la nuit blanche | blips in memory
It’s midnight dearest, get some sleep.
A flutterby, or is it butterfly? Anyways, a thing with wings that lands upon the eyes and the soul. Was that how the quote goes? The nights in the small cottage remind me of that Starry Starry Night painting, or the song. Maybe both. God, sleep is what I probably need. Just a little swab of white, mixed with that oily yellow — that’s it. Light, how can I capture light? The yellow, now apply that to the little church window just to the left of those dancing elms. What did he see when he stoop upon the same hill in some other time? Did he see the stars leaving long, drawn-out trails; swirling like those lollipops the candyman sells? My hands find the latch of the window, and a sweet summer night’s wind swoops within and animates the silent room. Flowers in the vase, drooping, lifting, drooping, lifting. Large sunflowers, large sunflowers. Wind carries things, it brings things and leaves things. Barely there at all, always smiling. Like a darling child. What was I thinking about again? Yes, the light. Does light move like wind or like water? I tip over the vase and Vanessa groans in the bed just yonder. A shuffle behind me. It’s midnight dearest, get some sleep. Yes yes, just a few more strokes. Water, smooth and cold, gushing. Vanessa is a writer. She is the one who was meant to be the late-nighter, the under-the-candle-scribbling kind. She who prides herself in ink and pen. It catches my sleeve, a damp, groggy kind of feeling as the flower-water soaks through and reaches bare flesh. Water. Water can be seen, can be felt. Water moves in waves, in and out, hither and thither. How does light move? Can you feel light? Can you touch it? I know mirrors capture light, but what else? Paint? Pen? A stray stroke of colour. I cannot afford to repaint. Oils are getting more expensive. I need to sell this one. Reason tells me to put down my brush. I oblige. I cheer up. Tomorrow we will take the long ride to Versailles, and then the chapel and the hamlet. Where afterward? I do not know. But I am young, and the fall salons are opening soon. Pray this one fetches a better price. The night wanes —
— I’ll pick up the vase tomorrow.
