Brushstrokes- Execution of Torrijos and His Companion on the Beach at Málaga
As a kid, I had no knowledge
Of Spanish history, independence, and whatnot
So when I went to the Prado
And saw a stoic man
At a beach
I never considered the context of the painting
Only the moment it depicted
The man stands next to his dejected friends
His expression is nothing but paint
But it is also more than paint
So much more
They are being read their last rites
Are they going to die?
There are bodies on the beach
An orphaned top hat
Black oil paint
A man looks to the sky
His eyes are paint
His eyes are alive
He is praying, wishing to ascend
Will he?
Or will he be as the beach and as the water beyond, once paint and always paint
The clouds advance
A storm is on the way
Waves crash on the shore
Paintings don’t make sound
Obviously
But if they are done right
They can be deafening
Soldiers chattering in the background
Detached silence from the condemned
Maybe some weeping
Priests murmuring
Undoubtedly the loudest paint I’ve ever seen
Two of the doomed men embrace
I can hear them congratulate each other
On good lives, a good fight
And the oil paint waves crash amid it all.
