The Last Supper

Have you ever seen a story that lives on a wall? I live in a big, quiet room with high ceilings in a city called Milan, in Italy. I am not a painting on a canvas that you can pick up and move. I am part of the wall itself. I can feel the cool plaster beneath my colors and hear the soft whispers of people who travel from far away just to see me. In my picture, you can see a very long table filled with friends sharing one last meal together. Behind them, light shines in from windows, making the whole room glow. Every person at my table has a different look on their face. Some look surprised, some look a little sad, and others look very curious. I am a special moment captured in time, a very important dinner that happened a long, long time ago. I am the painting called The Last Supper.

An amazing man with a giant imagination gave me life. His name was Leonardo da Vinci, and he was much more than just a painter. He was a scientist, an inventor, and a dreamer. Around the year 1495, he picked up his brushes and began to paint me. He put me on the dining hall wall where monks, who were special church helpers, ate their meals every day. Leonardo wanted me to be extra special, so he didn't use the usual kind of paint that sinks into wet plaster. Instead, he tried a brand new idea, painting right onto the dry wall. This made my colors pop and look super bright. He worked very slowly and carefully. Sometimes he would stare at me for a whole day and only add one tiny stroke of his brush. He wanted to perfectly show how each person at my table felt when their friend, Jesus, told them some surprising news. He painted their hands and their faces to show all of their big feelings. It took him until the year 1498 to finally finish me, but he made sure every single detail was perfect.

Because Leonardo used his own special kind of paint, I have become very old and delicate over the hundreds of years I have been on this wall. Parts of me started to fade and crumble away. But people knew my story was too important to lose. So, very kind and careful people worked for a long, long time to gently clean me and save me so I wouldn't disappear. Today, friends and families travel from all over the world to visit me in Milan. They stand quietly and look at the faces of all the friends sitting at my table. They see a story about love, friendship, and one very important moment. I help them see that a single moment can hold so many feelings, and that a painting can tell a powerful story without using a single word. I hope my story reminds you that art helps connect us all, letting us wonder and feel things together, no matter how much time has passed.