He bought the painting at a second hand shop, just because he liked it.
When he hung it up at home he realised that it was the only oil painting in the house. It was a portrait of a female actress that he was an avid fan of when he’d been a young man at college. She would have to have been his favourite movie celebrity. She was beautiful, no other word for it. It was a fine painting. The moment he saw it, he recognised her. He wondered who could have painted it and asked the shop owner. The rather weird old man had just smiled and said he had no idea and neither of them could find a signature. This fact had piqued his interest even more. He surprised himself at the time by asking the price, and he actually ended up buying it. He supposed that since living alone he spent a lot of his time with memories. This painting represented a very happy time in his early life and he had no regrets about buying it.
It was only a few weeks after hanging it that he detected something different about the woman’s features. It was only subtle, but he was convinced he was not imagining it. He wondered whether it was something to do with the painting’s different environment, perhaps the light, or the humidity. Could such things bring about a change in the appearance of oil on canvass in this way? That can’t be right. When he thought about it, he had often seen this form of art in galleries that date back centuries. Whatever it was, it was a disappointment. As time went on he was only just aware of his lack of interest in it. He would barely glance at it as he passed. This was the case until he happened to notice that the frame was slightly crooked. He had stopped momentarily to straighten it when he found himself staring at the film star.
The colour had faded from her cheeks and her complexion was becoming pale, with a hint of yellow. It was this incident that had him wondering about her life after entertaining audiences all that time ago. When he looked into it he found that her stardom was short-lived. After her fourth film she had become ill. The different internet sites he looked at had varying versions about what she had suffered from.
Apparently both jaundice, which would explain the colour, and dropsy were involved. The dropsy, or edema as it was later called, affected her face to the degree that she was no longer seen in public. He found all of this information most upsetting. It was an awful shame that such an illness should take hold of such a beautiful woman; his old heartthrob. He stood looking at the picture. He now found it quite disturbing. He had no intention of watching how this goddess changed during her final years. He would remember her as she was back then.
A short time later saw him at the back corner of his garden standing in front of his old oil drum incinerator. He tried not to look at her face as he tipped in the last of the petrol. With a sigh, he struck and threw in a match. With a heavy sigh, he turned away determined to allow the flames to eradicate what he had learnt from his mind.
Returning to the house, he felt sure it was working.