How would you describe a canvas full of meaningless strokes? Of moody hues and liberal turns? Of blacks and omniscient blues?
The muse however had still to grasp the concept behind all this. Behind his madness.
” Don’t we need some more light to come in? ” she said placing herself on chair. Wooden. Particularly asked for.
” More darkness perhaps, but no not really. I’m comfortable being half blind, are you Tara?” Pierre replied never looking at her. Traditionally being blindfolded helped, but to Pierre that was undermining. His manner involved never looking at what he captured. Once his muse was ready, he painted a little rather minuscule sun flower, meaning a good omen. And then there she was. Half naked till her waist sitting tentatively on the chair. Half would do it.
” Who is that? Your muse I mean ” Kip asked staring at the painting hung behind the man’s shoulder. There were only colours in it , nothing life like. But then something told Kip that the painting breathed life. Life which would be represented by the messy often random strokes of grey shades. Drenched in life and drying in death.
” That is Tara. One of my partners ages back ” As he stepped aside to let her in. Kip wouldn’t have come here if there was nothing important. In the 2 years that she took care of his marketing callings and brought him coffee, he’d known her much. Her visit was both uncharacteristic and untimely. But then it felt neither.
” You never talk about her… I mean.. ” She dropped her clutch on the couch and feeling it for a second longer than usual.
” She was important.. Just not relevant.. Is something wrong?… You look bothered ” He asked because he had to. He didn’t want her to answer. Thankfully for him she remained silent.
” Why does the painting look alive and very much present…. Is it the colors ”
He was done with the sun flower. Pierre now had to capture her in the truest form possible. Then the first stroke came in, a deep blue one. Enchanting and pure as she was. But underwhelming in strength and reason. That was what was the discounting factor in her. Save that she was perfect like what the thin straight line of violet mix hinted at. Pierre stared at her breasts for quite sometime. Asexually and academically. He studied them for their overpowering sensuality. Which colour could define the mysticism involved there at.
” Do you think I could move ? ” Tara meekly asked adjusting her stance on the wood
” One movement. One mistake. And imperfection. Leading to more. So ask me that again ” Pierre calmly replied, preparing a paste of deep red and black. An intensified Black he always branded it.
” Is it the colours you say? Colours can’t be alive, not more than what we want them to be ” Pierre filled a couple of glasses with sparkling wine.
” I can’t see her, this muse of yours, but it’s like she’s there breathing inside ” Kip took one drink. He was handsome, polite, and creative. Not many men in her life actually stood for all these three. But then something happened. She collapsed on to the ground. Her glass shattered into pieces and she toppled down. Strangely though Pierre was least perturbed by the event. Instead he walked to the painting and stood there as if waiting for something, some incidence.
He took the intensified Black and applied to her naked torso. Carefully and precisely. Her every crevice and every turn, smeared with the pastel. As he did so, Tara felt his sweat and skin. His breath and life. She could see him beyond the colours. Her hands felt the clothing around his waist and started working on them. Forth and back her fingers went. It was just a few moments later that both were naked, and their chests drenched in intensified Black . Their lips parted momentarily, as he pulled her thigh to lazily lay on his back. And then he entered her, firstly feeling her moistened self, and pushing through it. It wasn’t the first time but then it was always the first time. He could feel warmth inside, comforting for a moment, and gripping at another. His observations were only disturbed by her heavy breathes pushing his chest in sync. And then it started, an uncontrollable shiver inside of him, electrical and cold and beyond him. It numbed his brain, and stiffened his body.
” You know I’ve always wondered ” Pierre spoke casually. Kip helped herself stand up. She wasn’t upset, rather embarrassed. She was drunk to the hilt and that fact was happily and very apparently established.
” What is that you see…I mean the colours.. What do you see ” Pierre’s sudden ominous curiosity disturbed her. But she had known his madness for years long and nothing seemed overtly out of place.
” Three Brown streaks and one very bright blue one, ah crossing.. more so intercepting the other three in a pentagram which..”
” Yes … Yes.. And anything else ” Pierre cut her off. Obviously he needed her to look beyond the obvious. And so she did. She walked closer and saw something rather disturbing. It wasn’t a pentagram. The boundaries were impressions of fingers.
” I did not help you stand up. Isn’t it? ” Pierre didn’t feel the need to hear the answer.
” Well it was nothing ” Kip replied holding his hand. Their fingers intertwined.
” She won’t let me. Even at this moment I cannot see the colour which defined her…”