Eye of the Beholder

"It looks like a squiggle."

"It is not a squiggle. It is a supporting line, and-"

"Aren't lines supposed to be straight?"

"Ezio, there is only one artist in this room, and it happens to be-"

"Obviously, since you don't even know that lines are straight."

Leonardo da Vinci put his head in his hands and reminded himself yet again that violence was not the answer. He knew that the rain was keeping Ezio indoors today, insteading of his normal tasks as Lorenzo deMedici's personal assasin. And it wasn't like Ezio was being unhelpful. The man had run several errands for Leonardo that day, picking up ingrediants for paint and even suprising the man with a small jar of ultramarine, a gift for all the codex pages the artist had been decoding lately. But with those tasks done Ezio had grown bored, and a bored assasin was an annoying one.

"Listen very carefully Ezio, and do not speak until I am finished. This is not a squiggle. It is a supporting line. It is not straight because the figure it is supporting is not a straight line. And I will paint over it when I add the blue overtones, and no one will ever see it. Does that make sense to you?"

"Then why is it there?"

"To help define the shape of the object."

Ezio nodded, accepting that, and Leonardo went back to work. Charcoal lines continued to appear on the canvas, thin shadows of what was to be. The artist enjoyed this phase of the process the most, watching as what was in his head manifested itself onto the canvas. Verrochio had always had always drilled into him the importance of the basics of the painting, that his lines and figures must be accurate before he could even begin to mix colors. And Leonardo held that to heart. It was so relaxing to sketch the beginnings of an illustration, and as he worked the slight annoyance began to fade.

"I think you are wrong, you know."

"Hmm?" Leonardo looked up from the canvas, meeting the assasin's thoughtful eyes. "About what?"

"There only being one artist in the room. I mean, what is an artist, anyway? If it's someone who is just a painter or just a sculptor, then you aren't one."

"An artist...is someone who makes something worthy of praise." Leonardo frowned a little, not liking the explanation but unable to think of anything else. "Someone who makes thing that are beautiful or useful, and does it well."

"So I am an artist."

The statement suprised Leonardo enough that he put down his charcoal and turned away from the painting. Ezio seemed serious, and the artist bent his thoughts to the idea.

"How so?"

"What I do is worthy of praise. At least, Uncle and Ill Magnifico seem to think so. And what I do is useful. I mean, Marco Barbarigo was killing Venezia before his term of office ended. So, by your reasoning, I am an artists."

"I...suppose so. But Ezio, I don't know that killing is one of the arts."

"But we weren't talking about the arts. We were talking about artists."

"Yes, but...an artist makes art! So if what you do isn't an art, then you aren't an artist."

"Well then, what are the arts?"

"Sculpture, painting, architexcture, music."

"And murder, apparently."

"No, murder is not an art-"

"It is when carried out by an artist. Is it more an art when carried out on an artist?"

Leonardo thought it wise to go back to work at that point.