First Impressions

The exercise was to look at the painting and observe your impressions. Despair is the first word that comes to mind. Even without knowing the title, you initially think of a man nearing the end of his life. Maybe he has regret. Maybe he suffers from dementia. Maybe he misses his beloved, who died too soon.
But because you cannot see what is outside this tight frame, you might consider another possibility: this man may be frickin’ hilarious. Possibly he just told his grandchildren, or his best buddy he’s know since grade school, when that sat next to each other in class can caused call kinds of mischief for that poor teacher, a whopper of a funny story. Remember that time? Possibly the room is full and it’s roaring. Possibly the man is about to summon tears, all right, tears of joy.
Of course, when you learn the name of the painting, and it’s creator, and see when it was fashioned from that creator’s expansive yet tortured soul, not long before he volunteered to immediately meet his maker, the impression of a jovial scene becomes harder to fathom.
Yet even with the fire … the hunch … the tightfisted hands over hidden eyes … you still don’t know … not for certain … no.