’ll throw you out!”

So what had Monsieur l’Abbaye drawn that was wrong?

He couldn’t see it, he’d Fussed and fxed For so long. It was

his masterpiece. He wasn’t sorry, no, not at all, that he had

drawn to his heart’s content for 20 feet tall. No matter

what anybody could say, Monsieur Signy l’Abbaye had drawn it his way. Perhaps his patron couldn’t tolerate

his obsession with cubist expression, but Picasso would have been proud.

If truth be told Monsieur l’Abbaye wasn’t crazy, surely. He’d simply been born 500 years too early!

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