The Mona Lisa of Williamsburg

Behind the Painting

I sat down on a cafe chair at the corner of Broadway and Bedford to paint the Mona Lisa. The Mona Lisa of Williamsburg, that is.

She was perfectly framed. The streets converging and the buildings narrowing. Mechanical towers rising and fire escapes cascading. I couldn't tell if she was smiling.

It was cloudy when I started. A man walking by lamented the grey day.

"When there’s a sunset, this looks perfect. Right there is where it comes through." He motioned down 6th Street to the Williamsburg Bridge.

A man in an old Army jacket paused at the crosswalk. "Aw, you’re a painter." I was just getting to the hard part. Painting the Mona Lisa's face.

"Yeah, that’s her. She’s been there for a number of years."

"Who’s that guy who used to paint on TV? With the afro?" Bob Ross, I said.

"Yeah, I like him. I like that old show. I like anything old. Antiques, antique cars, antique roadshow. You’re a good one man." He walked away.

A couple walked by arguing. "Why aren’t you talking?" "Because if I say anything, I’ll make it worse."

I sat and watched the corner come alive as the work week ended. A man posed in a fantastic western shirt. Dogs looked intently at their walkers. Walkers looked lovingly at their dogs. Families strolled together, decked out in long black coats and dresses for Shabbat.

The temperature was dropping rapidly. The wind was coming off the water. I hurried to finish painting.

Then, at the last moment, there it was. Behind the Williamsburg Bridge and the Lower Manhattan Skyline. A faint yellow glow on the horizon. Sunset over the East River.