Many years later they are back visiting their home town. The elder brother offers to take the younger out for a meal. He can afford an expensive restaurant: he has learned to mingle in high society, and he is well kept among them.
"Tell me about your paintings," the younger brother asks over dinner.
"Oh I haven't painted anything yet," the elder brother says, as though this should be obvious.
"Why's that?" asks the younger, surprised.
"I have searched this world far and wide, I have looked in every corner of the globe, and I have yet to find anyone with such perfect beauty for me to feel inspired to paint them," the elder explains.
Then he asks: "Now, little brother, you are dressed in rags. What keeps you so poor? Artists are much esteemed in high society. All you need to do is find a benefactor."
"I've yet to make any money from my drawings and paintings," the younger one says, his eyes shining. "I live among the poor and wretched, as one of them. Everyone I see is beautiful. I struggle to put my pencil down at night for all the beauty around me."
He takes out his notepad to show his elder brother. The drawings are deeply human, vibrant with life, but the elder brother pretends to be unimpressed.
"Do these wretches pay you for your scribblings?" he asks.
"Sometimes in pennies, or a meal. Most of them cannot afford to pay me. But it's the joy I see on their faces, when I show them a drawing of themselves. For me that is more than payment enough."
Thanks for sharing this! It was a huge encouragement.
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