Dürer II

Dressed in his bathrobe Dürer ambles through his living room. Oscar his cat is startled by his sudden arrival from behind a large stack of books. He jolts up and over the cushion covered couch on which he was sleeping. Dürer rubs his temples. Had he missed something? Rummaging through his pockets his fingers brush past half a dozen post-it notes, bread crumbs, blunt pencils, his reading glasses and a screwed up lolly wrapper. He pauses; gently he pulls the wrapper out. This could be important. It sits in his hand, like a ladybug, immobile. Dürer puts on his glasses. He tries to peer inside the wrapper without unfolding it.

Nothing.

He unfolds the wrapper until every corner and every crinkle is as flat as it can possibly get after having sat in his robe pocket for God knows how long. Nothing.

He turns the tiny piece of plastic. Still nothing.

Disappointed, Dürer throws it into the nearest bin. The rug underneath his bare feet trembles for a couple of seconds as the 6:42 howls past 3 storeys below. He cleans the lenses of his reading glasses with his sleeve and puts them next to him on the coffee table. He leans back into a sea of cushions knocking off six or seven issues of Philosopher’s Digest as he kicks up his feet. He’ll have a sleep over it and maybe something will come to him later, he thinks. As the sun’s rays creep down the walls he falls asleep.

A blistering salvo from the doorbell abruptly stops his snooze. He pulls the woollen blanket over his ears in an attempt to ignore the unwelcome visit. Another salvo followed by resolute thumps on the door force him up of the couch. His mouth shouts “Yes!” whilst his hands try to shovel most of the mess out of the front door’s view before he opens it. Just as he moves his head past the safety of his door a thick envelop shoots through the two inch wide opening in the doorway. “Mail! Yours. Some idiot threw it into my mailbox!” Mrs Kornfelder snarls. Without waiting for a response she’s back across the hall and her door is slammed shut. “How kind”, Dürer mumbles with a distinct sarcasm in his voice “good day to you, too.”

At his desk Dürer stares at the self-addressed envelope for a long time before he finally pulls himself together and opens it. He rips open the padded envelope and retrieves what’s inside. It was another book to add to his collection. He had only ordered it last week. After reading texts on his namesake Albrecht he was fascinated by the depth of the symbolism and iconography in Renaissance painting. He started to dig a little deeper. Now his flat is filled with the stuff. He uncovered mysterious equations and hidden geometry everywhere he went. Consumed by the idea of an ever-present, all-governing law Dürer started to pursue it and found flaws in every attempt made before him. Convinced there was some sort of equation or formula which could be applied to absolutely everything he set out to capture the supreme law of beauty and proportion.

Dressed in his bathrobe Dürer sits under the dim light of his desk lamp, reading what he had received in the mail this afternoon. The floorboards underneath his slippers tremble for a couple of seconds as the 3:14 howls past 3 storeys below. Dürer pauses, laying the book face down on the desk. He takes off his reading glasses and rubs his temples. Had he missed something? Rummaging through his pockets his fingers brush past a couple of post-it notes, a half-eaten biscuit and an empty fountain pen.

The bin!

He’s on his feet, striding through the living room past the couch. Oscar his cat is startled by his sudden arrival. The bin. He reaches inside, digging for the piece of plastic. He pulls out a flattened lolly wrapper. Dürer puts his glasses back on. This could be important. He twists and turns the tiny piece of plastic, looking. Nothing.

Both sides. Nothing.

After one last glance he scrunches it up and puts it into his pocket. Still nothing.