Constellation
I returned to my home earlier this week, having since done my best to put those measures I discussed with Grae into effect.
Staying at Vincent’s house was a very peaceful experience. I wonder if this is what having a family feels like. Just relatively unimportant things like having dinner, and feeling comfortable in the company of your dinner companions, listening to their conversations. It does make a difference. They have all largely left me alone, no doubt recognizing that I needed a break from everything. Not that I have minded their company in the least, quite the opposite. I am infinitely grateful for it.
I spent most of my time reading in Vincent’s study. He has quite an impressive collection of old books, many beautiful first editions. One of the days I stayed there, I once again found myself sitting in the large chair in Vincent’s study, having found a particularly cherished old friend among his books. The door opened, and Vincent stepped in. He smiled at me and said good evening, which I of course returned, closing the book, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the thought of him thinking I was taking up his study too much. I could not help but feel that his main reason for having this conversation with me was that it would be the proper thing to do, a host’s duty, not because he particularly wanted to. Not that I in any way would expect him to take any interest in me. But he is friendly in his own way, and the conversation was interesting. We share a love of Oscar Wilde, it would seem. He mentioned seeing some of my pictures in the magazine that Grae writes for. They did not seem to be to his taste. I may have made a somewhat defensive comment, but he did not seem to take offence, in fact he expressed interest in seeing my work at some point. He told me that he had once painted a portrait of Grae, making reference to Dorian Gray. Curious. Well, I suppose there is the name.
We talked for a bit about Grae. He does not seem to approve of the way that Grae chooses to dress, and I can see that it is quite different from how he himself dresses. He offered to get me some new clothes, in case I wanted something better than what Grae had lent me. Vincent could hardly know that what I choose to wear normally is probably even worse in his eyes, than what Grae wears.
It had rained earlier that day. The rain no doubt washing the blood away, down there on the wharf. Curled up in that chair, in that room, reading that book while the rain hit the windows. It was close to be a perfect moment, as I confided to Vincent, though it made me feel slightly embarrassed to do so. But I wanted him to know that I was very happy there. As I said to him, I have not been at peace like this for a long time. He mentioned happy moments and memories, things to look back upon with fondness when times were tough. It made me think of a quote from the book I was holding, though I am sure it was not quite what the author meant.
“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”
It reminded him in turn of an experience Grae once had involving the stars. One night that had seemingly somehow made a difference to him. I shall not reveal every word of our conversation, but there was a strong undercurrent of hope, and what was said seemed to strengthen the feeling of kinship with Grae that I hold. I think Vincent cares for him a great deal. He may not be an artist or a writer, as he himself said, but to me, just having a room such as his study reveals at least one very profound aspect of his soul. Because though a room may be furnished to purposefully show off an intentional image, I believe that there is much more to this particular one. And of course there would be. I am glad that I got to meet him as well.
Vincent said that perhaps if one looked closely at the stars, one would find that one was drawn to them to a degree that one could actually get out of the gutter. I do not disagree, it is definitely a thought to remember. There is always a choice. But when it cannot easily be found, or it is too difficult to make it, it is good to have the stars.
Staying at Vincent’s house was a very peaceful experience. I wonder if this is what having a family feels like. Just relatively unimportant things like having dinner, and feeling comfortable in the company of your dinner companions, listening to their conversations. It does make a difference. They have all largely left me alone, no doubt recognizing that I needed a break from everything. Not that I have minded their company in the least, quite the opposite. I am infinitely grateful for it.
I spent most of my time reading in Vincent’s study. He has quite an impressive collection of old books, many beautiful first editions. One of the days I stayed there, I once again found myself sitting in the large chair in Vincent’s study, having found a particularly cherished old friend among his books. The door opened, and Vincent stepped in. He smiled at me and said good evening, which I of course returned, closing the book, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the thought of him thinking I was taking up his study too much. I could not help but feel that his main reason for having this conversation with me was that it would be the proper thing to do, a host’s duty, not because he particularly wanted to. Not that I in any way would expect him to take any interest in me. But he is friendly in his own way, and the conversation was interesting. We share a love of Oscar Wilde, it would seem. He mentioned seeing some of my pictures in the magazine that Grae writes for. They did not seem to be to his taste. I may have made a somewhat defensive comment, but he did not seem to take offence, in fact he expressed interest in seeing my work at some point. He told me that he had once painted a portrait of Grae, making reference to Dorian Gray. Curious. Well, I suppose there is the name.
We talked for a bit about Grae. He does not seem to approve of the way that Grae chooses to dress, and I can see that it is quite different from how he himself dresses. He offered to get me some new clothes, in case I wanted something better than what Grae had lent me. Vincent could hardly know that what I choose to wear normally is probably even worse in his eyes, than what Grae wears.
It had rained earlier that day. The rain no doubt washing the blood away, down there on the wharf. Curled up in that chair, in that room, reading that book while the rain hit the windows. It was close to be a perfect moment, as I confided to Vincent, though it made me feel slightly embarrassed to do so. But I wanted him to know that I was very happy there. As I said to him, I have not been at peace like this for a long time. He mentioned happy moments and memories, things to look back upon with fondness when times were tough. It made me think of a quote from the book I was holding, though I am sure it was not quite what the author meant.
“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”
It reminded him in turn of an experience Grae once had involving the stars. One night that had seemingly somehow made a difference to him. I shall not reveal every word of our conversation, but there was a strong undercurrent of hope, and what was said seemed to strengthen the feeling of kinship with Grae that I hold. I think Vincent cares for him a great deal. He may not be an artist or a writer, as he himself said, but to me, just having a room such as his study reveals at least one very profound aspect of his soul. Because though a room may be furnished to purposefully show off an intentional image, I believe that there is much more to this particular one. And of course there would be. I am glad that I got to meet him as well.
Vincent said that perhaps if one looked closely at the stars, one would find that one was drawn to them to a degree that one could actually get out of the gutter. I do not disagree, it is definitely a thought to remember. There is always a choice. But when it cannot easily be found, or it is too difficult to make it, it is good to have the stars.