The Artist
By Tuvia Bolton

Once there was a great and wise king who loved roosters. He was so inspired by their majestic fierceness, their flashing colors, their every graceful move, that he commissioned hundreds of artists to draw giant paintings of roosters to hang on the wall of his palatial throne room. But to his dismay, none of the portraits were to his liking. He invited greater artists, and then even greater ones, but was left unsatisfied.

So he sent invitations to three of the greatest artists in the world, along with fine presents and promises of fame and fortune. Each would receive fifty thousand gold pieces, in addition to a fine house with servants and all their needs, for one year, and at the end of that time the king would pay one million gold pieces for any picture that found favor in his eyes. The year passed swiftly, and word of the three pictures spread throughout the kingdom.

The day of the unveiling arrived. A massive stadium, built especially for the occasion at the king’s orders, was packed with thousands of noisy people. On the stage were the three huge canvases, each covered with its own ornate curtain.

The crowd fell silent as the first artist approached his canvas, hesitated a moment, took hold of the cord that opened the curtain, and turned to face the king. The king nodded, and the artist, without even turning around, triumphantly pulled the cord. A hum went up from the crowd. It was a masterpiece.

The king rose from his royal seat, walked to the picture, examined it from near and from afar, and announced: “It is truly a work of genius, but . . . it is not exactly what I want.”

The crowd was abuzz as the king returned to his seat and motioned for the second artist to approach. The same scene repeated itself: silence, tension, the victorious pull of the cord. This time, when the painting was uncovered, shouts of “Bravo!” were heard. But the king, although he admitted that the picture was exquisite, was still not satisfied.

Finally the third artist approached and stood by his picture. Again the king nodded. But the artist, before he pulled the cord, made a request. “Your Majesty, I humbly ask that you make no judgment of my work until fifteen minutes after it is unveiled.” An unusual request, but the king nodded in agreement. The artist pulled the cord and revealed—the crowd gasped—an empty canvas!

“What is the meaning of this?!” shouted the king, but remembering his promise, he fell silent. The artist, meanwhile, had paid no attention to the king’s outburst. He was concentrating on the empty canvas before him, palette in one hand and brush in the other. Suddenly he began to paint.

The colors flowed from his very being. The lines danced, changing like fire, like a rushing river, like a field of wheat, like the eyes of a child, of a king.

And then, after ten minutes, the picture was finished and the artist turned to face the king.

Everyone was so silent you could hear only the wind; everyone was frozen as though hypnotized.

Then someone broke the spell and began clapping, then another and another, until the crowd was like thunder, on their feet, whistling, clapping and shouting, “Bravo! Bravo!” The king rose from his seat with open arms, walked to the artist and embraced him with tears in his eyes. “This is what I have been seeking!” The other two artists raised his arms in victory and were weeping with emotion

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By Tuvia Bolton

What is your understanding of this story?

The last artist was the only one who included the king in the painting. So the painting  was not the most important thing but the action of getting to the end result and including the King in the process. And..........................

Wonderful Crazyheart. I like that understanding. Let's see what we can learn from the way others see the story also.

Who IYO is "the king" . Who do the artists represent? Is there significance to the King liking roosters?

Creation is a work of art in progress in which every one of us participates.

In the above story, the last artist was an intuitive painter, who painted directly from the awareness of his creativeness and godliness. His painting was divine, and touched the divine that slumbers innately in every one of us. That's why it was so well received.

When a work of art (written, painted, or other) touches us profoundly, then we can be almost sure that it was divinely inspired, meaning that the artist who created it was divinely inspired, and therefore his or her work touches the divine in us.

Nature is a divine work of art, and its contemplation often touches the divine in us. We ourselves are part of nature, part of God, and a divine work of art.

Ah, nice interpretation Arm.

It made me think about how our lives are a canvass and we are creating a picture of our lives as we go through them. Every life tells a story. Everyday is a series of brush strokes on the canvass bringing the picture into focus (I remember watching an oil painter on TV and how - in also about 15 minutes-fascinating it was to see him bring the lines and colours into focus, creating depth and perspective with light and shadow, and make a beautiful landscape). I also thought about how the process is the art as much as the result.

"Is there significance to the King liking roosters?"

After a long and troubled night a rooster crows, announcing the rising sun of a new day. Much as a trumpet, clearly sounded, calls a people to opportunity for creative expression of vital being in and through the natural realm.

George

There are many ways to look at a story isn't there George? How we formulate meaning often comes from our own experience and worldview and sometimes we have the benefit of how history interprets it also.

The king wouldn't say such nice things about roosters if the roosters kept pecking at him. Especially if they drew blood.

What's a ru Ester to a king early in the morning ... something to rise for?

Roué's Terre ... the degree of disturbing dirt, or mire ... you just don't know what the contex was back then ... considering all the redactions and translations ... not mentioning the matter that authorities possibly didn't like the common folk knowing these altercations with thought and writ ... that weren't really all that well thought out considering thought had not evolved well to that point ... still hasn't if you ask me ... but then who would.

But then in a world where they can't figure out that extreme margins of efficiency and decreased durability of equipment leads to train failures and coffee machines burning up in my kitchen ... who would know anything about heat in the kitchen? Authorities just escape these situations as fast and as well as they can. Consider ... has anything heard anything about the Duff for weeks?

