I hadn't realized what was happening to my work until the past two months when I'd done two paintings that stood out from the rest. My work, all technically good, had become ... I couldn't think of any word but "commercial" to describe what I was doing.I'm not ashamed of that. Some of the great artists over the centuries had supplemented their work with portraiture, graphics, and even decorating. But my work had evolved to a point where it wasn't really worth anything else. I painted nice, sexy portraits of nude women to give to their husbands or boyfriends, or to hang in their apartments. I didn't paint museum pieces.Not until I painted Allison.It was a stark shift. The computer screen lit up with the portrait I'd done of Shiela. It was a technically perfect snapshot in oil of a beautiful lady. But that was as far as it went. If I donned the persona of an art critic, I had to say the artist was disinterested. The next painting that came up on screen was the flaming hell portrait of. The cheers from the crowd now roar like thunder in the loudest of storms. The sunlight washes over me, turning , viewing the spectacle of the mob, as my eyes now adjust to the light. Looking over the crowd…my eyes dart. Something ..is.. not as it usually is. There is something different. There! In the third tier , two boxes from center. I see a face…a veiled face…but I know the eyes…I have seen them before, I have seen their sparkle before. I continue to peer up, unable to take mine from hers. Everything else stops for me, melting away, sound fading , till there is only silence , you and I. Your eyes then grow wide…wide…..wide with alarm? Wide with panic? Why? Why panic? Dear Heavens Above! I Am In The Coliseum!! The sounds flooding back…the cheers, the screams, but loudest are the sound of heavy footsteps charging at me from behind. Without turning, I can tell what type of armor my opponent is wearing. By the jingle and squeaking, I know it’s metal. By the sound of his labored.
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