BASTIEN
I have late night conversations
with the moon.
"I just try to get as close to the colours I see...and you can always redo them or change them later..." Honestly, now that she asked the question, he wasn't sure. He'd always just known the right colour, even if it wasn't what was before him. That would not be a helpful answer though. He didn't want to come off as patronising, not to Rexanna. "Or you could just choose whatever colours you like. I do not like to put rules to art."
He added in the purples, gold flecks in the sky, fading up to a dark space. Occasionally glancing over to see what Rexanna was doing (and smiling with approval as he saw her going right for it, with the characteristic determination he loved) he added in a dark line for the horizon, starting with an almost-black brown then going over in greens, highlights of browns and yellows, the colours of the leaves illuminated by the late sun and incoming moon.
Bastien was wrapped up in looking at the nape of Rexanna's neck, a spot that practically begged for kiss, when she asked her question and momentarily knocked him from the idea.
"Well...my parents were gardeners. De Rosieres...of the rose bush. It was a long tradition in my family, to take care of the flowers around Paris. When I was young my mother would bring clippings home and draw them in an evening, and I began to do it with her...as far back as I can remember, I was drawing flowers with her." He looked down into his work with a faraway, warm smile on his face; he did not have many good strong memories of his childhood.
"In my teenage years and much of my twenties I was more of a performer, but as I began to put together my sanctuary, I found I desired to make images with a brush, not my body. Something more permanent, lasting. I suppose everyone begins to think of their legacy? I do not know. But I did, so I taught myself to paint." His first attempts had been...passable, maybe, but not anything he'd ever shown anyone else. "I was inspired by many things. The first thing I painted was the morning light coming through my curtains. Then a man I had spent a night with...it was rather unflattering. He did not like it." Bastien laughed.
"I could ask the same of you, though not for paints. What interests you in a debate? A discussion? Why choose to place yourself in a place of negotiation? Even if you were thrust into it by happenstance, you clearly still have the gift."
He added in the purples, gold flecks in the sky, fading up to a dark space. Occasionally glancing over to see what Rexanna was doing (and smiling with approval as he saw her going right for it, with the characteristic determination he loved) he added in a dark line for the horizon, starting with an almost-black brown then going over in greens, highlights of browns and yellows, the colours of the leaves illuminated by the late sun and incoming moon.
Bastien was wrapped up in looking at the nape of Rexanna's neck, a spot that practically begged for kiss, when she asked her question and momentarily knocked him from the idea.
"Well...my parents were gardeners. De Rosieres...of the rose bush. It was a long tradition in my family, to take care of the flowers around Paris. When I was young my mother would bring clippings home and draw them in an evening, and I began to do it with her...as far back as I can remember, I was drawing flowers with her." He looked down into his work with a faraway, warm smile on his face; he did not have many good strong memories of his childhood.
"In my teenage years and much of my twenties I was more of a performer, but as I began to put together my sanctuary, I found I desired to make images with a brush, not my body. Something more permanent, lasting. I suppose everyone begins to think of their legacy? I do not know. But I did, so I taught myself to paint." His first attempts had been...passable, maybe, but not anything he'd ever shown anyone else. "I was inspired by many things. The first thing I painted was the morning light coming through my curtains. Then a man I had spent a night with...it was rather unflattering. He did not like it." Bastien laughed.
"I could ask the same of you, though not for paints. What interests you in a debate? A discussion? Why choose to place yourself in a place of negotiation? Even if you were thrust into it by happenstance, you clearly still have the gift."
he tells me about the sun,
and i tell him about you.
REXANNA
