The Tree

Once upon a time there was an artist named Oren who painted only one thing. Other artists painted pictures of people, or houses, or flowers, or vases, or baskets of fruit, or scenes of ships tossed by the sea. Not Oren. Other artists were paid for their work. Oren never tried to sell what he painted. Sometimes people would offer him money to paint a picture of their dog, or their Aunt Sophie, or, perhaps, of themselves. But Oren would always refuse. Once Oren was offered three hundred pieces of silver to paint the Count of Norcobb sitting on a large, white horse. The count didn't want to actually sit on a horse. He didn't even own a horse. He just wanted a painting of him sitting on one. Oren politely said no and continued to paint what he painted every day: the oak tree that grew in his yard. He painted it in summer when the leaves were green and the acorns full. He painted it in fall when the leaves changed to yellow and orange and finally to brown and the acorns littered the ground. He painted it in winter when the limbs were bare and stirred by the wind. The winters were cold and Oren wore a large coat and a long scarf wrapped three times around his throat to keep the wind out. He wore gloves with the fingers cut out so they gave a little warmth, but allowed him to feel the brush. Next to him he had a little charcoal stove that, every once in a while when he needed to study the tree or mix more paint, he would stand near for warmth. In the spring he painted the tree with new buds forming and hints of green appearing. For a few years there was a family of squirrels living in the oak, and when Oren painted the tree he painted the squirrels, too. Some years his paintings showed birds nests in the limbs with baby birds peaking out waiting to be fed. Oren worked hard at his painting. He started early when the light was out of the east and painted the tree with long shadows flowing to the west. He painted the tree at noon when the sun was overhead and there were hardly shadows at all. He painted the tree in the late afternoons when the sun was in the west and the shadows flowed to the east. He painted the tree from all sides. He even climbed into the tree and did sketches of the leaves, and the bark, and the acorns. He painted the tree from far away so that all he could see was the shape. Sometimes he climbed up on his roof and, straddling the peak, painted the tree face to face. Oren spent many years painting his oak tree. The oak, which had been young when Oren started, grew into a giant of a tree. One day while Oren was painting, a man rode into his yard. "I am the Royal Cabinet Maker for His Majesty the King of Wiscobob," he declared. "Could you move a little to one side?" asked Oren politely. "You're blocking my light. The Royal Cabinet Maker, being an artist of sorts himself, understood perfectly and moved out of Oren's light. "I have come to make you an offer for your tree," he said. "The paintings are not for sale. That is, I don't charge for them. They're free," said Oren. "Take any one you want." The Royal Cabinet Maker laughed at this. "I will take a painting of this tree," he said and spent a few minutes choosing one. "But that is not why I am here. I have come for the tree itself. His Royal Majesty the King of Wiscobob has ordered me to build new furniture as a present and he wants them made of oak. That tree of yours is the finest oak I have ever seen. You will be paid 3000 silver pieces for it.” Oren put down his paint brush and looked at the Royal Cabinet Maker. "I have spent years studying this tree," he said. "I have drawn it and painted it tens of thousands of times. I know every twig and every acorn of this tree. I love it as if it were my father, or my mother, or my sister, or my brother, or a son, or a daughter. It is my life's work. I could never sell it." The Royal Cabinet Maker looked sad, for he did not want to take Oren's tree. But his job was to make the finest furniture he was able and he could only do that if he had the finest wood. "Please, sir," Oren said. "Do not take my tree. I have only just begun to study this tree. I have painted it many times, but I have not yet begun to capture its essence. My lines do not do justice to the graceful bend of its branches. I cannot yet approach its true colors. I must paint it many, many more times." "I am sorry," the cabinet maker said, "but I must have this tree." "Take my paintings," Oren said. "Take all of them. They must be worth something. Even if you sold the canvases to be painted over by someone else, there must be 3000 silver pieces worth. Please do not cut down my tree." "I am truly sorry," the cabinet maker said. "There is no other tree that will do for the work I have been ordered to fulfill. Next Thursday, woodsmen will come to harvest this tree. You have until then to do your painting." Having said this, the Royal Cabinet Maker picked up the painting he had chosen, got into his coach, and rode away. Oren was heart broken. He didn't know what to do. He went and sat down by his great friend and leaned his back against its mighty trunk. "I can't bear to lose you," he said to the tree. "I have painted you a thousand times and I feel like I am just beginning to know what you look like, to understand what you are." The wind blew through the leaves making a friendly sound as if in answer. Oren listened trying to understand what the tree might