Are these things designed to be non-durable to support the marketplace? That wouldn't be a contrived conjecture to increase production when we are running out of resources would IT? And they believe me crazy ... perhaps just a perspective that is weighted by opinions that are based on rediculous facts ... I have observed this before in multimillion dollar cost cutting actions where routine maintencance on critical items was reduced from yearly to once per decade ... but who'd believe that if it was something not observed by the public in the first place. Then basically the public is maintained unknowledgable to most things that are unseen to them ... and yet they will argue there are no unseens that they know god (everything). Is that dramatic or just a stretch of de Rhama ...

Furthermore it will make no difference how you write it so why be so fussy about spelling, grammer and punctuation ...James Joyce wasn't fussy ... he just said what he had to say for his own relief ... and a rare few picked up on it and thought it creative way to display myths of caring authorities ... when they arn't! Then the cat was out of the bag, box or whatever the containment was in the circumstance that bothered fey Licks ...

"The king wouldn't say such nice things about roosters if the roosters kept pecking at him. Especially if they drew blood."

I suspect no rooster would peck any king more than once. Such an error in judgement would have assured the pecking rooster a place in the evening stew.

Could more be said about a rooster that keeps pecking, to the point of drawing blood?

George

George, it shows that the King is a fool, if he still adores roosters.( as blood runs down his hands)

Roosters can wake us up too.

Ah mortal cognizance ... does this lead to imortal cognizance in that beyond us ...so one would be required to believe in myth in order to construct a mind ... that I'm told by some is mostly imaginary to them ... as they don't yet have one? They keep throwing away the imaginary peaces ... so be it in a aggressive and non-co-operative structure ... leads to conflicts in thought!

Roosters, like males of other species, have testosterone in their blood, and are naturally competitive and aggressive toward other males of their species when it comes to defending their reproductive rights. In nature, this assures that only the healthiest reproduce and pass on their healthy genes. In training fighting roosters, this natural instinct is exploited. They get armed with artifical razor spurs and sharpened beaks, get trained to fight to the death, and sometimes do.

Pecking to the point of drawing blood also is a sign of overcrowding among commercially raised poultry.

How many dumb rue stirs would know that?

An other offering....

Art is only art in the making. Once made it is no longer art. There was a movement at the turn of the 20th century called dada. This was thier understanding of art. Perhaps the king felt the same way.

So is scripture alive when it is actively lived? Once spiritual life is captured in words, something goes missing. Living the scripture gives it life. Reading and studying scripture leaves something missing. Truth is in the lving...

Waterfall,
I could come up with midrash and a meaning based on the above story. But, I know Tuvia Bolton is a Rabbi. So, reading this with my eyes and experience made me say, "huh?". It seemed not right. Not like Jewish story. There was not the ending Jewish stories have. No midrash. What is above is actually an excerpt of a story. It lacks Rabbi Tuvia Bolton's ending. I wish to make it clear that it is an except, lacking the midrash ending and you are asking people to finish the story with midrash. I cannot paste the link but if you google the story one can read the full story at Ohr Tmimim.

SG

I looked at the full story. It illustrates why I think existentialism is rooted in or should I say it 'roots' Judeo-Christian faith....

regards

Thanks SG. I will look up the story tonight. The site I got this from only showed what I printed and people were asked to reply what they thought the story meant. I thought it would be jnteresting to see how everyone here understood it. (We seem to have so many different interpretations of the new and old testament at Wondercafe)

I'm curious how we find "the truth" within the Bible when sometimes so many churches and individuals see something different within the Bibles pages.

good question in light of the story.... if the king next door also wanted such a painting, and the painting that worked was sent to him, would he be satisfied with the present... Is truth in the painting or in the paint-ing? Does scripture illuminate us.... or do we illuminate scripture? Is truth in the letter or in us...

It is like a gathering of Torah, an ecclesia or integral ... allowing for S(Torah), S(taurus), or just bull as redacted to S(tory) which opposes true grit ... which is a pain to the carrier that may be a Golden Ass!

In Rome this was a primal myth ... as if it wasn't as if the I in imaginary wasn't, thus abstract as I's real!

WatetBouy

So the finished painting is myth... the actual painting is real...
...scripture would be myth... actually being Christian is real..

ALDO,

Only in abstract as you're becoming to see from what previously was just being ... because religion wouldn't deal with the world turn or any other (evolutionary)change ... this led to a stagnant pool of mind and swampy thoughts in the bilges ... once know as Goshen ... a well whetted land in imaginary Egypt!

That is the land of myths ... that are as old as the isles ... crocke Isle EONS? One must understand the bending of time, light and space to squeeze this into a minor mind ... said to be small and humble ... a wee point as a pain in the ass to the desires as such! Thus the myth goes on ... like a nihlism ... those that failed in allegory can't see ID ... too much of a pile fore eM as prop therein a BUZZ!

in the experience of existing, there is not abstraction... just existence.. no myths ....hence the "I am" and the basis of existence in, of and from God..

Just being in the mechanics of becoming something else ...

What's that? Something the proud would rather not know ... the vanity of vanities ... NOSH-ite!

a meaning of the story?

the emperor can recognizes the emperor has no clothes and can be a good sport aboot it

and/or

those who are given authority by divine fiat can do anything.  Their Word is Law

and/or

roosters can detect what we cannot, celestial beings.  the story is what happens when someone even tries to copy the images of these celestial being detectors

and/or

real wisdom lies in knowing when to laugh, which is often and loudly

and/or

stop looking outside yourself for con artists; you are the best and most powerful one

*outro:  cue the Dennis the Peasant & Arthur scene*

And de dais mons RIPP-elle with laughter!