Entry #26 - "Silences"
Title: Silences
Written By: lesser_gods
Timeline: Post Season Five
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Genre::
Silences
Babylon I, 2005. Oil on canvas.
In the foreground, there are men dancing. Arcs of motion, muscular arms outstretched, pure primal joy. The light is multi-colored and falls on their shoulders, giving them halos. There is glitter everywhere. The men are consumed by the dance; it seems an act of worship, almost. Their eyes are on each other and the glitter and the lights, and none of them see the dark shapes in uniform emerging from the right.
***
Justin had called him on Tuesday. "I'm coming home for the weekend," he'd said. "I'm taking the Greyhound, I'll call you when I know what time I'll be in." There'd been no arguing about the bus; he had resigned himself to it after the third time. So the boy - Brian still thought of him as "the boy" on occasion, although he was not willing to explore the avenues for drama that calling Justin that to his face would inevitably open up - so the boy wanted to slum it, have himself a "moment of being." Far be it from him to deny the pleasure. He would merely raise an eyebrow when treated to a half-hour rant about the overflowing toilets and the garlic-eating mouthbreathers on the way home from the bus station.
***
Babylon II, 2005. Oil on canvas.
An interior of a large space with broken glass and steel structures hanging from the ceiling, half detached, tilting precariously. There are very few clear details; mostly, the objects depicted are incongruous - a shoe and a handbag on a counter amidst broken glass - and covered in debris. Human shapes are barely visible in the background, supporting each other, bent over in what looks to be pain. The light filtering in through the smoke-filled doorway is red.
***
There had been no discussion at any point, not beyond "we'll see each other all the time" and "it's only time." They'd fallen into a comfortable routine of "the loft," "your place" - although, more often than not, his visits were brief weekday business ones and he never got to see much of the interior of Justin's cramped bedroom in the East Village - and "the house," which later became "home" by tacit agreement. Brian had been working on the rooms gradually over time; there was now a gym with a view of stark February trees, a master bedroom with echoes and a walk-in closet.
Justin's canvases, brought down from his miserable studio by the railroad taped up in black plastic, had rested against a wall in the garage until it occurred to Brian that while Justin might not care about them now, he might find use for them later and it would be better in that case to keep them indoors where there was at least something to be done about the climate. He had brought them inside on a rare clear Saturday morning and made discreet holes in the plastic, resisting the urge to unwrap. They could wait; he'd bring up his ideas for a studio over a wine-mellowed dinner. In a few months' time. Maybe.
***
Babylon III, 2005. Oil on canvas.
Exterior, in winter. The sky is the faintest of blues. The scene is of a street; the buildings across on the other side are red brick, slightly dilapidated, and layers of posters are visible at eye level. In the foreground are cars in a range of muted colors, driving past. Leaning out of each passenger-side window are people, their mouths open in a permanent silent scream. In a dizzying trick of perspective, the street fades into a horizon of just-fallen snow, taking the procession of cars with it.
***
"I've made some decisions," he said. It felt like vertigo. "And what did you decide?" Brian was playing right along. Again. "This," he said, dropping his backpack and reaching up to kiss Brian, hands on the back of his neck, feeling the soft, just-cut hair. "One more show, and you can get to work on that studio in the meantime." He pulled away and flashed a grin. "You know you suck at keeping secrets."
***
Babylon IV, 2005. Oil on canvas.
Exterior, night. The sodium yellow light slants from the front, hitting small groups of people in tight-fitting, colorful clothes. There is a dark alley to the left that affords a view of a scant patch of glowing night sky.The painting comes into sharp focus on the face and body of a tall man getting into a black jeep parked at the curb. He is wearing a black t-shirt, and there is a hint of a smile on his lips. Everything else fades into a soft blur of color and light.
***
Justin had left on Monday morning, toting several large canvases. "Thanks for bringing them inside," he had said, "I didn't know I was leaving them for such a long time or I would have stored them right." "Lucky for us I'm the domestic type," Brian had replied, almost managing his usual level of sarcasm. "It's not enough these days to be your muse and inspiration."
***
"So, how do you like them?" Justin, the sneaky little bastard, had somehow managed to creep up behind him while he was contemplating the largest of the four paintings that commanded the luxurious stretch of wall at the gallery. The one with him in it. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know Justin was smirking into his glass of wine. "The wine's better than it was last time," he quipped. "And your choice of subject matter has certainly improved. I don't know if I could have suffered through another triptych of Dinner at Deb's." "Mm-hmm." Brian turned to face him. The gallery was closing; nearly everyone had left. They would be expected to go out and celebrate; they would end up missing the party.
"You know they're fucking brilliant," he said. "You don't need me to tell you that. I just can't believe you sat on these for a year and a half. Come to think of it, I can't believe you finished them in such a short time."
"I was painting day and night," Justin said. "After I left. It was as if I had this space to explore, to figure out how much there was for me. How much--" He hesitated. "How much love there was in the world for me. See?" Brian nodded. "And I didn't need to find you, because deep down I had you with me all along. I just needed to find a space for myself that was big enough." "And did you?" Justin took a sip from his glass. "Well, I'm right here, aren't I?" he replied.