be saying, but the sound of the leaves could have meant anything. "Today is Friday," Oren said. "I have one week before the woodsmen come to cut you down. If this is to be our last week together, I will spend every minute of it drawing you and painting you and learning all about you that I can." And that's what Oren did. He worked every moment he could. When the light failed, he took his bed covers outside and slept by the tree, his hand touching its bark. When Thursday came and the woodsmen arrived, he continued to paint the tree even as they were cutting it down. Once it had fallen, he continued to paint it as it lay on its side. As each limb was hacked off, he sketched it. As the truck was sawn into long logs and loaded onto heavy ox-drawn wagons, he continued to draw. At last the woodsmen and the wagons and the oxen-- and the tree-- were gone. All that was left was a low stump where the tree had stood, a scattering of saw dust, and a fire where twigs and small branches had been piled up and burned. Oren sat on the stump and wondered why he had spent all those years painting and drawing the same tree. He got up and walked to his house. Stacked all around the building were paintings of the tree. At the porch there was barely room to walk up the steps and get to the door because of the canvases. Inside, every inch was taken up with paintings and drawings of the tree. Years worth of work. Oren began picking up the paintings and the drawings. He carried them an armful at a time out to the fire and tossed them in. Years went by and Oren began to paint other things. He was offered money to paint people’s dogs, their Aunt Sophies, and even themselves. He soon developed a reputation as a portrait artist. His paintings were known for showing the true character of those he painted. If the subject was a kind person, Oren's painting showed a kindness in the features. If the person was jealous, there would be a quality in the painting that seemed to express jealousy. Whatever a person had inside, Oren exposed it in his painting. This was not something he tried to do. He couldn't help it. It just happened. He was offered 500 silver pieces to paint Count Norcobb dressed in a naval uniform and standing at the helm of a ship. It was a particular challenge, because Count Norcobb didn't like the sea and had no desire to wear a uniform, much less actually get on board a ship. Oren made a trip to the ocean to learn about naval uniforms and about ships and then traveled to the count's country home to do the work. The result was impressive. In the painting, there was the count dressed in the uniform of an admiral and standing on the deck of a man-o-war, the sails unfurled. The only thing wrong was that in Oren's painting you could see in the count's face that he didn't really like the ocean very much. The count didn't care, though. He was so thrilled with the painting, that he recommended Oren to the king. The king promptly commissioned Oren to paint the royal portraits. The king wanted to be painted sitting on his royal throne, and so that's how Oren painted him. The painting showed a king whose heart was good. The king was very pleased with the result. The queen wanted to be painted seated in the royal carriage, and so that's how Oren painted her. The painting showed a queen who loved her people. Both the king and queen were thrilled with the result. The prince wanted to be painted dressed in his armor with his sword raised in victory, and so that is how Oren painted him. The painting showed a prince whose heart was brave. The king, the queen, and the prince were all thrilled with the result. The princess wasn't sure how she wanted to be painted. The prince suggested she be painted holding the royal cat. The princess didn't think so. The queen suggested she be painted standing in the royal gardens. The princess didn't think so. The king suggested she be painted wearing her diamond tiara and sitting on her throne. The princess didn't think so. What she guessed she would like, the princess decided, was to be painted sitting in her room. This was fine with Oren, who carried his easel and his paints to her room and had her pose so as to give him the best light. The princess hardly said a word. This was not unusual. The rich people Oren painted rarely spoke to him and Oren himself was not much of a talker. The princess was unhappy. If she had smiled, she would have been pretty, but she didn't. Not once. Her face showed a great sadness and Oren captured this sadness in his painting. The king was not thrilled with the result. The queen was not thrilled with the result. The prince was not thrilled with the result. And though she said she guessed she didn't really care one way or the other, the princess finally admitted that she wasn't happy with the painting either. The king had the canvas destroyed and ordered Oren to paint another. "Paint her so she looks happy," the king demanded. Once again, the princess posed and Oren set to work. "Your Highness," he said. "I apologize, but I have been ordered to paint you looking happy. It would make my work easier if you could try to look just a little happy." The princess took a deep breath and let it out. She forced the slightest bit of a smile. It looked terrible. "Your Highness, forget what I said," Oren told her. "Don't try to look happy. Just look natural." The princess stopped trying to smile. "Thank