My last Duchess

Deprivation

I was always told I had a gift. That the brush when guided by my movements created art. Especially my recently deceased parents were enthusiastic and supportive - but now the compliments and approvals are merely something vaguely hidden in my memories. I have stopped painting.
I wonder alone in the hallways - looking at the faces of my parents staring emptily back at me from the canvasses. I am surrounded by the portraits of my ancestors who could tell tales of a tremendous family history. But these faces, this home – the memories which make up this huge castle’s history - does not comfort me. I am alone now.
I have reached the end of the corridor. That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall. Looking as if she were alive. She had not been my first love. Some had proceeded her, but she was the only one who made me feel whole. Only yesterday had I for the twelfth time retreated to the dark room on the west wing to mourn. Oh, how this pointless yearning can eat a soul and kill a spirit. So real to me is this imaginative character in front of me that I have often found myself wandering this hallway late at night to talk to her - as if her presence in my mind made her once again stand next to me - gently caressing my hand.
I remember when I made her eternal - my last painting. She sat still, gently smiling, looking intimately at me, and waiting for me to get everything right. I remember the split of emotions – infectious love and tranquil, deep concentration – necessary emotions to be an artist.
She passed away all too soon. I could tell you the story of the unfortunate events that happened when she fell in love... again. But I shall leave that tale of misery to the poets who might despise my actions. She was my love, my life, my inspiration - therefore she has to be the last Duchess. No other woman, not even a muse of poetry could replace her.
I broke the brush and tore apart my remaining canvasses and retracted myself from the world. The castle gates – now tightly shut – hold me in… and the world out. Now all I want is to wander the hallways and nourish my solitude and deprivation. But still she hangs there, frozen forever with an affectionate gaze which soothes the soul. An image of her… but also an image of myself.
My last duchess - the reason why I will live on, once another artist dies.