Beautiful Pain

Chapter 8

"Rape is the only crime in which the victim becomes the accused."

-Freda Adler

He felt his body tremble with pleasure, the thrill of knowing that his work was nearly complete, and that the absolute perfection and beauty of the sadness, desperation and trauma had been captured.

The title of his new masterpiece – "Sierra Leone". Perhaps this was his greatest ever...

Sierrra Leone had been ravaged by a civil war which lasted for eleven years, ending in 2002. Rebel groups recruited teenagers and children to become soldiers of their specific cause by murdering their families and threatening to kill them if they did not join.

One Rebel group, known as the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) were notorious for hacking off limbs and indoctrinating children into their struggle. All over fighting government forces and their offshoots for control of the diamond rich West African state.

The killing fields of Sierra Leone during the late 1990's, proved another perfect place for an artist to capture the beauty of anguish and desperation.

A grey smoky hue enveloped the face of a high cheek boned, full lipped African beauty. Her brown shining skin, smudged with a mix of blood and war seemed to glow. In her eyes, he had captured the numbness of grief which he had witnessed over and over again, a beautiful result of wars' repetitive thrum of trauma and loss.

The girl was no more than thirteen. She should have had eyes which reflected youths' wonder and excitement for the future ahead. Instead, still barely pre pubescent, her eyes reflected enough pain and suffering for ten lifetimes...

"Yes...beautiful..." he thought.

He concentrated on steadying his hand as he carefully applied paste to the back of the last tiny square of bleached skin, then he skilfully placed it the centre of her left eye, revealing dampness and stagnant tears.

At last. He felt the welcomed and deserved swell of pride and admiration of a job well done. Yes, this was excellent. His chest heaved as he dragged in his air, hearing the familiar hollow whistling sound of air passing through his windpipe.

He was diagnosed with laryngeal papillomatosis at the age of seven. Breathing was always painful and labour intensive. He was unable to participate in sport or sustain any kind of intense physical excursion.

At school he was called "Whisper" as he was only able to force enough air through his throat to create a voice of jagged whispers as his larynx struggled against the all the tumours.

At the age of thirteen, after six years of injections and repeated Carbon Dioxide laser surgery, the doctors advised his parents that in order to ensure his well being, he should be given a tracheotomy, re-routing air around the affected area in his throat.

His parents were reluctant of course, as he was already quite the recluse, and they feared that a breathing tube poking through a hole (stoma) in their son's throat would do nothing to improve his popularity. His father encouraged his son's love for architecture, hoping he would follow his own footsteps.

His Grandfather was Albert Albin Grabner, was one of Austria's leading Architects. With the incredible inheritance his father would attain, there was no need for him to have become a professional, but his father, Albert was also a perfectionist, and a hard working man, dedicated to architecture and passionate about the structural world around him. He was certain his son, Franz had the same gift.

Even at the age of seven and eight, Franz would immerse himself in his art, drawing, sketching and using all kinds of mediums such as feathers and small animal bones to create unworldly expressions of emotion on canvas. His parents feared his sickness, and a permanent protruding tube from his throat would simply be more reason for their son to become isolated from his peers, increasing his need for solitude and encouraging his already alarming display of anti-social eccentricity.