Enrico Zoff, gardener to Pablo Picasso, brushed earth from

his apron and, as bidden, entered his employer’s studio.

 

The great man swung an arm over work worth millions.

Tell me, Enrico, please, what do you think of these?

 

The Italian put on his spectacles and peered at a

canvas on the wall. Eyes able to shape

and size a garden at a glance could

see no form at all. Pardon my ignorance, Signor,

but what is it I am looking for?

 

It is a woman Zoff!

 

The old man looked again, eyes straining, glasses off.

 

A woman you say?

 

A woman! I see women that way.

The gardener fiddled with his hat.

And that?

 

A horse, Picasso sighed.

That is how you see a horse?

 

Of course! his boss replied.

Signor Picasso, forgive me.

The old man gently shook his head.

 

With eyesight as bad as yours, why do you paint at all? He said.