illusions
July, 1994. 104 degrees Fahrenheit. In the shade of an old oak tree, whose roots stretched into the playground fence on Elbasani Street, and whose shadow spilled over the sidewalk, two painters — one older, one younger — meet. They greet each other warmly, exchange the usual pleasantries, and then the older one speaks.
Fatmiri: I hate to even ask, but... have you managed to sell anything?
Petro: Come on, don’t joke. These days, paintings aren't even seen as decent gifts.
Fatmiri: Ever since democracy showed up, all I’ve done is hand out favors. But today, I’m expecting an American who’s shown interest in visiting my studio.
Petro: Good for you. They’ve got huge homes and usually go for big formats — like yours.
Fatmiri: That’s true, most of my work is large-scale. But it’s mostly historical scenes or heroic figures. They just want something decorative.
Petro: Don’t worry. The rich these days are all building villas. Sooner or later, they’ll come knocking on your door too.
Fatmiri: You’re either too optimistic, or you’re messing with me. Most of these people come from worlds completely disconnected from art.
Petro: Maybe so. But I think some of them are still drawn to heroic characters.
Fatmiri: You know what else is tough? The effort to make a small painting isn’t all that different from a big one. But I spend way more than you on paints, canvas, frames, shipping, storage...
Petro: You’re right about that — but you’ve also got more of a market. These days, people judge paintings by their size.
Fatmiri: Honestly, I think your style — all that light and color — has an edge with women. And they’re the ones choosing how the house gets decorated.
Petro: Maybe… but I doubt their wives have great artistic taste. After all, they chose thosehusbands.
Fatmiri: I never thought the most beautiful profession in the world would one day leave us struggling to put food on the table.
Petro: I get it. It’s hard to live off passion when money isn’t backing you. No matter how beautiful, art today is mostly ignored — even by those who should be protecting it.
Fatmiri: Nowadays, it’s more important to be a good salesman than a good artist.
Petro: What we really need is a good therapist — someone to boost our morale. If this keeps up, even our colors will turn darker.
Fatmiri: Or maybe a priest… to heal our souls. We’re wounded deep.
Petro: More than anything, in times like these — in this cultural depression — we’ve got to hold on to whatever satisfaction we can. Because once that fades, everything we do loses meaning. For a real artist, the work has to matter more than life itself.
Fatmiri: The only ones more devoted than us are priests. But their sacrifices don’t compare to ours — they’ve got the church to look after them. We live with uncertainty every day, always tempted by the pull of commercialism.
Petro: So I guess, along with talent and discipline, sacrifices matter too.
Fatmiri: There are plenty of crooked branches among us — tempted by money the way priests are tempted by women. But I’ll say this: life’s a lot easier when you’ve got a few vices… than when you’re haunted by the uncertainty of your next meal.