Meta-Tales
An artist creates a jacket for his beloved, but she rejects it, saying it makes her look obese. The artist creates a sculpture of a new woman, dressed in the jacket, and becomes obsessed with it, spending his days gazing at it and talking to it as if it were alive. His wife finds him dead in his studio, consumed by his obsession with his art and his beloved. The sculpture remains, still dressed in the winter jacket…
Winter Jacket Story
Fable | Parable | Allegory
A parable dedicated to Allan E Poe. His exquisite use of language and vivid descriptions still continue to captivate readers today. His work continues to inspire and influence countless writers and readers around the world. His legacy will always be remembered as a true master of the macabre and suspenseful tale.
Once upon a winter night, there was an artist, a man of great talent and endless passion. He lived alone in his studio, among his masterpieces and his muse, his own beautiful beloved woman, who inspired him every day to create.
As the snowflakes fell outside, the artist worked tirelessly on a new project, a winter jacket for his love, the perfect gift for the season of cold and frost. He selected the finest wool and the softest lining, and he sewed and crafted with utmost care and diligence, determined to create a garment that would combine beauty and comfort, warmth and elegance.
At last, the winter jacket was complete, and the artist presented it to his beloved with a smile of hopeful anticipation. But to his dismay, the woman frowned and sighed and said, “I look like a whale in this jacket. How could you think I would wear it?”
The artist was crushed, his heart shattered into shards of disappointment and frustration. He could not understand how his gift could be rejected so carelessly, without any sign of appreciation or gratitude.
And so, he retreated into his studio, alone with his thoughts and his art. He created a sculpture of a new woman, a flawless beauty with a slender figure and a radiant smile, dressed her in the winter jacket, and placed her in an armchair beside his own, admiring her with a gaze of obsession and delusion.
The artist spent weeks in his studio, drinking absinthe and conversing with the statue, ignoring the outside world and his own life. When his wife visited him and asked why he had stopped coming home, he did not answer. He sat in his chair, dead and motionless, his eyes wide open, gazing at the winter jacket and the statue beside him.
And so, the snowflakes kept falling outside, silent witnesses to the tragedy of an artist who lost his mind and his love, consumed by an illusion of beauty and perfection that led him to eternal oblivion.
* W X Gwizdala, Adelphi, June 24, 2023