Chapter 32

IN Lojacono’s studio - if a single room with small winows could be called a painter’s studio - a delegation of town officials stood around and criticized as the whitehaired artist tried to work.

The old man stood before two easels. One held his unflnished painting, the other his subject: the photograph of Major Joppolo made by the crazy Spataforo. The photograph was an excellent likeness, and the portrait was already a fair one.

Gargano the Two-Hands made two circles with his thumbs and forefingers and put the circles up to his eyes and peered through them at the picture. He said: “The eyes. On the whole, the face is good, but the eyes: it seems to me the eyes are not quite the eyes of the Mister Major.”

Old Lojacono said: “The portrait is not yet finished.” D’Arpa the Vice Mayor said in his little weasel’s voice: “Should the nose seem to recline on the mustache in such comfort? I think that nose is asleep.”

The old painter said: “It is not finished

Saitta, the clean one, the man concerned with keeping the town fresh, held his white suit close to him so as not to get any driblets of paint on it and said: “Could not the background be cleaned up a little?”

The white-haired painter turned on his critics and said: “It is not finished. It is not finished. It is not finished. Can you get that through your thick official skulls?”

D’Arpa, in his capacity as senior official on the spot, took it upon himself to say: “We are not deaf, Lojacono. We are here on behalf of the town of Adano to see that you finish this portrait well and make it good enough for its purpose.”

Gargano lifted his shoulders and stretched his hands out, palms up, as if to say what he did say: “We mean no offense, old man.” Then he made motions of painting and said: “Go ahead, old man.”

Lojacono went back to his work. He grumbled as he dabbed. “Now for the first time in months,” he said, “I have a subject of which I wish to make a superior painting. What happens? I get into my work, I begin to love it, my brush seems deft in my hand. Then what happens? Officials visit me, men who know less about art than I do about cleaning streets” - he said this with great contempt and Saitta the street-cleaner drew his white suit a little closer around him, as if he suspected that the angry old man might flick a blob of pigment at him - “and they criticize my work, though it is not finished.”

Gargano made the two circles again and said: “I merely pointed out that the eyes are not yet those of the Mister Major.”

D’Arpa said: “I simply said that the nose looks comfortable, perhaps a trifle too comfortable, perhaps even asleep.”

Saitta said: “To suggest that the background might be cleaned up a little is not to criticize the likeness.” Lojacono said: “I told you that the painting is not finished. When it is done, I promise that you will like it -     D’Arpa said in his -high voice: “It is more important  that the Mister Major should like it.”

The old painter said: “He will, I promise it.” Gargano placed both hands over his heart and said: “He must, old man, or else the whole point of our presenting it to him will be destroyed. Do you know why we are giving it to him?”

Lojacono said wearily: “Yes, I know why you are giving it to him.”

Gargano had not expected the old man to answer his rhetorical question. He took his hands off his heart and said: “Well then...”

The white-haired painter turned again toward the three men. “Well then, he said, “why don’t you leave me alone so that I can put into the painting what you feel toward this man?”

Gargano started to make the circles and said doubtfully: “The eyes -”

The painter said: “The eyes are not finished. Neither is the tired nose. Neither is the dirty background. I might explain to you, street-cleaner, that I use the background as the place to test my colors. Do I come to you with suggestions as to how to remove horse-manure from the streets?”

Saitta tugged on his suit and said grudgingly: “No-o-o .” Lojacono said again: “Well then,” and turned to his painting.

And then the old man said, as if to the face in the photograph: “This is a portrait I wish to make as nearly good as my talents will allow. There are many things I hope this painting will have - when it is finished.” He said this last grimly, for the benefit of his critics.

He went on to tell what he was trying to achieve in this painting, and in so doing he fulfilled the purpose of the criticism: he told the critics what was in his mind, so that when the picture was finished they could point out what vas there to be seen you looked for it.

“The main thing I hope this painting will have,” the old man said, “is the life and breath of the Mister Major. In the eyes I hope there will be a slight look of mischief which I have seen there, something which I think shows that he is rather fond of young ladies.” He turned on Gargano severely: “But that is not all that I intend to have in the eyes.”

He went on: “In the way the mustache is trimmed, there will be a little vanity, not much, just enough to make a man dress neatly and look once, not twice, in every mirror he passes.”

D’Arpa said in a high voice: “These are ridiculous little things, what about the big things?”

Lojacono said: “Sometimes I think you are a ridiculous little man. The big things come from the little things. I am not finished. There is something about officials that makes them poke their noses, which are usually asleep on their faces, into unfinished matters.”

D’Arpa said: “Go on, old man.”

“In the chin, there will be strength, in the ears, alertness, in the fix of the hair, neatness, in the cheeks, a sympathetic warmth. You will like it,” the old man said. “So will he.”

D’Arpa said again: “But the big things, what about the big things?”

The painter said: “You will not see the big things until you have seen the portrait for some time, just as you did not recognize them in the man until you got to know him. Why list them? You know what they are as well as I do.”

But D’Arpa said: “What do you think they are, Lojacono?” The critics did not really come to criticize. They came to find out what to look for.

The old man said: “There is only one big thing, really. All the others are tied up in it. It is the wish, which is visible in this man’s face, that each person in this town should be happy. That is a very big thing. If that were visible in every official’s face, well, painters would not be criticized before they were finished.”

Gargano squinted at the portrait and said: “I think the eyes will be all right.”

D’Arpa said: “There is obviously something unfinished about that sleeping nose. It will be all right when it is finished.”

Saitta said: “I am glad you explained to me about the background, painter. Have you any suggestions about the manure?”

Lojacono said: “I only suggest that you leave me alone until I have finished. When is it that you want the painting?”

D’Arpa said: “We thought we would give it to him next Friday, on the afternoon before the party which is in his honor. We thought we would make it entirely his day.”

The white-haired painter said: “It will be finished, and you will like the face, I promise you.”