When we kiss … my lips are made of ice
When we touch … my body is silent
When we whisper to each other … I lie
When we make love … I hate myself
Today, too, I sat at it for three hours and today, too, I didn’t succeed. Frustrated, I stood up and buried my hands in my hair. I didn’t care that I had paint on me and was therefore spreading it all over me. It was the lot of a painter to become a painting herself during the creative phases.
Today, too, I did not manage to paint the incredible indigo blue that had haunted me day and night for a year. Ever since that summer in Provence, I couldn’t forget Vincent. Whether I closed my eyes or opened them, his eyes with that incredible colour still burned deep into my soul.
“Holly, don’t be so hard on yourself.” Shawn’s voice snapped me out of my despair as he brought me a cup of tea. Dressed as usual in a white shirt with starched collar and dark trousers, he rarely wore anything colourful. Had he ever had unkempt hair or a stain on his clothes? I didn’t think so.
“Thanks.” Dejectedly I accepted the cup and he stroked my back encouragingly.
“Your sponsor is happy with the designs, your first exhibition will be terrific, I know it.”, he tried to cheer me up lovingly and my stomach tightened at his concern for me. I had never told him about Vincent. I had never confessed my betrayal to him.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” I murmured, sipping the steaming liquid. My gaze flew to the paintings I had been working on since my return. In the course of my stay and progress in Provence, it had come to pass that an anonymous backer had been funding me ever since. It was not unusual as a young artist to be sponsored by secret sources until the first exhibition took place.
Either it was a success and the patron could show off and boast about his discovery of a young talent. Or the career failed before it had begun and the money tap was turned off. The sponsor could look for a new protégé without risking damage to his reputation.
So all my dreams hung on my first show and I was correspondingly nervous.
“Just a few more weeks and the art scene will know a new name.” Shawn pulled me gently towards him so as not to spill the tea. He leaned down to me and mechanically I lifted my head. His lips found mine and I closed my eyes. No sparks. No fire.
Instead, I saw flawless indigo blue in my mind’s eye that seemed to call out to me.