light and darkness//the authority of shadows
by Fred Aiken
Felix was an authority on the subtle language of shadows. In a world obsessed with light, Felix saw the beauty in the dark spaces that others overlooked. His apartment was filled with sketches of the interplay between light and dark, delicate shades of grey meticulously rendered with charcoal and ink.
Felix’s expertise was not in the common understanding of shadow as merely the absence of light. No, he was a connoisseur of the infinite gradations, the whispered secrets of the dusk, and the profound silence of twilight. He could decipher the mood of a room by the angle of its shadows, predicting human behavior with uncanny accuracy.
In his small studio, Felix conducted his studies. He had an array of lamps and candles, their light sources adjustable to the millimeter. A mannequin stood in the center, draped in various fabrics to observe how different materials absorbed and cast shadows. Every evening, Felix would manipulate the lights, sketching the resulting patterns and noting how the shadows shifted with the faintest change in position.
One day, an art collector named Veronica Sterling visited his studio. She had heard whispers of Felix’s unique talent and was curious to see his work. As she entered, she noticed the room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp. Felix greeted her with a nod, gesturing to a chair placed in the middle of the room.
“Please, sit,” he said, adjusting the lamp slightly. Veronica complied, feeling a mix of intrigue and skepticism. Felix began to speak, his voice soft but resonant.
“Shadows reveal what light conceals. They are the true storytellers,” he said, moving around her. “Let me show you.”
He adjusted the lamp, and the room transformed. Shadows danced on the walls, creating intricate patterns that seemed to breathe with life. Veronica watched in amazement as Felix manipulated the light, making the shadows shift and swirl. It was as if the room itself was alive, telling a story through the play of light and dark.
Felix explained the nuances of each shadow, pointing out details that Veronica would have never noticed. “This one here,” he said, indicating a long, slender shadow, “it’s a melancholic whisper, a remnant of a forgotten sorrow.” He moved the lamp again, and the shadow changed shape. “And now, it’s a secret, hidden but yearning to be discovered.”
Veronica was mesmerized. She had never seen shadows in such a way, had never considered their depths and complexities. Felix’s mastery was undeniable, his understanding profound.
As she left his studio, Veronica felt as though she had been given a glimpse into another world, one where shadows spoke and light listened. And in that dimly lit studio, he had shown her the beauty of the unseen, the poetry of the dark.
Fred Aiken Writing 