In my mid-twenties, I became very sweet on, not to say fell in love with, a young painter, quite out of the blue. A friend of friends, Irish, tall, dark, handsome, soulful - let's call him Seamus. It may or may not be his real name.
I have always found some really rather peculiar things beautiful - in this instance, I mean just visually, although I am also deeply moved by other unusual oddities than those one can look at. At the time, I had never shared these thoughts with anyone at all, thinking they were so truly strange they would be met with mocking rather than understanding. I think what I really fell for in the young painter was that he, too, seemed to understand the inherent beauty in the empty stalk left over when a bunch of grapes has been eaten; or the fine network of veins, the only thing left of last year's almost-disintegrated autumn leaves; or the smooth, off-white, randomly-found tiny bones of forest creatures - mice, squirrels, what have you. The young painter painted these things - well, I'd still say - and I was sold, hook, line, and sinker.
I believe there was mutual attraction but it was impossible. My children were small and my marriage terribly unhappy. It may be the latter added weight and desperation to the feeling I developed for the young painter.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
What is remembered: the young painter
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15 comments:
Ah, Anna - this seems a good moment to say that the Love Song you wanted to hear is waiting at nmj's (well, it will be once she has seen it).
And where is he now, I wonder - the young painter?
!!
Is waiting at NMJ's, you say. I am flying off there on the wings of, well, curiosity, if not love itself.
How have you managed this, dear heart?
If NMJ is not awake, I shall scream.
Never tell a single living soul (the dead know everything anyway), but I was currently trying to probe the internet, using as my search words the combinations of "Irish painter ******" (young painter's first name, last name having been lost in the process of life).
No luck as yet, but will keep you posted.
xx
right, I've just clicked on "men" to make sure.
Things have been so spooky over at mine on that doctor thread - weird goings on. And what has happened to TPE?
Ok, I'll need to go and look now. I was there only yesterday, and noticed nothing untoward (given the circumstances and some of the goings-on I've seen at your house before).
Happened to TPE?! Signs, you've got me worried now. If something's happened to that boy in my absence, I'll go quite mental.
Thank you for alerting me to these developments. See you shortly.
xx
I have an overactive imagination. All those disappeared comments led me to thinking about black holes. I know they exist because my socks keep disappearing, and favourite ballpoint pens. There can be no other explanation.
Signs - yes. Black holes are definitely there and they definitely eat socks. I sometimes think they also eat people from my past, too - I have known so many and failed to keep up with almost all of them, as the future of my past whisks me off somewhere else.
It is sometimes a bit of a pain.
Yes, yes, I know about this too. Life is really a series of Doctor Who episodes, as far as I'm concerned - with changing directors and scriptwriters who don't think to consult me.
hey honey, i would've been in love with the irish painter too, my most significant rship, though not the longest, was with an irishman - took me a long time to get over him.
hey signs, can i just ask you, does dr who ever have sex? (i expect you to know, being such a fan and all.)
kisses to you both.
Signs - yes exactly. A series of independent, non-connected episodes, when viewed on a dark day (year) (episode); vaguely interconnected on a light one, I suppose. And certainly very little consultation from the script writers/directors (that would be a fine thing indeed - a wee warning that the rest of the cast, as well as the set, the setting, the tone, the language, and the style are about to go topsy-turvy would often be enough).
NMJ pet - the young painter was a really lovely boy, I'm sure. Saw him once shortly after my separation - he had literally just started to go out with one of the girls of the group of friends I used to hang out with. Oh, that was a bitter blow of fate.
PS Yes, Signs, I agree with NMJ - we simply need to get into the murky and glorious secrets of the good Dr's sex life. Do tell.
xx one each
ok, ok, I should have known this would come up. The Doctor doesn't have sex as such, or at least I've never seen him, and believe me I keep a close eye on his activities. He is an out-of-this-world kisser, though, he once gave Rose Tyler (the assistant before the current one) a kiss that almost literally brought her back from the dead. He is a sexy celibate. All his energy goes into saving the universe. But he has quite often been on the brink. He almost fell in love with Rose, and she certainly did with him. Martha, the current one, is completely smitten.
Anna, how come you only have 3 word ver letters and I have 8?
Ha! they didn't go through and now there are six - hsunff.
Have you seen the film "Stranger Than Fiction"? I watched the DVD last week. Man discovers that he is a character in someone's book and is about to be bumped off. He gets to meet the author and - well I won't give the ending away.
Oh, you have 8 letters now.
Signsykins, I haven't seen the film - it's quite recent, is it not? I have managed exactly one trip to the cinema in the past twelve months (I saw some irrelevant adult fairy tale, with my cousin, it was nicely shot and starred the always-watchable Edward Norton) although I am vaguely aware of this film. The concept sounds interesting, and oddly apt to what you are getting up to at the moment, at least when blogging about your novel. Hope it doesn't all land up being that way round, for you...
I remember the kiss that brought Rose back from the dead (this is, after all, the only Dr Who series I have watched, ever). It was very nicely in keeping with old fairy-tale tradition, for which I have a lot of time, as you have gathered, I'm sure.
(Three-lettered word ver? That must be the shortest in Blogdom. Too bad it isn't always that way. For me, word vers hold a strange fascination and meanings, not to say signs (as well as almighty annoyance at times). My friend Kanikoski's blog was plagued for a while with word vers that sounded like Hawai'ian place names or body parts. Weirdly, it was shortly after he returned from a visit to Hawai'i. Ooooo-eeee-oooooo....)
xx
You have given me a whole new way of thinking about word vers - it's a pretty full-time occupation, you know, being a reader of signs and I now feel I must keep a most careful watch.
okibqxn
I don't know how you women do it, Anna (though looking at the kids, can see part of why).
You tell it in a great way, too, from the visceral stuff (which reminds me of a nasty article I read about a hiker who was unlucky enough to get between a grizzly and her cubs) to the part about being stuck in traffic behind prefab homes.
(I expect the homes had signs saying "If you lived here you'd be home by now?")
Hei kurt - I expect you mean the giving birth rather than the falling in hopeless love with soulful young artsy Irishmen?
Seriously, it isn't really about how "we women do it", I think. It isn't very much at all about "us" doing anything at all - rather more about not stopping nature from taking its course. I certainly don't feel I did it myself, more that it happened to me or at the very best, that I facilitated this event. A bit like hosting a party, only with, well, a few differences.
x
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