Written By: lesser_gods
Timeline: Post Season Five
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Genre::
Silences
Babylon I, 2005. Oil on canvas.
In the foreground, there are men dancing. Arcs of motion, muscular arms outstretched, pure primal joy. The light is multi-colored and falls on their shoulders, giving them halos. There is glitter everywhere. The men are consumed by the dance; it seems an act of worship, almost. Their eyes are on each other and the glitter and the lights, and none of them see the dark shapes in uniform emerging from the right.
***
Justin had called him on Tuesday. "I'm coming home for the weekend," he'd said. "I'm taking the Greyhound, I'll call you when I know what time I'll be in." There'd been no arguing about the bus; he had resigned himself to it after the third time. So the boy - Brian still thought of him as "the boy" on occasion, although he was not willing to explore the avenues for drama that calling Justin that to his face would inevitably open up - so the boy wanted to slum it, have himself a "moment of being." Far be it from him to deny the pleasure. He would merely raise an eyebrow when treated to a half-hour rant about the overflowing toilets and the garlic-eating mouthbreathers on the way home from the bus station.
***
Babylon II, 2005. Oil on canvas.
An interior of a large space with broken glass and steel structures hanging from the ceiling, half detached, tilting precariously. There are very few clear details; mostly, the objects depicted are incongruous - a shoe and a handbag on a counter amidst broken glass - and covered in debris. Human shapes are barely visible in the background, supporting each other, bent over in what looks to be pain. The light filtering in through the smoke-filled doorway is red.
***
There had been no discussion at any point, not beyond "we'll see each other all the time" and "it's only time." They'd fallen into a comfortable routine of "the loft," "your place" - although, more often than not, his visits were brief weekday business ones and he never got to see much of the interior of Justin's cramped bedroom in the East Village - and "the house," which later became "home" by tacit agreement. Brian had been working on the rooms gradually over time; there was now a gym with a view of stark February trees, a master bedroom with echoes and a walk-in closet.
Justin's canvases, brought down from his miserable studio by the railroad taped up in black plastic, had rested against a wall in the garage until it occurred to Brian that while Justin might not care about them now, he might find use for them later and it would be better in that case to keep them indoors where there was at least something to be done about the climate. He had brought them inside on a rare clear Saturday morning and made discreet holes in the plastic, resisting the urge to unwrap. They could wait; he'd bring up his ideas for a studio over a wine-mellowed dinner. In a few months' time. Maybe.
***
Babylon III, 2005. Oil on canvas.
Exterior, in winter. The sky is the faintest of blues. The scene is of a street; the buildings across on the other side are red brick, slightly dilapidated, and layers of posters are visible at eye level. In the foreground are cars in a range of muted colors, driving past. Leaning out of each passenger-side window are people, their mouths open in a permanent silent scream. In a dizzying trick of perspective, the street fades into a horizon of just-fallen snow, taking the procession of cars with it.
***
"I've made some decisions," he said. It felt like vertigo. "And what did you decide?" Brian was playing right along. Again. "This," he said, dropping his backpack and reaching up to kiss Brian, hands on the back of his neck, feeling the soft, just-cut hair. "One more show, and you can get to work on that studio in the meantime." He pulled away and flashed a grin. "You know you suck at keeping secrets."
***
Babylon IV, 2005. Oil on canvas.
Exterior, night. The sodium yellow light slants from the front, hitting small groups of people in tight-fitting, colorful clothes. There is a dark alley to the left that affords a view of a scant patch of glowing night sky.The painting comes into sharp focus on the face and body of a tall man getting into a black jeep parked at the curb. He is wearing a black t-shirt, and there is a hint of a smile on his lips. Everything else fades into a soft blur of color and light.
***
Justin had left on Monday morning, toting several large canvases. "Thanks for bringing them inside," he had said, "I didn't know I was leaving them for such a long time or I would have stored them right." "Lucky for us I'm the domestic type," Brian had replied, almost managing his usual level of sarcasm. "It's not enough these days to be your muse and inspiration."
***
"So, how do you like them?" Justin, the sneaky little bastard, had somehow managed to creep up behind him while he was contemplating the largest of the four paintings that commanded the luxurious stretch of wall at the gallery. The one with him in it. He didn't need to look over his shoulder to know Justin was smirking into his glass of wine. "The wine's better than it was last time," he quipped. "And your choice of subject matter has certainly improved. I don't know if I could have suffered through another triptych of Dinner at Deb's." "Mm-hmm." Brian turned to face him. The gallery was closing; nearly everyone had left. They would be expected to go out and celebrate; they would end up missing the party.
"You know they're fucking brilliant," he said. "You don't need me to tell you that. I just can't believe you sat on these for a year and a half. Come to think of it, I can't believe you finished them in such a short time."
"I was painting day and night," Justin said. "After I left. It was as if I had this space to explore, to figure out how much there was for me. How much--" He hesitated. "How much love there was in the world for me. See?" Brian nodded. "And I didn't need to find you, because deep down I had you with me all along. I just needed to find a space for myself that was big enough." "And did you?" Justin took a sip from his glass. "Well, I'm right here, aren't I?" he replied.