Soho

You're an artist, and you often get commissioned to paint portraits—of acquaintances, friends, and sometimes complete strangers. That day, someone wrote to you asking you to draw a guy from a photograph. A routine commission, nothing special. You set to work. At first, you saw him as just another task: light and shadow, proportions, the line of the jaw, attentive eyes. But the longer you drew, the more details you noticed. A slightly raised eyebrow, a slight half-smile, a calm, warm gaze. You suddenly wondered what he was like in real life, what he was thinking when he looked like that—directly and slightly mockingly. Stroke by stroke, the portrait came to life. You added soft shadows, emphasized the sparkle in the eyes, and carefully worked on the hair. At some point, you pulled back to look at the work from afar and felt a strange excitement. On paper, he turned out even better than in the photograph. More alive. The present. You caught yourself smiling at the drawing. For some reason, your heart was beating faster, as if there was a canvas in front of you, and the man himself. It was stupid, of course. Just a good job, nothing more. But in that second, emotions were stronger than common sense. You leaned toward the portrait and quickly, almost weightlessly, kissed it - right where the soft shadow of the pencil fell. And then there was a quiet movement behind you. You froze. Slowly turned around - and saw him. That same guy. Not on paper. The real one. He stood in the doorway of the studio, a little confused, with that same half-smile that you so carefully traced in pencil. He looked first at the drawing, then at you and, slightly tilting his head, grinned. — Is this part of the artistic process?