Not Learning to Let Go

I, Francis O'Dell, woke up on a beautiful day in the summer of 1505 in Florence, Italy. After getting out of bed I got on my knees to pray. I prayed for good health and good fortune for I believed I needed nothing more. All of my life I was told to pray daily by my parents for during this period of time all of England was very religious. My life was more than perfect, everything was going the way I wanted. After my prayer I proceeded with my day. I ate my breakfast that consisted of an apple and boiled egg. I knew I had to eat fast for I had a very busy day ahead of me.

When I was done I went down stairs to my studio. My studio was not very big. It was a small room that was apart of my modest home, but that is ok because most shops were in people's homes, I was content for what it was. My studio was full of my beautiful art. I always put a piece of my soul in each and everyone one of my paintings. My paintings were precious to me, they were like my children. As I stood there criticizing some of my work, becoming more and more frustrated because I couldn't master the technique of sfumato. I don't understand what I am doing wrong? Am I using the wrong colors, some of Florence say that Leonardo pioneered the use of sfumato. I felt that my work was the best in Florence, except those of Leonardo da Vinci. Nothing was better than Leonardo's work but he was no longer in Florence. As I walked out of the studio I told myself to stop worrying about Leonardo. As I walked down the dirt road watching the people work in their shops and stands. I stopped to watch a miller's daughter ground grain into flour which later would surely be made into bread. Bread is what most of the poor in Florence eat. As I continued on my journey I saw a woman hanging clothes out to dry and children run around in their neighborhood. I would have liked to have had a family but I never found the time to court a young woman also I feared she would only want me for my money and status.

 As I continued walking down the dirt road, I stopped by my former master, Andrea del Verrocchio, studio. I looked inside to see that the studio was deserted. It was empty, nothing on the walls or on the shelves. I looked at the studio with sadness, I remembered when it was full of art and people. I always saw Andrea as a hero and as the most talented person on Earth. Then I remembered all of the great memories that Andrea and I created inside this very studio. All of the tips I learned from him, those tips helped me get to where I am today. I learned to always study the subject in parts than as a whole. I remembered how Andrea was like a second father to me. But then I remembered Leonardo as well. How Leonardo was always better and would gain praise from Andrea. I felt like an outsider, never good enough. Once again I was thinking about Leonardo, I shook my head trying to get rid of my thoughts. I walked inside Andrea's abandoned studio and went upstairs to only find him still in bed.

"Andrea, rise up so you may see this beautiful morning," I said, as I grabbed his blanket and pulled it off of him.

"Why should I rise up, Francis? I have nothing to accomplish today," He said with a sleepy voice.

"Yes you do, you said you would accompany me to the market, but I find you are still sleeping," I exclaimed, "Now rise so we may go." I walked out of Andrea's room to wait for him down stairs.

Upon arriving to the market there seemed to be something that was making people joyful and to have a skip in their step. I looked to Andrea and he looked backed at me with a look of confusion. I stopped a young woman to ask her why everyone was so joyful.

"Leonardo da Vinci is coming to town," she said.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes," responded the young woman, "It's the talk of Florence."

I froze while the young woman ran back to her friends. How dare that Leonardo return, I thought. How dare he try to come back to Florence. I looked over to where Andrea was last standing, but not to my surprise, he was gone. Of course Andrea would be gone, it was after all Leonardo who stole Andrea's passion away. I can recall the very day it happened just like it was yesterday.

About 25 years ago Leonardo was still an apprentice under Andrea that's I decided to open my own studio. About this same time, Andrea started on the painting called The Baptism of Christ, he had Leonardo paint an angel kneeling on the left side of Christ, when Andrea saw how much better Leonardo's angels was to his own, Andrea chose to never paint again. Andrea closed up his studio and told Leonardo his apprenticeship was done. Leonardo then opened his own studio in Florence for about four years, until he left for Milan to paint for Ludovico Sforza, the Duke of Milan. Recalling the memory gave me much heartache that I decided to go home.

The next day I overheard some of the town folk say that Leonardo returned because the French overthrew Ludovico Sforza forcing them to flee Milan. I hurried over to Andrea's home to find him in his room, staring into nothing. As I was there someone knock on the front door. As I opened it I seen Leonardo, I immediately tried to shut the door but Leonardo overpowered me and pushed his way through.

"I came to see what had happened to Andrea," Leonardo said, his face full of concern. Speechless I just glared at him, after a few seconds I got my nerve to speak.

"Leave at once, you are not welcomed here and never will be," I screamed, "You have been gone sixteen years and not once check on Andrea, so why now?" Leonardo's face became heavy, he was speechless, he turns toward the door and leaves.

A month had passed and no word from Leonardo, but there was a new excitement in town. Florence was building a new hall for the city council. One of my friends told me they would be looking for a painter to decorate the inside of the hall. My excitement started to build, the people of Florence had marveled my paints for years and surely I would be the one to paint the hall. My mind started racing with ideas of what I would paint, then suddenly Leonardo came rushing into my mind. I tried to push the thought of Leonardo getting the job out of my mind, but couldn't. I knew he was better, he has always been better at everything. I looked at my friend still at the doorway staring at me with a puzzled face. My face must have been red with hatred.

"Are you alright, you look ready to kill," said my friend as he inched out the door, "you're thinking about Leonardo again, aren't you? Have you never learned to let go?" I stared at him in disbelief as he closed the door behind him.