you, Your Highness." "You're welcome," the princess said. An hour passed in silence as Oren worked. Then during a break, the princess came around to look at how the painting was coming. It showed the princess looking, well, not happy, but at least not quite as sad as before. "I don't think the king is going to like this one, either" she said. "I am afraid you are correct, Your Highness," Oren answered politely. The princess studied the painting for a moment. "Why do you suppose I am so unhappy?" she asked. The question made Oren a little nervous. "Your Highness, I am sure I don't know." "It's because I lost the man I loved. I was to marry Prince Eldred of Winthorp. We were in love and very happy. Two weeks before the wedding, while Prince Eldred was out riding, his horse shied and threw him. His neck was broken in the fall. His neck and my heart. That was three years ago. I have been unhappy ever since." Oren wasn't sure what to say. "Please accept my sincere condolences for your loss, Your Highness." "Have you ever been unhappy?" she asked. "Yes, Your Highness." "Was it because of a loss?" "Yes, Your Highness." "Then you understand how I feel," she said. "Was it someone very close to you? Someone you loved very much? Your wife, perhaps?" "No, Your Highness, it was nothing like that," Oren told her. Then he explained about the tree. "When I was young, I decided that there were too many things in this world to do and to know. Rather than know a little about a lot of things and doing many things badly, I decided I would choose just one thing and spend my entire life at it. I chose something simple and nearby: the oak tree that grew in my yard. I began my study by sketching it. Soon I progressed to painting. I painted it in every light and in every season; day after day, year after year." "Didn't you grow tired of painting the same tree over and over?" the princess asked. "Oh, no. Your Highness. Every time I painted it I learned something new, something I hadn't noticed, or felt or known before. I never grew tired of painting my tree. I painted it everyday for ten years." "And why did you stop? You now spend your time painting fat kings and sad-looking princesses. Why don't you paint your tree anymore?" Oren looked a little embarrassed. "Begging Your Highness's pardon," he said, "but, the Royal Cabinet Maker had my tree cut down to make furniture." A look of horror came over the princess's face. "Oh, no," she said. She sounded very distressed. "Oh, no," she said again. "Are you all right, Your Highness?" Oren asked. "Follow me," the princess said and walked out of the room. Oren followed her. She led him into her sleeping chamber where she drew back the heavy drapes that covered the window. Light flooded into the room. There on the wall was a graceful painting of an oak tree. Oren's oak tree. It was the painting that the Royal Cabinet Maker had taken. "Is this your tree?" the princess asked. A tear sprang from Oren's eye. He quickly wiped it away. "Yes, Your Highness." "And you painted this picture?" "Yes, Your Highness." Oren said. "This painting saved my life," the princess told him. "When Eldred was killed, I felt so terrible I didn't want to live anymore. I decided to throw myself out of this window. It's one hundred and twenty feet from here to the moat. And I can't swim." Oren just looked at her. The princess walked over to the picture of Oren's tree. "But when I pulled the drapes open, the light shined on this painting. As I looked at it, I found I couldn't look away. I thought how strong that tree looked. And I thought, 'That tree is a royal oak and I am a royal princess.' I thought, 'I should be strong. Strong like that tree.' And as I looked at the loving way someone had painted it, I suddenly felt a little better. I suddenly felt that it would be very wrong for me, and for my people, and for my mother and father, and for my dear, lost Eldred, for me to take my life.” “Over the years, whenever I have felt my worst and it seemed that my unhappiness would overtake me, I have come here and looked at this painting and it has always made me feel better." Oren had to wipe another tear from his eye. "Your Highness, I have often thought that spending years painting a single tree was perhaps a very foolish thing to do. But I know now that it was not. And I don't care that the Royal Cabinet Maker cut down my tree. Your life is more important. And I am pleased, Your Highness, that looking at my painting has helped take away a little of your unhappiness." The princess smiled a sad little smile. "I didn't know it until now, but the wood from the tree you painted was used to make this bed and this dresser and this writing table. I would like very much to give them to you, if you would care to have them." Oren walked over to the oak writing table and rubbed his hand lightly along it's edge. Tears ran down his cheeks. "I would like very much to have these. Thank you, Your Highness" The princess smiled. "Did you know," Oren said, wiping his cheeks with his sleeves, "that you just smiled?" The princess looked shocked. "I did?" she asked. "Yes, Your Highness, you did," Oren said. "Well," the princess said, smiling a little more. "I do feel just a tiny bit happy." "While you're feeling that way, Your Highness, why don't we go and finish the painting. It will make my job very much easier." The princess smiled. "Yes," she said. "Why don't we."