True creation must roam over the vastness of the soul, searching for and getting what we want to have. So, there must be another way…
By Gulchehra Asronova
Gulchehra Asronova is Uzbek writer. She was born on March 29, 1968 in Kirgizstan. Now she lives in Marghilan city of Uzbekistan. She graduated from Tashkent Agricultural University.
She is member of the Writers Union of Uzbekistan since 2018. She published several books such as “The evenings of my father’s home”(2012), “A bird which found its sky”(2013) and “I am standing in front of you, World”(2019).
Self-Portrait
Why did I promise them? I’m regretting it so much now. What was I thinking when I told my students I would write an essay too, and present it for discussion, just as I had told them to do – “Write a story on this topic for the next lesson”. I think I must have been under the influence of that French film I’d just watched. In the film, a native language teacher used this very method. Then she wrote such a sad story… Yet you’d feel relieved if you read it. Yes, believe me, there is a kind of sadness that can bring relief too.
My self-portrait… What will it be like? Am I ready to delineate my own image in words, that is, to portray it? Will I be able to depict the deep sorrow – the reflection of my state of mind – which is in my eyes? What if the pain inside my heart is so obvious that everyone will see, since this portrait will be created in words?
Yet true creation must roam over the vastness of the soul, searching for and getting what we want to have. So, there must be another way…
… Here she is, the Artist of my imagination. Today she will play the role of me. The day before she had told her students to paint a self-portrait and said that she would do the same, but today she has been feeling uncertain since the morning… However, a promise is a promise, and she had given a promise.
She looks in the mirror in front of her. There stands a pale woman, all in despair, staring thoughtfully, with a brush in her hand. Suddenly, she remembers the hero in Kawabata’s story and it feels like she’s just discovered something amazing – You can only see your face in the mirror. She will follow Kyoko’s discovery and portray herself on paper!
It was surprising how she had always dreamed of seeing the inner world of those she was painting. Had she been able to do that, she would have created masterpieces! But now she could see, with crystal clarity, both the inside and outside of the person in front of her with the naked eye. Yet she had never thought that it would be so hard for an artist to create their own self-portrait!
“This is not for an exhibition, after all. Not a commission, either. Just paint! That’s it!” she told herself – Selfish, but the right solution.
The first draft of the portrait was ready by midday. A depiction of a woman with a woebegone look on an ecru background… Now it needed to be colored. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe it’s much better to be black and white? Or might colors lend a brighter spirit to her sad image? This idea delighted the artist. This was much better, because the children in her class deserved more!
Now the Artist felt such a wonderful heat pour into her hands. Happier moments began to burst into her mind – beauty invaded her heart! Magic was rushing through her fingers. The brush began dancing delicately over the canvas. At first it lengthened the hair a little, giving it russet glosses like autumn rays. Then, involuntarily, she started to smooth some lines, here and there, in the face. First the lines on the forehead were erased, then the ones around the eyes. After that, she raised the corners of the mouth ever so slightly, making a little smile. A shade of blush appeared on the cheeks…
It isn’t bad to look a bit younger. After all, I am the creator here.
The last thing was to give life and sparkle to the eyes. More than anything, the passion of a human being can be seen in the eyes.
From inspiration’s visit, the gloomy studio had been flooded with more and more light; the walls around had widened more and more and joined the world. Doves began singing, and the singing became a melody. Her soul became a bird that dreamed of being an artist; flying up and over the stuffy city that imprisoned her, heading for the mountains that knew her as their own daughter. She flapped her wings over rocks and green valleys, villages with dreamy plane trees, joyful streams, whose water she used to gulp joyfully in her childhood. Vastness! Fresh air! Melodies! COLOURS!!! Youth, Passion, Love! By the Grace of God, all of these – one after another – began to settle on one face.
The door creaked open, but The Artist was still in another world, overwhelmed by the pleasure of bringing all these emotions together in one look.
The sound of steps was coming closer. Her daughter appeared by her side and stared at the portrait in astonishment.
“Awesome!” Her enchanting voice filled the room – “Exactly the same mummy!”
The Artist’s heart fluttered. The girl leaned closer to the portrait.
-Specially my eyes!
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Translated by Munira NOROVA
