It was about two months after she walked out. I had an empty canvas, and I had not picked up my brushes in nearly a decade, so in the garage I taped up a photograph of her and sketched her.

It was a portrait I had always wanted to do. It was my wife on our wedding day.

The canvas was a twenty-inch high by sixteen wide linen on stretcher frames I made myself from redwood. I Gessoed it and let it dry overnight before I began. The sketch showed through the white Gesso.

The next day I began.

I painted her hair first, dark, curled, and fine. Then I worked on her flesh. It had to be just right, including the few remaining freckles.

It looked great.

I worked for days on it. The neck line I used to snuggle my face against when we made love, the ear that I nibbled, the luscious eyes.

It came together well.

In about a week it was done. I let it dry, varnished it and signed it.



Then I left it on the easel. I would get a frame later.

A few months later two of her old girlfriends stopped by one day and they asked me to listen to their story about her.

We sat in my back yard. They told me how she had been cheating on me for years, how she used to brag about her male conquests, and what a clueless man I was.

I was more than heartbroken. I had thought her hiatus from the marriage could be ended and everything repaired, but that day all those dreams died.

Later, I went to the garage, got a wide brush and painted it over with a thick coat of Gesso.

A few weeks ago I found that same old canvas. It was white, slightly stained from moving three years ago, but ready and waiting.

So I painted a landscape on it.