| Collection: | The Book of Job and 42 Paintings |
| Author: | Fr. Antonio Oteiza |
| Type: | Painting |
| Location: | Cataloguing Room |
| Characteristics: | Acrylic paint on cardboard |
| Artwork: |
Click to enlarge |
| Description: |
Man is on earth to fulfil his service; his days are those of a hired labourer: like a slave, he longs for the shade; like a hired labourer, he waits for his wages. My inheritance is months of emptiness; nights of weariness have fallen to my lot. When I lie down, I wonder: When will I rise? The night drags on, and I grow weary of tossing and turning until dawn. I am covered with worms and clods of earth; my skin breaks open and festers. My days race faster than a weaver's shuttle and come to an end without hope. Remember that my life is but a breath and that my eyes will never see happiness again. The eye that looks upon me will see me no more; when you look for me, I will no longer be there. As a cloud passes away and vanishes, so whoever goes down to the grave does not return. He does not come back to his house, nor does his dwelling ever see him again. Therefore I will not restrain my tongue; my anguished spirit will speak, and my sorrowful soul will complain. Am I the Ocean or the Dragon that you should set a guard over me? When I think that my bed will bring me relief and my couch will share my groaning, then you frighten me with dreams and terrify me with nightmares. I would rather be strangled; I would choose death rather than these limbs I despise. I shall not live for ever: leave me alone, for my days are but a breath. What is man that you should consider him important, that you should concern yourself with him, inspect him every morning and examine him at every moment? How long before you turn your gaze away from me and leave me alone long enough even to swallow my saliva? If I have sinned, what have I done to you, Watcher of mankind? Why have you made me your target, so that I have become a burden to myself? Why do you not forgive my offence and take away my guilt? For very soon I shall lie down in the dust; you will seek me at dawn, but I will no longer exist. |